Billy is pointing up just long enough for the Phillies to kick him square in the nuts.

February is a terrible month.  The month is a cold, unforgiving time of year deriving its only solace from its brevity and the presumption that you have someone you care about enough to shove enough chocolate in their direction to render them a diabetic so you don’t ponder taking your own life.  The famous gangster Al Capone thought the month perfect for allegedly slaughtering a bunch of his rivals, adding to the pantheon of bad crap that happens in February.  It also happens to be the time of year when pitchers and catchers report to their various spring training destinations to begin their preparations for the forthcoming baseball season.

Personally, my family and I prefer to celebrate the holiday as it was intended.  We sacrifice goats, wear their skin and lash passing females to ensure fertility.  Actually, I usually just complain loudly that the greeting card industry/ flower growers lobby invented the holiday in an attempt to force me to feel like I need to justify my feelings for my wife with cheap shit you can buy at CVS while simultaneously counting down (in earnest) to pitchers and catchers reporting to Clearwater Forida.  If you are keeping track, pitchers and catchers report on the 19th.
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