Hey, guess what? It’s Valentine’s Day on Saturday! And even though you forgot to get a girlfriend for the 19th year in a row, you can still enjoy the most loving holiday of the year. It’s at this time of the year where tinder registrations match those exponential graphs you’ve seen in math class. Those graphs are also a very accurate model of how many times you’ve masturbated per day leading up to Vday. You’ll most likely sign up for Tinder in a moment of weakness stemming from your inability to successfully manage a functional relationship with the guy or girl you fancy. Unfortunately for you, a time will come while you’re swiping right where matching with your crush will become as likely as me finding you while you’re reading this article. LOOK UP! No I’m not there you idiot. The fact that you looked is probably why you don’t have a bf/gf/trans-gendered love puppet. After the tips of your fingers become numb from so many swipes, you’ll close the app and return to your daily ritual of lighting a single candle in your bedroom and opening your incognito web browser.
Just as you prepare yourself to perform acts that can only be described as oscillatory and highly abrasive, you hear a faint ping emerge from your cellular device. Holy shit. To everyone’s surprise, someone has actually matched with you. What are the odds that in a school with 23,000 students, one of them might find you vaguely attractive? They’re pretty high guys. Stop being so pessimistic. You send them the wittiest line you can compose. “Did you know that the male polar bear weighs 85kg more than their female counterpart?! I’m Tonick and I fucking love polar bears!!!!” She replies! “Wow that’s cool! I’m Gin and I also love poles ;)” You’re in!
You quickly get dressed and walk out of your bedroom ready for whatever the night may hold. The night will probably be holding a penis. Right before you leave, you pull out your phone and take one last look at that conversation. You’ll look that lucky tinder match right in the eyes of their profile picture and think of all the anticipation 3 years of university life has built up inside of you, and say out loud for all your roommates to hear, “You know what? I’m gonna fuck them!” That’s when you open your front door and wade through the 3 feet of blowing snow Kingston has so graciously bestowed up you. You manage to uncover what might be the roof of your car and burrow your way into the driver’s seat. There’s a lot of snow and it’s -15°C, but it’s hard to be cold when you’re feelin so hawt. You rev the engine and explode out of your driveway, shooting a shimmering wall of white in every direction – a fitting metaphor for what’s to come. You race to the LCBO and buy a six pack of tall boys. As you swipe your debit card to pay for the drinks, a faint smile will come to your face. The person behind the counter will notice and ask, “Gonna have a fun night are we?” to which you respond, “Let’s just say it’s going to be a night to remember.” Wow… You’re actually super creepy do you know that?
You walk out of the LCBO, and get into your car. You open up your phone to double check where the love of your night awaits your arrival. “Party at 274 Alfred.” You merge back into traffic and begin your slow trek to the party. You’re like a snow leopard, patiently inching toward its prey. Why would you use “prey” as a metaphor for a person you have romantic attachments to? You are probably the creepiest person I’ve ever watched read my article. LOOK UP! Damn, you’re learning fast! You pull up to the address and park your car for the night. There’ll be no driving past this point because unlike me, you’re not an irresponsible fucking jackass who would intentionally endanger himself and others. You shotgun the first of your many tallboys like emptying the chamber of you six-shooter. As residual beer pools in your lap, you realize how stupid it is to try shotgunning a beer when you’re sitting. You clumsily dab your pants to a tolerable level of moisture and get out to approach the party. You are prepared. Ready to pounce with the same level of ferocity your last lover had when they tore apart you heart. You kick open the door and enter the party. The host looks confused and asks, “Who the fuck are you and why’d you just dropkick my door?” You shoot him a steely glance and confidently announce, “I am Tonick. Now say my name, Bitch.” The owner is disgusted and pissed. But God damn does he love your moxie. “Welcome Tonick. May your heart, and your red solo cup, be full tonight.”
You push the host out of the way as you enter into the closely packed horde of people. “Nothing stops this train” you say to yourself. You see people laughing and drinking all around you. None of that matters anymore. Your vision is clear. Your breathing is controlled. You’re zoned in. Across the party, you see them. Your mathematical mind instantly deduced your distance: 12 meters. You hang your coat on the railing, for it weighs you down and you need to be agile. You place the remained of your six-pack in the fridge, for you need your beer cold. You chug the remaining beer in your solo cup, for you need all the confidence you can muster. You approach them. Time appears to slow, similar to the time distortion witnessed by an observer approaching the event horizon of a super-massive black hole. Finally, you’ve reached them. Suddenly there’s darkness. You awaken in an unfamiliar room. You remember nothing. “Where am I?” “What have I done?” It’s early, but how early? That you don’t know. All that you do know is that your mouth is dry, and your head is sore. To quote the great George. W. Bush: “Mission Accomplished.”