PETER’S GATES, HEAVEN⎼ So it’s come to my attention that in this millennia-old game of telephone we call the Christian faith, you all got confused about what this day was supposed to be about. Saint Valentine’s Day, or as you clods call it, “Valentine’s Day”, has become an unholy mess of spending money, people being sad, people being irritated, people being irritated at the irritated people, and Lifetime TV movie specials.

I’m not happy. I’m really not. When I decided to be the goddamn patron saint of courtly love, I did not expect you all to turn my name day into a clusterfuck of failed expectations. Do you even know what else I’m the patron saint of? Epilepsy, pestilence, and bees. Maybe if you spent a little less time with your honey and actually bought some damn honey the bees wouldn’t need my constant help to stay alive as a species. God. I have to do everything around here.

All it takes is a few high-profile baptisms and the next thing you know Hallmark is using your name to sell goddamn stuffed animals. 

I just guess I’m trying to say that I’ve been feeling super underappreciated lately and would like to feel some of the love that you all are hell bent on associating with me. Is that so hard to do? Is it? Someone buy me a bottle of Barefoot Moscato and bring over The Notebook. I’m so sick of this stupid holiday.

No love from me,

St. Valentine