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Permalink to original version of “Time for a National Whore’s Day or something” Time for a National Whore’s Day or something

I know, it is not Valentine’s Day. In fact, we are precisely six months away from yet another manufactured binge of female shame-spending on men who claim to love them.

Consequently, it seems an auspicious time to prepare. That is, if you are blue pill you can go ahead and mark your calendar so you can prepare to translate your hard earned dollars into a reason that he won’t leave you.

Red pill women can stock up on popcorn with plenty of time to prepare to watch blue pill women dash feverishly around town, looking for something expensive enough to keep their male “partners” from leaving them.

Hint: Popcorn is way cheaper, amigos.

There are many aspects to The Big Day financially. Candy, flowers, jewelry, fine dining, champagne, romantic getaways and a lot of other things that mandate women to empty their wallets. That’s so the men in their lives can be reminded of their speshulness and maybe give a little poon in return.

It is fair and accurate to say that offering up the poon is about the only expectation of men on this day of “romance.” Never mind that they like sex, too, and that most will offer it up on any other day. After all, it’s the lack of thought that counts.

Indeed, there are so many goodies for men on Valentine’s Day that I won’t even try to cover them all. Instead I will focus on flowers. The approximate 196 million roses purchased are second only to candy in the 13+ billion dollars spent each Valentine’s Day. [1]

Women purchase 73% of those roses. That is a stat low enough that it surprised me a little, till I saw that men purchase 14% of those coveted expressions of love…to give to themselves.

Clitoria. Yes, that is the name.

Clitoria. Yes, that is the name.

That’s right. 14% (27,440,000 or 2,286,666 dozen) of Valentine’s Day roses are purchased by men for themselves. I am betting that number drop when The Big Day falls on a weekend and no one is there to see them delivered in workplaces.

I am no math whiz, but without other factors being available it appears that men buy themselves more roses for Valentine’s Day for than they do for women.

Men do, however, buy the great majority of Valentine’s cards. Those numbers will likely change when Hallmark cards are $100 a dozen. Like I said, it is the lack of thought (and money) that counts.

The money (at least women’s) is a very important matter given the fact that over half of men surveyed said they would end a relationship if they were not given something on Valentine’s Day [1] – which is to say that 53% of the men surveyed are whores, and just like more garden variety whores, they will take a hike when they aren’t being paid.

Ain’t love grand?

I am not claiming moral superiority for women, mind you. Every hooker needs at least one John or they would not be in business.

It is the symbolism of cut flowers that I find most intriguing, as well as being analogous to relationships that depend on them as proof of “love.” Many flowers resemble vaginas. Some are even named for them. They all have things in common other than appearance and names.

What happens to roses after you shell out some hard earned cash so you can give them to a man who will kick you to the curb if you don’t cough up his petals? That’s right, they look and smell good for a very short period of time. Then they become useless discards, like the majority of relationships and at least 53% of surveyed vaginas. You have to be blind to irony in order to not see that the men so bent on getting women to waste money on them also happen the same men who are as useless as month old cut roses – the kind you buy at the grocery store.

The poppy. First pleasure, then lots of pain.

The poppy. First pleasure, then lots of pain.

If you insist on being sentimental, save the flower money and use it to buy a nice colorful arrangement. You can put them on the coffin where any illusions you had about not being with a whore will invariably be laid to rest.

Mind you, those flowers will die in short order, too. They will, however, at least match your dead dreams – and, hopefully, your dead relationship.

Not being one to just point out problems, I am compelled to offer some solutions. The most romantic gift you can give on Valentine’s Day is a tiller, a garden trowel and a set of heavy duty work gloves. Throw in a few YouTube videos on how tillers, trowels, gloves and, uh, work works, and you have a man with the ability to perpetually produce flowers of all varieties.

As they say, give a woman a fish and you feed her for a day; teach a woman to fish and you feed her for a lifetime.

Men, our equals, should be no different.

In addition to teaching him the value of work and humility, you will be honoring his agency, his “I can do anything a woman can do, and do it better and do it in heels,” way of living life.

If you are so weak you don’t have the stomach for that you can always use the garden tools to dig your own grave. You are doing that anyway so you might as well make it more efficient and speedy.

And that is the rub, amigos. If the man who “loves” you hinges that love on whether you shower him with frivolous, wasteful presents; if he will leave you if he doesn’t get them, then just stick a C-note in his whorish little bra, show him the door, and find yourself another whore who is a lot more honest about how he does business.

Or, goddess forbid, find yourself a man with enough integrity and maturity that he can feel loved without help from your wallet. They are out there, and you can find them if you quit chasing every Main Street skeezer who crosses your path.

It would be a little more honest if we considered changing the name. Valentine’s Day has its murky roots in both Christian and ancient Roman tradition. How it developed into flushing 13 Billion dollars down the toilet every year is unclear. All we know for sure is that it happened and that Hallmark, florists and jewelers and Godiva Chocolates knew a good thing when they saw it.

After pondering this for some time it may be that we need to do another poll. Personally, I am at a loss on what to call Valentines Day to make it more accurate. “Give Me Free Shit or I Will Leave You Day,” is really clunky. And it is so long that it will present a problem for Hallmark.

“Whore’s Day,” is simple and concise, but I am concerned that it would be an insulting affront to prostitutes who are honest enough to tell you who and what they are.

Perhaps AVFM readers, who often prove to have great acumen with glibness and creativity can solve the problem here in the comments.

Me? I am stocking up on popcorn and butter. I have a feeling that Hillary’s “War on Men,” campaign rhetoric will be in full stride by February and that the advertising and conversations on V-Day will be quite interesting.

Who knows, with the vast numbers of mindless, obsequious Johns this culture has come to call women, we may hit 15+ billion in sales.

Fortunately, we finally live in an age where stock in popcorn will go up as well.