My Dearest Denise,
I know that today is Valentine’s Day and you were probably expecting a romantic night on the town but, honestly, I just don’t think I can do it this year. Please don’t get me wrong - it’s not that I don’t want to, it’s just that I’m so fucking wiped from Henry Rollins’ birthday yesterday. As I mentioned in our wedding vows, Henry Rollins was born on February 13th,1961 - which presents a huge problem for me in terms of not being completely fucking tapped-out by February 14th. As much as I would love to have a nice Valentine’s Day together, I think the best thing for me to do is stay in,rehydrate and IcyHot my delts. They fucking kill.
Denise, my love, I know what you’re thinking: “You don’t even KNOW Henry Rollins! Why must you always do this to yourself on his birthday? Why do you do this to me?” We’ve been through this, Denise. It’s because Henry Rollins fucking rules. He fucking rules so hard. Look at him:
How am I supposed to celebrate the man’s birthday? By not going super hard? By eating a little plate of cake and ice cream with a plastic fork? I love you, Denise but seriously, get real. And PLEASE don’t even start with that “You don’t need to do anything for this stranger’s birthday” talk. I’m not going down that road again. My point is, please don’t make me choose between being with you on Valentine’s Day and properly paying respect to one of the rawest motherfuckers out there… because you’re gonna lose, Denise. I love you but you’re gonna lose that battle.
You’re probably wondering where I’ve been for the past 24 hours. Well, I began yesterday as I begin every one of Henry Rollins’ birthdays, by renting a small room, pounding black coffee and seething. Next, I went outside in just basketball shorts and screamed “Sir, yes, sir!” at passing businessmen. Then I sprinted barefoot to an abandoned lot next to the dump where I constructed a makeshift “power cage” from loose scraps of chain link fence and sheet metal. I’m pretty sure I also mentioned this in our wedding vows but, in case you forgot, a power cage is a man-sized, kennel-like enclosure one can go inside to lift huge weights and thrash in honor of Henry Rollins’ big day.
Look, I know how you feel about my relationship with Henry but I want you to know it’s nothing weird or unhealthy. It’s not like I’m stalking him or anything. It’s just, I know he’s probably not the type to make a big deal of his own birthday so it falls on people like me to celebrate it in a manner befitting his gnarly-as-fuck legacy.
Anyway, all of that intense celebration really took it out of me. I hate to have to do this to you, Denise but I am just too annihilated for our dinner at Marinara Bistro tonight. Please don’t be mad. There will be plenty more Valentine’s Days but Henry Rollins only turns 54 once.
What’s that? You’re divorcing me? Okay, I understand.