Ever scan the aisles of V-day cards at the local drug store and think, “they just don’t offer the sentiments I’m hoping to express to my intended”? I feel the same way, which, coupled with the fact that I very rarely wear pants, is why my valentine shopping trips are usually pretty quick.
Next year, I’m hoping that the good folks at Hallmark can expand their product lines with some of the following to accommodate the shameless perv in all of us. Especially the one in me.
“Here’s your card. Now please eat my balls.”
“Happy hearts day. Also, I’m fucking your sister.”
“Let’s do that thing where you make my face smell like your ass.”
“I’d rather have my hands on your boobs than on my prick. Which is where they’d be if I was alone.”
“In lieu of flowers, can I eat Greek yogurt out of your asshole?”
“Me on top again? Don’t get me wrong, I love it. But don’t you ever want to try something new? Like reverse cowgirl? Or maybe–I dunno–a threesome? Yes, with another woman. No, it’s not something I think about a lot but–. Huh? Yes, I’ll go sleep on the sofa.”
“To prove my love, I am ready to consume a room-temperature jug of your urine.”
“Does this rag smell like chloroform?”
“Please consider my face your personal luge.”
“You are my world, my life, my everything. Thank you for being you. Also, I might have fucked your last pudding.”
“Happy Valentine’s Day. Please sit on my tongue.”