Broken bear and the sweets of lust

So today I was far too busy to write a blog post for you people. Let’s face it, neither one of you appreciates it, and I’m writing this nonsense when I’m supposed to be editing the new video.

But, Farnsworth has just challenged me to hide another word in my blog post, and since none of you guessed last week’s word (or even attempted to *cough*) I am now forced to choose between trying to ignore my idle fantasies for the next few hours while I attempt sleep… or, accepting a challenge from my mad house-mate. Damn my stubborn nature. Damn it to Hell!!

Oh well… here we go then. I suppose I can blog about something. How about the economy?

The recent increase in the… strength of the… Peruvian…

OK, so I know nothing of global economics… or very much of anything else. But never mind. I’m not the sort of writer who flaps about something as insignificant as a complete lack of knowledge. Wikipedia gets away with it all the time, so why can’t I pretend to be an authority on something about which I am completely ignorant.

There… now that I have added a disclaimer, I am completely free to talk out of my arse. And, with that in mind, let’s talk about love.

Do either of my readers remember the 80s? Remember those stupid posters that said “Love is…”? Well, earlier this week I had a revelation concerning what love is. Feel free to disagree (at least that way I might have some COMMENTS!), but I believe the point at which you can no longer escape the conclusion that you love someone, is when their happiness becomes more important to you than your own; when you realise that all you want is to spend the rest of your life making this person happy. Now… all those people saying things like “That’s crap! I know my girlfriend/boyfriend loves me, because they bought me a packet of those really shit, chalky sweets that say so in pink letters!” Get out! And while you’re at it, why not give all those people who buy stuffed bears with the words “I love you this much” a ride home. We all know that when you love someone, you want them to know it. But permit me to suggest, that buying them a Yo-Yo with “I Wuv U!” written on it, and imagining that does the trick, might just mean you’re not really trying hard enough. At best, that person will think it’s a really crap gift. Best case is that they’re some sort of international Yo-Yo champion, and if that’s the case they’re unlikely to thank you for making them perform in front of fellow Yo-Yo enthusiasts, swinging that tacky piece of junk as though it was their own personal Excalibur.

That probably all sounded like a bitter man, writing about unrequited love. It really wasn’t. I just needed to get that off my chest before the urge to fill a super-soaker with holy-water, and mow down a bunch of Hallmark shoppers, became too much to bear.

All I’m saying is, if someone really means that much to you, don’t rely on mass-produced sweets that look, and taste, like someone put Prozac in the water-cooler at the Asprin factory, and then played “Close to you” at full volume over the stereo. That sappy sentiment will not mean any more, just because it’s been embroidered into the chest of a grey teddy-bear. Don’t feel sorry for him just because he looks like he’s been through the wars. Spare a thought for the beleaguered mother; moaning as she sews the damn thing back together, because some careless child left it on the lawn for the mower. Let’s stop this habit of lazy sentimental expression and work together to put Clinton’s Cards out of business. That Hallmark shop is taking up space that could be better used for… say, an Ann Summers, or Victoria’s Secret – to pick two names completely at random.

Now before people start getting their crotchless, barbed-wire knickers in a twist… Of course I’m not saying that “Wear this and I’d totally do you!” is a worthy sentiment. Ann Summers shops have no more place on the high street than Hallmark (they should be confined to the internet, so that we… er… I mean… people… aren’t forced to feel embarrassed or awkward about shopping there).

All joking aside, if you feel so strongly about someone that you need to find a way to tell them, don’t shop for gifts at a place that says: “I hate my wife, but I can’t be bothered to cook my own dinners!” Hold them in just the right way… be there when it’s important to them… go out of your way to surprise them regularly, even if that means swimming across the Baltic Sea dressed as James Bond. Write them a song. Don’t worry if you can’t write songs; love is… caring about the other person’s happiness. If someone loves you, they will try especially hard not to cringe when some poor lovesick fool sings “Oh Angela, I love you for the way you hold your spatula” off key, whilst wearing nothing but a guitar he borrowed from a mate (please wipe it before you bring it back, Garry).

Enjoy the rest of your week, and remember: Every time you shop at Hallmark, a unicorn is hit by a truck full of “I Wuv U” key-chains… and the driver laughs maniacally as he strokes his seal-skin steering-wheel, and tosses a cigar out the window… which then hits a wickle bunny-wabbit.

This week's image is courtesy of the Sleepless Knight special effects department. ILM, eat your heart out!


*For anyone who’s interested, last week’s word was “onion”.


4 comments on “Broken bear and the sweets of lust

    • I have a picture of that cake somewhere.
      Thanks for the comment, Heather. Always especially nice to get them from bloggers you respect.
      Loved your latest post. I happen to know a Scandinavian Anglophile who would love to see England again… So if either of you decide to grace our shores for the upcoming Olympics, England will always welcome you. I might have to have a word with the other 60 million tenants, but I think they’ll be fine with it.


    • I don’t know how the hell you did that, Jarl, since this whole post is littered with unusual words, but I suppose if you don’t know me well enough by now to spot those things… No-one is ever likely to.
      The prize is yours (such as it is). Challenge me!


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