Dear Christy,

It's that typical time-of-year. I don't have a Valentine and I'm bitter. Help me tell this world to f*ck Valentine's Day. It's depressing, it's red and it's all over the place.

—The Anti

Seeing red:

It's better late than pregnant.

Oh. Not your period.

My condolences for your lack of lover. I'll be your Valentine. You can shove fistfuls of pie in my mouth and I'll give you a hefty pinch on the tushy, complete with fingernails.

Think of Friday as but a day when afternoon happy hour turns into blackout grinding, turns into a Saturday morning taxi in your night-before slutfit, turns into housing a tortilla filled with melted Velveeta, turns into noontime Bloody Marys, slutfit (with added cheese stains) still intact.

Christy Fantz
Christy Fantz

Valentine's Day is really quite easy to avoid, unless you work at Walgreens. So don't let this religious holiday bust your hump and ride you to anger. While St. Valentine is winning, you're crying and bleeding all over the place. Right. Not your period.

Love yourself for the day and spank your liver like the bad bitch it's been. Spank it hard with Wild Turkey.

When you wake on Friday the 14th, wake with confidence. Look in the mirror and show it some teeth. Give yourself a little pep talk: tell yourself how beautiful you are inside and out. Pull a Fantz that day: Get a heart tattoo on your ass with your own name in it. (Or just tattoo "Christy" inside it and I'll buy you a drink.)


Then get a room with your vibrator because we've gone motivational speaker overboard.

Remember that Christy loves you. (I speak for my ass tattoo.)

Dear Christy,


My dad is dating a murderer. He's fallen in love with a woman in a Tennessee prison. He's never even met the woman but he's become completely obsessed with her! The woman has been married six times, and it was the death of No. 6 that sent her to prison. How do I talk some sense into my off-his-rocker father?

—No so orange and black

Oh dear, tattoo tear:

It's 100 percent possible to fall in blind love. From the flying crow, to penpals, to Craigslist, it will continue to happen. The first face-to-face is where said love is either cemented or shunned. So that's the day you need to panic about.

Problem is, dad is, well, dad. Who tells dad what to do? What if he spanks you?

Talk to him as an extremely concerned daughter. Maybe you'll find he's just more into having a penpal. Maybe he's just lonely. Ship him off to a bingo hall in a leisure suit. Get the man laid.

But talk to him. You know your dad. Walk on every eggshell, then rip him a new one, daughter-style.

All fails, bust into the inside and rub her out. Not as in, um, prison sex...

Or murder.

This is getting awkward.

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