haiku

They had me writing Valentine's Day haiku for a thing at work. It's a little late (or way early), but go ahead and take a read.

. . . . . . . . . . . .

Valentine's Day is
kind of a weird holiday.
Sexy saint. Okay.

I don't like this day
any more than I like its
initials: V.D.

Flowers, chocolates, cards,
a fancy sit-down dinner.
No no no. Diamonds.

For someone who just
biked thirteen miles to see me,
you smell awfully nice.

This bar would be less
heartbreakingly depressing
if you weren't in it.

There's a tear in my
beer cause I'm crying for you dear....
Nah. I'm glad you're gone.

Why do birds sudden-
ly appear every time you
are near? Let's have sex.

You fart, you kick my
cat, your dad owes me money.
Will you marry me?

I remember how
you always frowned in your sleep.
I really miss you.

My one and only:
Sit with me, my beloved.
We have Syphillus.

We have herpes we
have herpes we have herpes
we still have herpes.


Scabies cookie.