Curse you George Hudson! Because of you we change the clocks for day light savings? What a legacy! Every year millions are grumpy on a Monday morning because we were forced to change our clocks an hour forward. I hate it.

You had this idea so you could gather more bugs in the afternoon? Really? This idea is because of insects? That’s the best you got? Well I don’t want to gather bugs and I don’t want to change my clocks.

So curse you George Hudson and your stupid idea. May your children’s children lose sleep for every tired person the morning of “spring forward.” May the bugs you love slowly chew the home of your birth to dust. May swarms of locusts eat the flowers that adorn your grave.

And as we spring forward, may time forget you. I raise a fist against you and rage against the tyranny of daylight savings.

Curse you St. Valentine for you have cursed endless generations of men with your romantic crap. How dare you set a standard so high that you would be willing for love to die. How can the rest of us match that effort to catch a woman’s eye? Or a man’s? You think this only burdens hetero men? Hardly. You’ve cursed us all on this day of love and so at last I have the courage, no the plain rage, to curse you back.

What’s the real story anyways you saint of love? Saving Christians from Nero’s lions? Or was it falling in love with your jailer’s daughter? What does any of that have to do with modern romance when there are no more Romans?

So curse you lamest of all saints. Now there is an entire day that makes people anxious for if they show not appropriate levels of affection they may find themselves in the singles section.

But are chocolates and flowers enough? Hardly. That’s been done for decades, now we have to every year set new records. Jewelry again maybe? Certainly Kay thinks so. But how much can one person show through this common gesture? Buying these things is now required, thanks to you St. Valentine.

So I hope the other saints laugh at you for the silly things we do to celebrate you. Saint of chocolates I hope you get pudgy and break out. May you prick your finger on roses and may cheap jewelry stain your skin. May your crush reject your advances and crush your heart and may you sob quietly in the dark like so many hurt souls do every year on the day contrived to celebrate you and whatever nonsense you did to earn your wings. May they be to weak to lift your sunken spirit weighed down with rejection on a day that demands affection.

A new writing game I’m playing for my own enjoyment, cursing and toasting silly things. Enjoy.

Curse you, you brainless buffoon for creating the bane of everyone’s inbox. 

What manner of demon enjoys inflicting such torment on simple people who merely desire to work in peace without endless alerts to yet another “reply all” to the boss wishing Becky Happy Birthday? 

May you never find an important email for the remainder of your wretched days.

May your boss email you about a promotion but you miss it in the flood of emails and remain stuck in your position.

May your spouse grow weary of waiting for you to advance and leave you for a middle manager with a bad comb over and a beer belly.

May you miss your exes’ text message that says she wants to get back together because of the endless “reply all” notifications that litter your phone.

May you take to drinking cinnamon whisky out of stress and may the whisky give you bad breath and worse gas so that you never get a second date all because you decided to create “reply all.” 

May you never find another email and may you ever search in vain.