Of all the powers that could be bestowed upon a childish, self-serving, winged imbecile, why must it have been love? What sense does that make? Love is more powerful than any other mixture of pheromones and hormones allowed by law, and its control falls into the underdeveloped hands of an egotistical cherub. Cupid is stupid. He’s a crooked clod. He’s the juvenile delinquent of Mount Olympus. He is not the innocent vision that Hallmark portrays on Feb. 14. His aim is poor, and his attitude is worse. Mortals and gods alike shiver at the sight of his quiver. Arrows of passion and arrows of aversion are his arsenal which he uses like a 13-year-old with a paintball gun, and it seems his shots cause more problems than pleasure.
O Phoebus, I feel your pain! Being in love with a tree is a problem I will never have to encounter, but I know that love unfulfilled is rougher than embracing bark. If Apollo could not dodge the dainty darts of Cupid, then what chance do I have? And what happens when the focus of your affection has been struck like Daphne with an arrow of lead from that heartless god of love? How can one cope?
In the end, Bogart could’ve had Bergman. It was his choice to let her go. But what if you aren’t smart enough to pocket the transport visas? What if you can’t drink gin straight? What if you’re like me-an ordinary guy, weak to the power of love. Or worse, what if you’re like Don Quixote de la Mancha? Forever destined to be devoted to his darling Dulcinea who wants nothing to do with his adoring entreats. What would you do then? Would you want to rip Cupid’s wings off? How about shove his bow where Apollo doesn’t shine?
I say to Cupid, “Avant! Fly thither from whence ye came. Because I can’t take this anymore.” Love should not be treated with such careless abuse. We mortals should not be forced to tolerate such wanton behavior from a god. I implore Zeus to move into action. We must have relief! Relief from the pains of love. Relief from finding out the one you adore doesn’t know your name. Relief from the headache that swells when thinking about whether two dates necessitate the purchasing of a Valentine’s Day present. We need relief from Cupid.
Cupid’s arrows should be stripped from him, and they should not be returned until he grows up, he gets his God Scouts of Olympus archery merit badge, and I receive a well written apology for all the trouble that he has caused me. On that fine day, Apollo and I will rent Casablanca. We will sit and take notes because Cupid will be a non-factor, and Bogart will be our king.<</p>