Stuck as to what to do on Valentines Day? Lonely and sure you're going to die alone, your body eaten by wolves (you wish)? Single and ready to mingle, or at least tingle? Take the El Cheapo way out and come bowl with ~
ME~ on Saturday. What's a better ode to the power of love than rental shoes, stubbed fingers and greasy pizza that's been sitting under a heat lamp since the Cretaceous period?
NOTHING. For those assorted couples who can keep their pookie eyes to themselves, come on by as well! If you violate the uncoupling code and get nauseating, in twenty years the bowling alley will be the site of an urban legend that culminates in the line "...and then they never found the lovers' heads...". This is intended to be a safe place for grouchiness and singleness and self-esteem crises, not an opportunity for you to host a speech about how you finally found ~the one~.
If I sound grumpy,
it's because I am. I know I'm supposed to be cool and aloof and not care about Valentines Day, but I'm not, so. This is me being passive aggressive about it. Or is this aggressive? IDK IDK. COME BOWLING.