My, my, my. What do we have here?

Pardon the smooth jazz in the background beginning to wend its rich, chocolaty melody around your senses, please; the players are but a quartet of angels hand-picked from the firmament to add a chorus to the beauty of your song.

What song? Why, the melody of you, the captivating, entrancing croon your very visage makes my heart leap to beat in time with. That, my dear, is what each of those angels play.

None, of course, are as beautiful as you, and you, of course, outshine even the roaring fire and the elegant, hand-stitched finery of - why, yes, that is a bearskin rug that's somehow velvet shag.

A lady of impeccable taste as well as luscious, spellbinding charm? I do suppose we might be able to let the silk curtains swing closed on this little scene of -

Gary.

Gary.

Jesus fuck, Gary.

No, Gary, I'm not gonna fuckin' "swipe right" on "dat ass-"

Okay, I'm sorry; Gary here's a little crass sometimes; man's got issues - what can I say? Half the time he won't even talk to me, and he ends every conversation with just getting up and walking off, and my God, he just demands money for even being in the same room. You should see how he judges your food choices when you go to dinner with him... Christ, if I didn't have to be with him for work, I'd...

Fuck.

Gary, fuck off, God fucking damn it; we're having a moment here - annnnd there he goes again.

Okay. Looks like he's waddled off in search of brighter pastures. Good.

Where were we?

Ah, yes. Let's leave Gary behind, and sink, for a moment, if you will, into a rapturous world of pleasure and indulgence, of letting passion flow, of being in the moment, free and laced with lov-

God damn it, Gary.

This one goes out to all my brethren happily looking forward to Netflix and stuff-yourself-with-chocolate Valentine's Day.

I mean, we could go out and get all fancy, but why not just stay in and fuck around, right?

Cheers!

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