 |  |  |  |
| T.S. Eliot Can Suck It |
| February is the cruelest month. |
In one of his long-winded, nearly incomprehensible poems, T.S. Eliot declared, “April is the
cruelest month.” How wrong he was. April is a freakin’ walk in the park compared to the
month of February, the cruelest month on the calendar.
What makes February so cruel, you ask? Well, for starters, February always stole my lunch
money and made fun of all the shortbus kids. Plus, February has a name that is very difficult
to pronounce. Most people say “Feb-yoo-airy” or “doggie,” but it’s actually pronounced “Feb-
brew-airy.” But the thing is, you can’t say “Feb-brew-airy” without sounding like a complete
douchebag. So you’re either wrong or an asshole.
I say we just skip the whole month, go from January straight on to March. I mean, what are we
really going to miss, anyway? Leap year? Leap year is just plain confusing. Since it’s every
four years, it would be really nice if they’d just make it the same year as the Winter Olympics
so we can not care about two things at once.
The only thing February really has going for it is a couple of bullshit holidays. President’s Day
is the biggest swindle since that hobo sold me a hamster that could allegedly tell the future. I
bet he didn’t know he was going to be delicious!
But seriously, I really consider President’s Day to be a good idea gone wrong. I can see the
Holiday Advisory Committee’s planning meeting right now. A bunch of guys are sitting around
a conference table, and the new guy pipes up and says, “Hey, you know what would kick
ass? Let’s combine two holidays! How about Christmas and Halloween?”
Then the guy at the head of the table, who’s dressed like Colonel Sanders and smoking a
cigar, stops secretly masturbating through the hole in his pocket and says, “I say, I like where
you’re going with this, son. But only a goddamn commie would want to trick-or-treat and sing
Christmas carols at the same time. I say we take Washington and Lincoln’s birthdays and put
‘em together. After all, they’re both in February (and of course he pronounces it “Feb-brew-
airy”)!”
Everybody around the table starts nodding their heads and going, “Yeah, great idea, great
idea.” Then the rat-faced bald guy in the middle raises his hand and goes, “Um, my buddies
over at Hallmark and Nestle say profit margins are way down this quarter. Can we create a
new holiday to help them out? Oh yeah, my wife’s flower shop hasn’t been doing too good
lately either.”
And the guy at the end of the table says, “Sure, why not? Let’s just dump this one in February
too.”
Enter Valentine’s Day. We all know it’s a shameless corporate ploy to sell jewelry, cards,
chocolates and flowers, but that’s not why I hate it. I hate the fact that one day determines
how much ass you’re going to get for the rest of the year. You can go all out and run up your
credit card and condemn yourself to 365 days of financial (albeit sexually-satisfied) hell, or you
can go the sensible route and spend the next year with the Vivid girls and an industrial-size box
of Kleenex. Either way, you’re fucked (only literally in the former, figuratively in both).
My suggestion? Batten down the hatches and don't go outside until March. Not worth the risk,
my friend, not worth the risk.
cruelest month.” How wrong he was. April is a freakin’ walk in the park compared to the
month of February, the cruelest month on the calendar.
What makes February so cruel, you ask? Well, for starters, February always stole my lunch
money and made fun of all the shortbus kids. Plus, February has a name that is very difficult
to pronounce. Most people say “Feb-yoo-airy” or “doggie,” but it’s actually pronounced “Feb-
brew-airy.” But the thing is, you can’t say “Feb-brew-airy” without sounding like a complete
douchebag. So you’re either wrong or an asshole.
I say we just skip the whole month, go from January straight on to March. I mean, what are we
really going to miss, anyway? Leap year? Leap year is just plain confusing. Since it’s every
four years, it would be really nice if they’d just make it the same year as the Winter Olympics
so we can not care about two things at once.
The only thing February really has going for it is a couple of bullshit holidays. President’s Day
is the biggest swindle since that hobo sold me a hamster that could allegedly tell the future. I
bet he didn’t know he was going to be delicious!
But seriously, I really consider President’s Day to be a good idea gone wrong. I can see the
Holiday Advisory Committee’s planning meeting right now. A bunch of guys are sitting around
a conference table, and the new guy pipes up and says, “Hey, you know what would kick
ass? Let’s combine two holidays! How about Christmas and Halloween?”
Then the guy at the head of the table, who’s dressed like Colonel Sanders and smoking a
cigar, stops secretly masturbating through the hole in his pocket and says, “I say, I like where
you’re going with this, son. But only a goddamn commie would want to trick-or-treat and sing
Christmas carols at the same time. I say we take Washington and Lincoln’s birthdays and put
‘em together. After all, they’re both in February (and of course he pronounces it “Feb-brew-
airy”)!”
Everybody around the table starts nodding their heads and going, “Yeah, great idea, great
idea.” Then the rat-faced bald guy in the middle raises his hand and goes, “Um, my buddies
over at Hallmark and Nestle say profit margins are way down this quarter. Can we create a
new holiday to help them out? Oh yeah, my wife’s flower shop hasn’t been doing too good
lately either.”
And the guy at the end of the table says, “Sure, why not? Let’s just dump this one in February
too.”
Enter Valentine’s Day. We all know it’s a shameless corporate ploy to sell jewelry, cards,
chocolates and flowers, but that’s not why I hate it. I hate the fact that one day determines
how much ass you’re going to get for the rest of the year. You can go all out and run up your
credit card and condemn yourself to 365 days of financial (albeit sexually-satisfied) hell, or you
can go the sensible route and spend the next year with the Vivid girls and an industrial-size box
of Kleenex. Either way, you’re fucked (only literally in the former, figuratively in both).
My suggestion? Batten down the hatches and don't go outside until March. Not worth the risk,
my friend, not worth the risk.
Comments? Email me at Admin@SurlyTaco.com
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