I write greeting cards for a living.
Valentine’s Day is a way’s off, but it takes months to come up with new cards and get them printed in time.
Plus, stores are putting cards out earlier and earlier every year.
After sitting at my desk for a week, the best I could come up with was a heart in greyscale.
Inside the card:
Roses aren’t red.
And violets aren’t blue.
I’m colorblind, jerk.
If it gets rejected, I’ll just sell it to an online freebie greeting card company.
Sure, it’s cutting my own throat, but my art must be appreciated.
Tag: valentine
Cherubacide
Downtown. Valentine’s Day.
We found the body of a baby with wings in the alley.
There were three pink-shafted arrows in its chest, valentine in its hand.
“Suicide note,” grunts my partner, barely looking up from his coffee “Nothing to see here.”
“Nothing to see, Joe?” I asked. “Suicide shot himself three times in the chest, did he? A freak baby with wings, nothing to see?”
Joe stared deep into my eyes. “When love dies, you don’t want to know. Too much pain.”
Poor Joe. Guy’s hit bottom.
I guess I’ll give him the flowers and chocolates some other time.
Heartstrings
Sonya was good, her family said, but she wanted to be the absolute best.
“For the best music,” said The Devil, “you must string your violin with heartstrings. They resonate with unmatched beauty.”
So, at her concerts, playing her best, she captured heart after beating heart, luring the men to her home to harvest the strings she needed.
Still, she didn’t sound like the best of all.
The Devil laughed. “They have to be from people you love the most.”
Her mother.
Her father.
Her sister.
Herself.
The Devil laughed at the carnage, rosined Sonya’s bow, and played.
Magnificent!
The Girl Of My Dreams
She was the girl of my dreams.
Every time I’d go to sleep, I’d dream of her.
Adventure.
Romance.
Excitement.
I’d rescue her from all kinds of dangerous predicaments.
Then. when I woke up, she was gone.
“I’ve got to find her,” I said.
So, I looked. Everywhere.
I spent all I had on detectives to search the world for her.
When I found her, she attacked me with a knife.
“Why?” I groaned. “Why did you attack me?”
“You,” she said. “You’re the man from all my nightmares. Whenever you appear, bad always happens.”
And she stabbed me again.
Don’t believe the frog
No, you’re not imagining things. That frog out by the castle gate can talk.
Let me guess: he says he’s a prince, and all you have to do is kiss him to change him back?
Yeah, that’s true. But he’s not telling you the whole story.
Sure, he’s a prince, but he was changed into a frog because he had been bitten by a werewolf.
Since the castle’s healer doesn’t have a cure for lycanthropy, he had the court magician turn the prince into a frog.
So go ahead. Kiss him. Be my guest.
Get your damn throat torn out.
Breaking hearts
She has a reputation for breaking hearts.
Which is why she got pulled off of the artificial heart assembly line and put in the product testing group.
“If you’re going to break these things, we’d rather you do it in a way that helps save lives, not kill people,” said the factory managers.
The curious thing is, when she breaks a heart, analysts look over the heart and can’t find the reason why it failed.
“She had such promise,” says a factory manager. “So much potential. It’s too painful to watch her fail like this.”
And another heart is broken.
Love transplant
Look, it’s Valentine’s Day, and we’ve got to deal with this together.
Fred’s dead, and there’s no changing that, but that doesn’t mean your love has to die with him.
They got him to the hospital in time to harvest your love out of him and implant it in me.
The recovery’s been difficult, but with intensive rehabilitation, I think I’m ready to leave the hospital.
The doctors warned me there was a risk of rejection… did you take the pills they gave you?
No? Yes?
Oh well. I guess you’ll just have to settle for loving just me then.
A gift for Valentine’s
When we were married, I swore I’d give you my heart forever.
For health, and sickness.
The doctor said that you needed a new heart, but a bad risk for transplant surgery.
You were way down the transplant list. No point in keeping the battery in the pager fresh.
I went to bed, telling myself that this would be the last sleep I’d ever sleep.
The next morning, I woke up with every intention to kill myself and let the doctors give you my heart.
But you were cold. Still. Not breathing.
You died in your sleep.
Oh, never mind.
Die In A Fire
Did I ever tell you about my friend Diana Fire?
Parents can be cruel, choosing names.
When she was a child, she liked to play with matches. Every year, she’d ask for a new Barbie Dream House, but by Valentine’s day, Barbie would be back in her shoebox, hair singed and skin scorched a bit more.
Through the years, she blazed a trial through homes, jobs – burning every bridge.
I got a call this morning. Had to identify her body.
Froze to death after getting locked in a walk-in cooler. Ruined the irony potential there.
So we’ll have her cremated.
What do we charge?
676016
What do we charge for a love potion?
Only ten bucks. They’re pretty cheap and easy to make, when you think about it.
Heck, the bottle costs more than the ingredients, which are just rainwater and a little salt.
This is why we try to have you drink these things in the store, or we ask that you bring the empty bottle when you want the antidote.
Why do we charge a thousand bucks for the antidote when the love potion costs only ten?
Because we can.
And based on how desperate people are, they’ll drink it out of anything.