It’s not that Ms. Manx has anything against love; after all, she’s a kitty, and cats are all about love. But the Stumpy Cat does have a problem with days like today and the attendant commercialization of emotion. So she’s been mousing around the intertubes, and as usual, her soft paws have ferreted something out:
First off, a few verses by George Orwell, to get us all into the right mood.
Then, in the spirit of those verses, a little something about all the crap we’re supposed to either buy or expect to have bought for us (depending on our gender, of course) on this otherwise blah mid-February day.
And from there, we proceed to a man that we Canadian ladies are supposed to be creaming our collective panties over, but who, strangely, leaves the overwhelming majority of us colder than a dead mackerel on a slab of ice.
(Okay, that last one was depressing. Here, have some music.)
Maybe you’d like some more perspective? All right, let’s talk symbols. This day is supposed to be replete with them, after all. Did you know you could get lead poisoning from Cupid’s arrowheads? It’s totally true!
And awww, how sweet…the Ford Brothers (mayor and city councillor of Toronto) have been buying roses for all the female council members. None for the dudes. Now, what secret floral message does THAT send? Homophobia and heterosexism, sittin’ in a tree–K-I-S-S-I-N-G? That is so romantic!
Or maybe it has something to do with this “every woman wants to be a princess” crap that we’re being sold 24/7/365, 366 in a leap year. Ms. Manx sniffs at that; she would have the world know that every woman, like every she-cat, is a QUEEN, thankyouverymuch. (And on that note, your humble queen is very glad that she’s never received any of these awful valentines.)
In any case, a bouquet of roses may not seem so romantic to you after reading this. Are thousands of poisoned women in Latin America really a fair price to pay for a dozen long-stems? Ms. Manx thinks not.
So how can you tell if you’re a feminist at heart? Read this. And learn how to see the reality of love, not just the hearts-‘n’-flowers crap. (The Stumpy Cat bids me tell you that “purrs and rubs mean it’s really wubs”. Sorry. That’s the closest I can get for a LOLcat-to-English translation.)
And just to yank the rug totally out from under the “prostitution is really love of women” nonsense, how about those Italian women, busting Berlusconi’s ass? What they’re doing right now is molto bella! Ms. Manx hopes this whole revolutionary anti-corrupto thing catches on outside the Arab world, and if Italy is the runaway train’s first stop, well…that’s amore!
Happy V-day, everyone.