February 14, 2005

• “Happy Hallmark Day, numb nuts,” Zeus said to me this morning just before he took his newly sharpened lightning bolt and effortlessly thrust it into the head of some pathetic mortal walking his dog several thousand miles below.    I watched from afar as the man instantly dropped dead, leaving his dog alone and panic-stricken. 

  
  

   

  
  

  “Aw, now why’dya have to do that?” I said; my voice soaked in weighty guilt, “I mean, you could have at least aimed at the heart.  Kill ‘em slowly, that’s the way it’s done.” 

  
  

   

  
  

  Zeus just rolled his eyes and stormed away, creating a trail of scorched cloud behind him.  Before he was completely out of my sight, he turned around, his voice booming in my ears.  “It’s a good thing you aren’t a mortal, Cupid.  Because I hate you.  And I hate your stupid holiday.”  Just before I could manage to penetrate a single one of my arrows into one of his glistening eyeballs, he shoveled his massive hand below the sky and into the ground and unearthed a giant redwood tree.  In a matter of seconds, that redwood transferred from his iron fists of fury into my belly button of steal. Although I didn’t actually feel a thing, the impact totally messed up my hair.  I truly wanted to murder him just then, but he was Zeus after all. My face reddened with defeat as he coolly swept back the silvery hair from his face.  He nodded to the crushed redwood.  “Why don’t you just make another billion mushy lovey-dovey cards?  And while your at it, apologize to Mother Nature over there,” he averted his eyes over to a slimy green woman that was angrily gritting her wooden teeth over on a nearby cloud. “She hates you, too.  And she wants her trees back.” Then, Zeus stuck out his tongue in disgust, turned around and left for good. Moments later, Mother Nature came over with a series of useless death threats that I responded to with the mass murder of several redwood giants in Yellowstone.    

  
  

   

  
  

  You could blame it on St. Valentine.  Hallmark.  Godiva.  Love, even.  But if you really want to know the truth about who spawned Valentine’s Day, it wasn’t really any of them.  They’re just subjects, just warriors, just servants of the one that truly brought about that dreadful holiday.  They just pitched in.  Added on to the evil scheme.

  
  

   

  
  

  I’m Cupid.  And Valentine’s Day is all. my. fault. 

  
  

   

  
  

   

  
  

   

  
  

  Oh, but why, Cupid?  Why would you do such a thing?

  
  

   

  
  

  I guess the answer to that question could be directly related to my childhood. Being raised by not a single guardian, I attended Fairy Prep School and lived in one of its janitor closets.  I ate orange peels and I drank whatever I could grind into a liquid. As a kid, I was what you mortals might call ‘An Outcast’.  However, back then I was also known for possessing several other names as a result of confrontation from my peers.  ‘Naked Midget’ and “Cellulite Cheek Boy’ being among the most popular. 

  
  

   

  
  

  I had no idea why these kids teased me.  I mean, as far as I was concerned I was an attractive fellow.  Golden curls, a dashing grin.  And a real knack for archery.  But for some reason my peers just couldn’t see that side of me.  In fact, the only thing I ever heard uttered from their mouths were phrases similar or identical to cat calls such as “Hey, look up at the sky! It’s a bird! It’s a plane! No- wait!  It’s a heart-shaped ass!” 

  
  

  And as much as I tried to argue against it, as much as I tried to persuade my friends that my bottom was in fact concealed, everyone was nonetheless immovably convinced that I was permanently a naked man.

  
  

   

  
  

  It was not until I came to the despairing conclusion, when I went to the bathroom and found that I had nothing to unzip or pull down, that maybe these people were onto something. 

  
  

   

  
  

  “Hey, Manboobs!  What’s shakin’? No, besides those…”

  
  

   

  
  

  …Needless to say, I was traumatized.  All those months, all those years, all those stabbing nicknames and harsh cat calls.  And I couldn’t listen to a single one of them.   Butt-naked, I would turn up my nose and insist that I was a clothed man. 

  
  

   

  
  

  “Looks like it’s gonna be a full moon tonight...”

  
  

   

  
  

   …And I just couldn’t take the pressure.  The pressure of all those hurtful words catapulting into my heart.   Causing me to spend hours on end sobbing in my lonely janitor closet, wondering where in the hell did I ever go wrong?

  
  

   

  
  

  Because I’m a very irrational person and because I often listened to angry rock music, I never really figured that answer out.  In fact, if nothing was really wrong with me before, the following actions I performed could easily have filled in for an answer to that question that constantly throbbed in my head. 

  
  

   

  
  

  “Hey, Bubblebutt.  You’re attracting werewolves.” 

  
  

   

  
  

  The anger just consumed me.  That’s all I can really say without sounding like an aspiring serial killer.  Because I am.  But the rage just ate me alive.  Just twisted my insides into a knot of tightened fury.  I knew I had to do something.  So one day I came into Fairy Prep.  Armed.  With a bow and several arrows that I stole from Aphrodite.  And I shot everyone.

  
  

   

  
  

  Unfortunately, I managed to kill no one. 

  
  

   

  
  

  In fact, the only thing my school-shooting produced was a bunch of gleaming and drunken expressions of longing and happiness.  Not only was there still life in that building, but there were people making out by lockers.  Dancing. Singing. Smiling. Hugging. Eating. Partying. Reciting…..

  
  

   

  
  

  poetry.

  
  

   

  
  

  My reaction was something along the lines of “Wow, I suck at archery.” But eventually that morphed into a “My plan! My plan has failed.  Now I need to find a new way to kill everyone because I’m short, naked, and insecure.” 

  
  

   

  
  

  So,

  
  

   

  
  

  I rounded up a bunch of those little talking Hershey kisses, transformed them into evil robots that contained ten times more sugar and carbohydrates than what would be considered rational, inserted them into containers that resembled the shape of my butt,  convinced everyone these candies were healthy when really I just wanted everyone to become obese and die of high cholesterol.  I created this company called ‘Hallmark’ which is a direct simile to ‘We chop down the essence of nature and grind them into small pieces of paper containing an excessive amount of glitter’. And then I continued along on my shooting spree and eventually blamed the entire disaster on this guy named St. Valentine. 

  
  

   

  
  

  My shivering peers liked to call this event the “Angry Naked Fairy Massacre”.  However, I credit it as “Valentine’s Day”.  Just so that I’m not sent to hell. 

  
  

   

  
  

  Some say love is blind.  And with my existence, this saying can be proven accurate.  Just three hundred years ago, I harnessed up a handful of doctors who eventually came to a very serious conclusion.  Stating that I was so convinced I was clothed as a child, so sure that my fellow students were incorrect, because I could not see the truth for myself.  For the first few thousand years of my life, I was blind. 

  
  

   

  
  

  That is why I could not see that I had no clothes on my body. 

  
  

  That is why I always got lost.

  
  

  That is why I couldn’t shoot an arrow for my life.

  
  

  And that is why Michael Jackson is sexually attracted to little boys.

  
  

   

  
  

  I am blind.  Love is blind.

  
  

   

  
  

  And no one can escape from my heart shaped chocolates, sugary greeting cards, and especially the magical randomness of my efficient bow and arrow.

  
  

   

  
  

  I bumped into Zeus and his sister Demeter later today.  And, being that today is my day, he didn’t look too pleased.  No one has, really.  But he looked exceptionally pissed off.

  
  

  “You look exceptionally pissed off.” I said, mocking a sympathetic expression.

  
  

  He glared at me, his eyes two reddening hot coals.  His fists clenched.

  
  

  “How would you know, anyway?” he thundered as Demeter giggled superciliously, “You’re as blind as Oedipus moments before he croaked.”

  
  

  I smiled cunningly.  “Oh, that is true,” I whispered,“But I have an excellent sense of hearing.”

  
  

  And just before Zeus could say or do anything, I withdrew my bow an arrow and swiftly shot, the arrow missing his bicep by a few inches and penetrating into the heart of his sister instead. Her look of concern toward her brother instantly transformed into longing.

  
  

   

  
  

  “Hey, I can’t help it if I’m blind,” I said, “Kind of like how your future children can’t help the fact that they’ll have extra limbs.”

  • 9:26 pm
  • 10 Comments