Tick Tock

Procrastinating dear-hearts--

It's the last weekend before Valentine's Day. Don't eff this up.

Don't act like you don't know why you never get to take ol' one-eye to the optometrist. It's because you're a crappy planner. No one wants to go on a date with someone who can't plan beyond, "Uh, I don't know...why don't we just order a pizza and bang one out?" Even if that's your ultimate intention, you can't be so obvious, dipshit. You have to act as if you give a flying fig about all the events leading up to the two-person push-ups.

Planning: you suck at it. Ol' girl's always saying you never take her anywhere nice. You never go out for Valentine's Day dinner because all the restaurants are booked solid by the time you get around to making reservations. And what can you say, dick? That you called five restaurants a full hour before you were hoping to arrive and they all said they were booked solid, the stingy sons-o-bitches? Same story with that fancy-pants hotspot restaurant she wanted to go to for her birthday, right? I mean, haven't you both enjoyed some fancy Taco Bell mexican and Pizza Hut italian dinners because you have the planning ability of the goddamn French Army?

And how many times have you two gotten into an argument outside of a sold-out movie theater because of your inability to grasp the meaning of "opening weekend"? How were you supposed to know that the movies you both wanted to see would sell out by 7 pm on a Friday night, leaving you to watch whatever still had open seats? And didn't you catch her laughing once or twice during Superbabies: Baby Geniuses 2?

Those days are behind you. You're changing your ways. More specifically, you're changing your shopping habits. See, the good folks at KY have gotten cleverer and cleverer at marketing Oil-Of-A-Lay. Seems that either a) KY's dippity-goo wasn't selling well enough on its own, or b) Slip-A-Dee-Dude-Ahhh needed to extend its appeal to losers like you, who couldn't plan a shopping list for a goddamn grilled cheese sandwich, much less a date that would necessitate Penizoil.

Guess they realized that, unless you--and those pitiful pukes like you--ever manage to plan a date, then you'll never even get a chance to employ their Gee, Your Cooch Smells Terrific, because you'll never spear the bearded clam. You'll just be home alone, dry humping the ottoman. And while fiddling your flesh flute may be fun, it doesn't sell Stiffy Lube. No planning, no tickling her belly from the inside. No threading the needle. No RumpleForeskin. You get the idea.

So. KY has done the planning for you. Check it:

Just look at that. What does it take to get her to ride your hobby horse? A movie date? Well, then, you've come to the right place. Buy some Aunt Maude's Old-Tyme Wicker Slicker, get some movie tickets, guarantee your snake a bush to hide in. Next!

Maybe the object of your leader-of-the-sack's affection just needs all the fake feeling of a Hallmark card a sweet sentiment to give up the ham wallet. Try this:

Buy some I Can't Believe It's Not Buttah!, get a free card! You'll be delivering a hot beef injection in no time!

Oh. And. By the by, you shitty planner, she's sick of your buying all her Christmas gifts down at the Seven Eleven on Christmas Eve, so start shopping now, dick.