Post-Valentine’s confessional: growing James Dean’s balls

(Lips drawn by Gabriele Gumu, Poster by me)


Let me begin by expressing how pissed I am. It’s quite the norm in the blog, in case you haven’t noticed, douchebags. Why? Oh, well, I don’t know… MAYBEBECAUSE Valentine’s is already gone!!! Let me explain myself, as I am not one of those extreme fanatics who are secretly tickling the taco (wink, wink) because off some random day in the calendar. No, no… sending myself flowers under the name Leo, Tom or Robert? It is too bold, even as a joke, for such countryside girl as myself. 

My Valentine’s agenda, if written on a paper, would be entirely empty (sadly?). But, thankfully, a little something ended up in the repertoire. That is a prank. Trust me, Valentine’s pranks are more cruel, but at the same time priceless.

This is the moment when I enter a metaphorical confessional. With my keyboard… (Have I mentioned that blogging is super weird sometimes?).

So, me and my little Russian bandit (read about this legend here) decided to prank the shit out of our close girlfriend. Wrote around 6 love letters under the names of 6 different guys she fancied at some point. Bitch is so affectionate,  easily likes or dislikes a person, depending on the mood, basically. We changed our handwriting styles, wrote some poems, made some drawings, we even considered the importance of different layout and typography approaches. Pretty genius, just saying…


Oh, before judging, let me point out that mailbox of love-letters was our University of The Arts’  idea. Donating money for children with cancer was also an option. And we did put all of our coins in. BAM – cruelty justified. Classic Karmic good action annulling the bad one. Anyway, our victim has received an email, saying that she got those love letters and has to come and get it. Obviously, being a girl,she started to timidly brag and ask for advise.

-‘Do you think this is spam?’ – she asked. I swear, I saw a little grin on her face.

-No, not at all. – I tried to hold in the laughter. It was hard, but I handled well.- Oh, I remember there was this thing at Uni. I think you should go and look it up.

Yadda Yadda Yadda.

-Do you think wearing red t-shirt on Valentine’s is too obvious?- She was now self-conscious.

-Sincerely, i don’t really give a flying fuck.

-I really mean it, can you tell me?

-I really meant it too, i just don’t give a damn fuck.

This and that happened, then Russian mate was a true secret spy, master of the lies, the top right hand of Vladimir Putin himself ( let me inform you for the sake of Sochi’s fiasco – she is not anti-gay). Pulled the whole scam off like a pro, with a straight face, confirming all of the lies I fed to the little bird. This started to look good, but the end result has not met the expectations. Unfortunately, due to a lack of time on the busy day, the girl, could not go and receive the letters by hand.

This would be the part of the confession when I say I am sorry. Or guilty…  Shit, how does it go again? 

We had a great lough. All of us, the masterminds and the victim.  So, my metaphorical priests, what I am pissed about is not that the prank did not end as planned. I am sad because there is that big of a ruckus on the date itself: people throwing chocolates, flowers and panties around, but only a mere Sahara of post-reactions, on the day after. A shameful walk with messed-up hair coming from singles and poor ‘let’s invest some time into this relationship’ breakfast from the couples in the shitty dinners. Even extreme cases of cake overdose or just neutral series-watching marathons is better.

I want as much love on any day!!! Pardon, my keyboard just vomited rainbows. But,indeed, It sucks that there has to be the day in the calendar to remind us about the necessity of attention for the loved ones. Any kind of attention is great, actually. Even a prank would do. Just grow yourself a pair of James Dean’s balls and rebel. Sometimes for a cause too.

Keep it UMC, UMC, UMC, babies.


Don't hold back, will ya?

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