2003-02-14

So it�s Valentine�s Day. I guess this is the part where I�m supposed to whine and moan about being single and about how consumerist culture shoves prepackaged, meaningless, unrealistic �romantic� sentiment up the collective arses of the population and makes us all feel inadequate about our failed attempts at mating.

Eh, fuck that. Valentine�s Day barely registers with me. Although I could have done without the rotund coworker in red tights and wings buzzing my office with a giant bowl of chemical confections. That was just creepy.

What I am going to bitch about is my lack of V-Day bling. (Woo! I said �bling�! Word up on the hip slang!) The fuck, people? Pony up! Only ONE of you so much as sent me an e-card (and lots of warm, sticky props there). I slave away over my keyboard every day, narrowly escaping severe reprimand from my so-called �superiors� here in Big Brother Land, whoring the rare gem of my talent to try and offer some modicum of diversion to the feeble blips you call your minds; and the day of love rolls around, and where�s the love? More importantly, where�s the STUFF?

Just kidding. Actually, I�m here today to pimp my latest project. Towelphaser and I have created a site to deliver a big fat smackdown to classic literature. Monumental works of groundbreaking genius, or big reeking gobs of self-fellating dingo excrement? WE�LL be the judge!

Classic My Ass!