There are probably some people who expect me to be extra bitter and pissed off today, since it's Valentine's Day. Well, maybe not, because then that would imply that someone out there gave a shit. But no matter, since I'm really not going to be any more angry at the world today than I am most every other day. Well, okay, maybe a little more.

One thing I most definitely cannot be bothered with is to come up with any decent new material. As such, I punt, and just refer back to my thoughts last year, because I know that I won't be able to top that.

Luckily for me, the few people I spend time with really don't give a shit about Valentine's Day, so I don't have to feel too bad. In fact, I'll (probably) be going out to dinner with a friend who's in a relationship with someone else. They have kind of an odd relationship anyway, so don't read anything at all into those dinner plans. ETP and BOETP, as far as I know, are still anti V-Day. They had a bad experience surrounding February 14th one year, so they turned their backs on the "holiday."

Coincidentally, when they were going through that, I was having a particularly bad time as well. Even worse than normal Valentine's Days, since that was a period of time when I thought I might have cancer or something. Not kidding on this one. And, you know, not to be a downer or anything. That, of course, being a total lie, because I'm looking for nothing but excuses to kill your potential buzz today. And there's not much more that can ruin good times than cancer.

We keep the ball rolling by talking about something else guaranteed to kill the mood: my balls. You see, in early February of that year, I found myself a happy little lump. Yeah, a lump in the last place a guy wants to be finding lumps. It wasn't really attached to either of my boys, but I knew it was something that wasn't supposed to be in there. And once something like that shows up, you can't help but have the "C" word constantly running through your head. Now, luckily, it turned out to be nothing serious. Just some kind of mass that can form in there, one that doesn't hurt anything but won't go away unless if they go in there and remove it. Really no need for that; I just refer to it as my third ball and go on my way.

But anyway, on Valentine's Day that year, I hadn't yet found out that all was OK -- I was still waiting for my appointment so that I could go in and have them do an ultrasound on my sack. So, why the hell am I talking about this, other than to be an asshole and make people sick? Well, call this my own version of a public service message. Hopefully this might be useful for any guy who hasn't been through this and/or doesn't know any better, but just so you're aware: finding a lump down in your nutsack isn't necessarily bad, but you should definitely get it checked immediately. Also, be decently vigilant about examining yourself. Your hands are already down there all the time anyway, fellas, so take a few moments out once in awhile and do a quick check. You won't be happy if something seems amiss, but better to find it sooner rather than later if there's something there that doesn't belong.

So anyway, you're welcome. Have fun with your dumbass holiday, everyone. Or don't, really, because that would be better in a lot of ways.