THE DAILY TRAVESTY | Candy Hearts, Big Bubba's Valentine
THE DAILY TRAVESTY for February 14, 2000
    Volume 1, Issue 30
 
The Travesty Online: www.angelfire.com/zine/dailytravesty
 
We have decided to actually let you access the first five links on the "Recommended Links" section of our website.  We were just teasing you before.
 
 
        "...I don't know that I have a solution, old fellow; it
        may be one of those ultimately insoluble puzzles, a maze
        from which there is no escape, if you take my meaning.
        Still, I wonder sometimes whether one might not come
        moderately close to an answer - know the direction of it,
        you see - if one says that love, of God or of another
        human, is not so much the desire to possess the other as
        the desire to be possessed totally by the other..."
                        --Andrew M. Greeley, Younger Than Springtime
 
JONATHAN KEATS of Salon.com on Those Candy Hearts
 
So, what remains of romance this Valentine's Day?  Those candy hearts, with their two-word prescriptions, provide as accurate a diagnosis as any.  There's BE MINE, of course, although it's not nearly so common anymore as the telecommunications series, which includes CALL ME, PAGE ME, FAX ME, EMAIL ME and 1800 CUPID.  Even those candies that don't conspire to put untold circuitry and fiber-optic cable between prospective lovers are noncommittal (HOW NICE), or uncompromising (MY WAY).
 
Eat the entire bag (candy hearts are fat-free), and eventually you digest, in a Beckett does "Sleepless in Seattle" kind of way, the whole of Valentine's Day's romantic potential:
 
HIM: I hope.
HER: It's love.
HIM: For you.
HER: For keeps.
HIM: Be true.
HER: Ask me.
HIM: Only you.
HER: It's true.
HIM: Marry me.
HER: I do.
HIM: All mine.
HER: Get real.

Best to buy a packet of Rolaids, treat the heartburn and call it a night.  Best to save love for a more amiable day.

 
Like the Ides of March.
 
visit www.salon.com
original and free news, reviews, columns and articles
 
Happy Valentines Day from Bubba----
 
Big Bubba's Ode to his Valentine

Collards is green,
my dog's name is Blue
and I'm so lucky
to have a sweet thang like you.

Yore hair is like cornsilk
a-flapping in the breeze.
Softer than Blue's
and without all them fleas.

Yo're as satisfy'n as okry
jist a-fry'n in the pan.
Yo're as fragrant as "snuff"
right out of the can.

You have some'a yore teeth,
for which I am proud;
I hold my head high
when we're in a crowd.

On special occasions,
when you shave under yore arms,
well, I'm in hawg heaven,
and awed by yore charms.

Cut from the best cloth
like a plaid flannel shirt,
you spark up my life
more than a fresh load of dirt .

When you hold me real tight
like a padded gunrack,
my life is complete;
Ain't nuttin' I lack.

Yore complexion, it's perfection,
like the best vinyl sidin'.
despite all the years,
yore age, it keeps hidin'.

And when you get old
like a '57 Chevy,
I won't put you on blocks
and let grass grow up heavy.

Me 'n' you's like a Moon Pie
with a RC cold drank,
we go together
like a skunk goes with stank.

Some men, they buy chocolate
for Valentine's Day;
They git it at Wal-Mart,
it's romantic that way.

Some men git roses
on that special day
from the cooler at Kroger.
"That's impressive," I say.

Some men buy fine diamonds
from a flea market booth.
"Diamonds are forever,"
they explain, suave and couth.

But for this man, honey,
these won't do.
Cause yor'e too special,
you sweet thang you.

I got you a gift,
without taste nor odor,
more useful than diamonds......
IT'S   A   NEW   TROLL'N   MOTOR!!

Luv from yor'e romeo,
        Big Bubba!

PS...Can I borrow yor'e new troll'n motor next weekend luvy duvy?
 
Every time you're near  Every time I see your smile  Hear your hello  Saying you can only stay awhile  Heaven knows that it's time for you to say the things we both know are true  Every time I hear  How you never want to live a lie  That it's gone too far  And you don't have to tell me why  While you're going  And when the game is through  If this is what's real  If this is what's true  Then tell me how come I... I keep forgettin' we're not in love anymore  I keep forgettin' things will never be the same again  I keep forgettin' how you made that so clear  I keep forgettin' babe
See, this is what happens when I'm in a bad mood and nobody sends stuff in: we are reduced to publishing lame redneck jokes.  By the way, just because your ancestors happen to be from Appalachia does not make them (or you) hillbillies, even if they do have names like DellRita and Cling and insist on telling you the most disgusting stories about themselves.  Just thought I'd reassure you.