Opinion: Love Isn’t Real and It’s Your Job to Tell Everyone
Valentine’s day has come around another year, and you’re still single. It’s not your fault, though. You’ve done everything you can. You talked to that freshman who sits next to you in Psych 210, and she rejected you because “you’re thirty” and “still can’t point out the clitoris after two weeks of vaginal anatomy.” You asked your roommate if they have any single friends, but were met with a chorus of “get out,” “I’m mid stroke,” and “I thought I locked the door.” While he may have indeed locked the door, your need for love was stronger. Keyword: was.
You’re smarter now, and know that love is a farce. Hallmark movies are full of false promises of romance and profitable small businesses, and Zendaya is engaged to someone that’s not you. Mom and Dad may still be together, but you can smell divorce brewing with every thermostat fight. Your roommate and his girlfriend never hang out at your place anymore, which has to be a bad sign for their relationship. Love is dead, and you’re aware you’re witnessing its last breaths. Your peers, however, aren’t as fortunate as you. Which is why it’s your mission to teach the masses.
Start at Center Table. 5 pm, Valentine’s day. See all the freshmen on their honeymoon-phase big dates, and blow out their candles. Tell them they’re going to cheat on each other when they study abroad, and that if they do indeed make it to senior year, neither of them will be happy. They’ll thank you for it. Take a pair of zig-zag scissors around with you. Cut every heart decoration in half, so that your point really gets across. Everyone will stop and stare at your political statement, and realize what you’ve known all along.
Move on to the ave. Stop at Pho Shizzle, Cafe on the Ave, Little Thai, anywhere you can smell the putrid stench of happiness. Those couples are a little more realistic. Inform them that one of them has chlamydia, or maybe they both do. Play the part of her ex, and profess your ever persisting feelings for her. Save the feelings of her date from getting too involved. It’s better to cut trees down young.
The last stop of the night should be wandering through the surrounding residential neighborhoods. Bring a karaoke machine with you, so you can preach your word. Crank the volume to maximum. Make sure everyone who’s even slightly, just the tip, hand stuff only boning can hear you. Decelerate their sex drives by doing spot on impressions of their mothers. Pretend to be the cops, and you’re there to stop any accidental conceptions.
End your evening by returning home. Log on to r/aita (Am I The Asshole) and post a long, winding rant about how you’re only trying to help, and everyone keeps shitting on you. Feel the blood rush to your penis as people validate you in the comments, telling you you’re not the asshole. Google “Sydney Sweeney bikini picture” and crank one out. Go to bed. You’ve done a good job, soldier.