It’s nearly here, the day I despise

The day of fake love and creative lies.

“I love you my darling, I love you I do!”

“Ah crap,’ I say, “Twaddle and poo!”

The special day I should get a great gift,

But what can you expect from a guy addicted to thrift?

A slab of stale chocolate, a cheap red rose?

If he brings me that I’ll punch him on the nose!

I’ll make his knees turn to jelly,

As I box him again and again in his flabby belly.

He thinks he’s so wonderful, so darn cool,

The cheap bastard, playing me for a fool,

Buying my love with something so cheap.

And that’s supposed to make me think his love is deep? The creep.

He’s just a nasty piece of work,

A pathetic predictable idiotic jerk.

I could have become the ultimate masturbator

If he put his hand in his wallet and bought me a vibrator!

Instead the stupid dick,

The pathetic penny-pinching prick,

Will probably present me with a single red flower.

I’ll flush it away when I take my power shower,

Aiming those powerful jets at the region most tender,

While I shudder and gyrate like fruit in the blender.

For a man so cheap I have no need.

Be warned, he’ll be stamped on like a toxic weed.

— Cindy Vine