Yes! I know! THREE GALLONS! Hoop de damn doo!

Today, we celebrate one of the greatest heroes of Catholicism: Vincent Valentine, the patron saint of lovers who warded off an armada of vampire zombie aliens in the weening hours of February 14, 1272 after fighting off another armada of hybrid dinosaur intellects (who had amassed their prehistoric brains to destroy mankind) and a whole shitload of atomic robots (who werent so much pissed off about humankind but about how they werent allowed to have premarital robot sex). He killed these 3 amassed armies with a dead chincilla, a quill of Elven arrows, an automatic crossbow, and a WHOLE lotta luck from Jizzy Chrizzy. After so, he tamed the mongul hordes that had built a flying palace and helped the savages of North America find Jesus through two Golden Tablets he made from the spoils of his last campaign against the Mole People of Babylon (Now Iraq). As well, in later years, he led a group of superpowered vigilantes (Galileo, Artemis Prime, and D'Angelo the Wonder-Italian) into the heart of the heavily fortified Vatican City to stop Bizzaro Pope Phillip II and his evil Protestent regime of ninja dolphins. And how do we pay tribute to this vampire slaying dinohunter? We give out cheezy love sick poetry written on overcharged cardboard, distribute generic flowers that (like your love) will wither and die due to loss of interest, and an array of chocolates that will either be tossed in the trash or fed to your poor friend all because St. Valentine really loved his job, and you should love whoever you do likewize.

If any of this story was true, then I'd give a flying fuck about Valentine's Day.