(crs) Enjoy your drunk friend's ravings

Ok, what makes me gayer:
A) The Japanese sandlewood fan I’m cooling myself with presently
B) The fact that my fraternity-brother roommates are playing poker downstairs and I eloped upstairs to watch 30 Rock
C) I put extra lime juice in my vodka tonic before coming upstairs

If you answered A, you’re either a faggot or a bigot with a good sense of smell. 30 Rock is way more entertaining than four 20-somethings frat-rats talking about hypothetical anal sex that none of my fraternity guys have had the balls to try, and if you’re calling me gay for putting lime-juice in my vodka, then you haven’t tasted Tenley brand vodka (although my Croatian friends swear by it – who knew?). Either way option A is clearly the gayest, and it’s tantamount to me blowing the nearly dead corpse of Carl Lagerfeld.

So who’s ready for Valentine’s Day? If you didn’t say “I am!” right away, then you’re screwed. That’s because it means you’re one of two things: single and denying abject despair, or dating someone and acting negligent. Let’s take the dating person first: Really? You’re not ready for Valentine’s Day? You’ve had almost a year from the last couple’s holiday, and yet somehow you’ve let it slide again. My tip – if the bitch didn’t notice last year when you gave her a bouquet of ramen packets and paper clips from your office’s supply cabinet (“it’s so functional” she said), she’s not going to notice this year if you give her a home-made lollipop bouquet made from tootsie-pops, scotch tape, and a toilet paper roll you fished from the trash. Where’s her self respect? Well, she’s dating you, so don’t make me answer that question. PS – her valentine will show up in 6-8 weeks when she starts to experience soreness and drying in her swim-suit region and your best friend starts to complain about stinging during urination. Hope you enjoy herpes!

If you aren’t a negligent dater and you’re not ready for Valentine’s Day, it’s time to hit the bars. 1:00am on a Saturday night is full of proper prospects: the girl eyeing you from the corner, the bartender giving a free drink, the person who bumps into you just a little bit too long to be casual, or the sallow bearded man sitting at the booth with yearning showing from underneath his coke-bottle glasses. My point?

Are you getting any younger? In times like these (countdown to V-day) you need to cling like grim death to whatever sort of human warmth you can find. If that means I have to drink myself blind enough to sleep with whatever gargoyle is left lurking when the dive bars close, then I’m going to pony up and handle my shit. Because it’s V-Day bitches. Do you want to die alone?