Happy Valentine’s Day! If you’re looking to ditch that person you (no longer) love, follow our three step guide, and you’ll be Tindering in no time – you awful awful person.
If love is indeed a drug, it’s the one you settle on at 3am when the pharmacy is closed, your dealer is in jail and all you’ve got the shakes. Nevertheless, we find ourselves at love’s grandest day, a day where love abounds and romance is in the air, and a certain political party are punching on over a woman’s hand, even if she happens to be Pauline Hanson.
Ain’t it grand? Well, no. Of course not.
But it doesn’t matter. Gifts and material baubles are the order of the day, as a cutesy carnivore with a speech impediment can seemingly say what our erections cannot. We wub woo. Money is no object, and logic makes no sense, so if you really love that person you’ve chosen to share a life with, you know, your only life, that fleeting unnoticed murmur in the long history of our existence as a species, where there’s nothing to do but mate and shag and Bunnings and snag, all in an effort to be remembered by someone, and have someone tell somebody else that you were here.
So you love them, right?
Well, prove it, by purchasing the following tat of premium importance.
Stage one: Meat-based edibles.
The summer of 2015 was indeed a long one. You remember. High waisted jeans and everyone could not shut up about how much they looooovveed bacon. It was an institution…if that institution happened to be a slaughterhouse. Nevertheless, tattoos were paid for and casual conversation was sizzled by the curling of one’s lips. Clearly, we’ve not learned from the horrors of our past, as you can now certainly purchase meat-based underwear that your partner can presumably munch off your nether-regions?
Let’s address the obvious, other than the fact that it looks like it has emerged directly from the Ed Gein collection (Google it), but I’m not entirely sure that dried meat shipped in a box directly to bae’s unshowered poopie/baby factory district is particularly healthy, or a sign of a healthy relationship. I mean, it could be worse. They could wear your face and then do you, so you get to experience what they experience.
Stage two: A graceful exit.
As all relationships go, there’s a point where you must too. However, the break-up is often a difficult pursuit. Movies and television taught us that we must do it in a public place and not each dessert during, life taught us to be honest and not be a martyr, but the internet (which rules above all) knows that you can, nay, you should be an absolute dick about it.
To that end, we have this.
I mean, if you’re looking for maximum flame to burn the bridge, this is a fairly decent accelerant. Extra points for the subversion of a Valentine’s Day icon, but, and I mean this, if you buy this for someone, I hope they leave you, and I hope you never abuse another person with your presence ever again. Ever.
Stage three: Cockroach-based revenge.
The argument could be made that love only really matters when it fails. Romance is failure, and regret is the truest kink of all. After all, what’s better than getting something than not getting it in the first place? As you’ve probably already read, a zoo in America will let you name a cockroach after your ex and then feed it to a hungry hungry whatever. Ha ha, take that.
Um, sort of. As general knowledge dictates, the only thing that will survive the upcoming nuclear holocaust is ennui and cockroaches. If you survive the bombs, your broken love will too. I mean, it must be hard in the wasteland to get over the relationship you know? You’d probably muse on the time that your pettiness couldn’t let go of something long gone, so you travelled to a zoo to eke out your petty revenge. Bit of a sidebar, I’d imagine that pursuit would be an awkward one. You can naturally assume that you wouldn’t be the only one present, and while you might laugh and crack jokes about the communal experience, or the comparative size of your cockroach to another to symbolise the greater heartbreak you’ve suffered, it’s all a mask to disguise the fact that you’re all here, you all can’t get over it, and this is why you’re all miserable.