There is a little arrow wielding cherub out there who sure lurves to mess with us.
We see waaay too much of him in mythology, the month of February (his capitalist side anyways) and when we ourselves lose our capacity to think straight.
The only complaint I have with this little prankster is his use of those damn arrows.
Why arrows? Can't he just politely come over, tap us on the shoulder and inform us that he is about to turn our world upside down?
And while he's at it, can he also hand us some sort of survival package to help us navigate our way through the heaven-slash-hell that he is about to put us through? This package should include some sort of insurance, a liability waiver form, a bottle of Jack or vodka, a shot glass and a list of emergency numbers you can call lest your mobile conks out on you.
Arrows. How apt.
That cherub should just grow up and see how it feels to be hit with one of his own poisonous darts.
By the way, according to myth, he did fall in love once - and it didn't work out...or rather, the Greeks aren't sure if it did or not.
I'm close to hysterical laughter right now. If a god of love can't get his own story right what the eff are our mortal chances of EVER getting it right??????
Think about it ladies.
I'd laugh if it weren't so effing sad suddenly.
ahahahaha?
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