Who's Your Billentine? You Are, Dumbass

So, St. Valentine's Day is almost upon us once again. I shall not be celebrating it, once again. I could go into why, could go into how I don't need reminding this will be my twenty-ninth February fourteenth as a single man out of twenty-nine, could discuss how it's a crock of shit as if you really love someone, you don't need one day a year set aside to show it, could go on at length how I'm still incredibly bitter and cynical when it comes to love thanks to what that hateful bitch did to me and how I hope she... Um... *achem*... I could even once more point out that it's actually a celebration of wolf fucking, or... Well, something along those lines.

I'm not gonna do that though. Two reasons. Reason the first, I think I've kinda drained the well on that the last few years. Reason the second, I just don't care any more. Seriously, I'm even bored of being pissed of with Valentines. What good does it do? I just get depressed, start drinking, order a takeaway and watch a film, probably one involving many explosions and as little in the way of romance as is humanly possible.

So, what's this blog about then? An alternative. Two years ago, my good friend, co-writer on Stiffs, former housemate and ex-closest-thing-to-a-girlfriend-Paddy-has, one Drew Davies, and I decided that, as single people, we deserved a day dedicated to our good, single, lonely, cynical and desperately pathetic selves. We deserved presents too. Why not? So that's what we did. February fourteenth may be for the loved up and sickly types, but February fifteenth? We've claimed that. February fifteenth has become St. Bill's Day.

St. Bill's Day is the day when all those who don't want to celebrate Valentines, for whatever reason, be you single or otherwise, can celebrate themselves. How do you celebrate? Simple. You have a day for you. You buy yourself a present. Forget the card, that would be weird, but definitely spend some money on something you want. You'll know it's a gift you're going to keep, 'cos who knows you better than you? My St. Bill's Day routine usually consists of present, alcohol, takeaway and a film, probably one involving many explosions and as little in the way of romance as is humanly possible. Yes, it sounds a lot like my Valentines Day, but it's more fun. Plus, present!

There are only two rules when it comes to St. Bill's Day. Rule one, you can't celebrate it if you're doing the Valentines thing the day before. That would completely miss the point. Rule two, whatever you do, do it for you. Be selfish. Just celebrate the most person awesome you know. You're your own Billentine. How can it go wrong?

You may be saying to yourself now "okay, that's good, I like it. I'm definitely celebrating St. Bill's Day this year. But, why St. Bill? Who is St. Bill?"

Well, Drew and I needed a name for the day. I can't take credit for this, it was Drew's idea. Why not name it after the cynic all other cynics aspire to be? A man who told the truth, and made it damn funny, and is, sadly, no longer with us? Thus, St. Bill's Day, named for the legend that is Bill Hicks.

So, Monday morning, when other people are making the rest of us want to vomit with mind-numbing displays of affection and *shudders* love, just ignore it. Then, on Tuesday, stick two fingers up at those simpering morons and just do something fun!

If you want to join me for my alcohol/takeaway/DVD combo, you're welcome to do so. Just let me know.

And now, to finish this blog, I'm going to share a story I once wrote when I was tasked with writing a story about love. I think we can all empathise.

Love

"I love you Darling. Happy Valentines day." said Eric to Debbie. It was sickening.

So thank God that at just that moment, ninjas jumped down and killed both of them. There was blood everywhere, and some organs were strewn about the place as well. There was an eyeball left in the goldfish bowl, I swear, an actual eyeball! Entrails draped the sofa. And the drapes. I think even the ninjas were surprised at what a mess they made, but then it's hard to tell through those masks. Still, it was a horrible site!

Poor Jerry, when he walked in, he had such a fright. Jerry’s not even in this story, but he heard a noise and decided to come and see what was going on. Boy, did he regret that! As soon as he saw the carnage before him, and the bloody ninjas (that's ninjas covered in blood, not me being exasperated at the ninjas. I think they're great!), he legged it, and who could blame him?

For their part, the ninjas vanished in a cloud of smoke. Where they went, nobody knows. Where do ninjas go when they do that thing with the smoke pellets anyway? Do you think there's a magical Ninjaland, where they ride the big wheel, the carousel and the roller coaster, and the ground is fluffy, like a lovely cloud, and they gorge themselves on marshmallow and candy? Sounds fun doesn’t it. I bet they’re happy there. I hope so. I like to think they're happy, because if ninjas can't be happy, then what hope is there for the rest of us?

Hey, wow, love is an anagram of vole. Huh. Who knew?

The End.