Love hurts, but not as much as its side effects. However your soul is stung, it’s nothing compared to the sting of chancres, lesions, sores, and unbearable new knowledge of what the differences between those are. If you’ve been burned by a lover but feel it less in the heart and more in the groin, or–oh no! It’s reached your spine!–you may want to consider sending a more personalized message. On the following pages you’ll find the right message for every situation, no matter how many vaccines, salves, antibiotics, or painkillers it requires.
We’ve also included an accompanying Shakespearean sonnet just to class up your itching, sore sensations.
When I do count the clock that tells the time,
And see the brave day sunk in hideous night;
When I behold the violet past prime,
And sable curls all silver’d o’er with white;
When lofty trees I see barren of leaves
Which erst from heat did canopy the herd,
And summer’s green all girded up in sheaves
Borne on the bier with white and bristly beard,
Then of thy beauty do I question make,
That thou among the wastes of time must go,
Since sweets and beauties do themselves forsake
And die as fast as they see others grow;
And nothing ‘gainst Time’s scythe can make defence
Save breed, to brave him when he takes thee hence.
Bristly beard? Sounds like an excellent breeding ground for horrifying nematodes! Though they live in the intestines, the eggs thrive on transmission via hands and mouth. That’s why you’ve got…