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- When coming up with romantic ideas, ask yourself what Clark Gable would do. Would he shave his lover’s name into his beard? Yes. Yes he would.

- If you’re unattractive and single, try asking yourself what Clint Howard would do on Valentine’s Day. Would he eat barbecued ribs and then fall asleep while masturbating? Yes. Yes he would.

- If you have a daughter, don’t call her on Valentine’s Day. She’s probably busy getting pounded by some guy, or a whole bunch of guys.

- You know what Lyle Lovett bought his girlfriend for Valentine’s Day? A castle in France. But don’t feel bad. I’m sure your girlfriend loves eating at Denny’s.

- You know what George Clooney bought his girlfriend for Valentine’s Day? Nothing. He doesn’t have to. He’s George Clooney and she’s just some chick. Sluts don’t get gifts.

- If a cellphone is pink, it counts as a romantic gift. Everyone knows that. If your lady disagrees and is ungrateful, then return it and buy yourself one of those homebrew kits where you can make your own beer.

- Hey, here’s a great idea for a gift. How about you get off your fat, worthless ass and fix that damn step on the porch like you said you would six months ago? I swear, it’s like you want to cause her grief. And is wearing deodorant on the weekends too much to ask? You smell like a goddamn prison. And why aren’t you wearing pants? Your boxers don’t even have a button on the fly. She can see the tree and the whole damn forest from here. I know you two have been together for 10 years, but try to impress her for once, mmkay?

- If you and your lady are over 60, keep in mind that anything sexual you do on Valentine’s Day is just gross. Seriously. Yuck. I don’t even know how you get into that. I would totally barf.

- Flowers fade away after a week, but a vasectomy is a gift that lasts forever.

- Red roses represent love and passion. Pink roses represent happiness and appreciation. Yellow roses mean you forgot it was Valentine’s Day, and this was all the flower shop had left at 7pm.

- Remember last week, when you were drunk and eating chicken wings while watching the Super Bowl? Man, that was way better than having a girlfriend.

- If your lady is cheating on you, track down her other lover and ask about going halfsies on a gift.

- When giving candy, it’s customary to wait at least 15 minutes before grabbing the box and eating some yourself. But 15 minutes is all she gets. After that, tough titties.

- Some women may be allergic to flowers or chocolate. The next best romantic gift is laundry detergent. Just kidding! The next best romantic gift is actually gourmet cheese.

- If your lady says you have to buy her dog a Valentine’s Day gift too, very carefully and politely explain to her that you only buy gifts for things you stick your wiener into.

- If you can’t refrain from making crude sexual jokes, then perhaps you should give your lady a gift other than a pearl necklace.

- Remember that above all, Valentine’s Day is about love and honoring the one to which you are true. And rewarding that person for letting you see them naked so often. Really, you’re pretty much just bribing them, just like you would with a stripper. But don’t tell them that.

Which was true.

Most dreams don’t have any particular purpose behind them, but this one was pretty clear to me. It was the horrible combination of two of my biggest phobias: My crippling fear of dancing, and my hatred of hanging around people who are depressed or crying. Funerals, nursing homes, Dashboard Confessional concerts: I avoid these places like David Duchovny avoids scripts without naked chicks in them.

The last time I went dancing was probably two years ago. After the annual Christmas party at work, a few girls from the office dragged me to a dance club. This is an activity I would only agree to if I were so plastered that I didn’t understand the suggestion in the first place. “Club? I love club sandwiches! Let’s go!”

Halfway through said dancing, the liquor began to wear off and I realized I had spent the past few hours on the dance floor shuffling back and forth in the same spot like an idiot. I also realized, from the looks of the people around me, that being drunk and clear of inhibitions clearly didn’t improve the quality of my dancing/shuffling at all. It just made me temporarily unaware that I was a stiff white guy from Minnesota.

I often have nightmares about dancing. I also have lots of nightmares about cats eating me after I’m dead – a strange childhood phobia I got from that scene in “Batman Returns” where cats chew on Michelle Pfeiffer’s fingers as she lies unconscious on the ground – so it’s clear that our subconscious is more interested in torturing us than helping us. I have no interest in confronting my fear of dancing, any more than I have interest in purposely passing out near a pack of feral cats to prove to myself that they won’t eat my face.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not afraid of cats. I think they’re cute, and I enjoy petting them. I just refuse to own one because I think it will eat me as I sleep. Don’t blame me; blame Tim Burton. It’s his fault.

I’ve long wished someone would come up with a way to block out dreams so I won’t remember them. In high school, I took a psychology class where we were supposed to analyze our dreams. Many of us said we hardly ever remembered our dreams, so the teacher taught us an interesting trick. She said every night before falling asleep, we should repeat the phrase “I will remember my dreams” 20 times out loud, and it would teach our subconscious to remember what we dreamt. Believe it or not, it usually worked.

I’ve tried doing the opposite, repeating “I won’t remember my dreams” 20 times each night, but that’s a lot of work just to avoid dreaming about cats, or dancing, or being eaten by cats while dancing. Also, I don’t want to block out those really cool dreams I sometimes have where Zoe Saldana and I are married and both own race cars.

I don’t even like race cars. What the hell, subconscious. Even my good dreams are stupid.

Regardless, I’m interested to see where my fear of dancing brings me next. Perhaps a dream where I have cancer and the only cure is for me to dance the disease out? Or a dream where my dancing solves crimes? Maybe a dream where Hall of Famer Carl Yastrzemski cripples my legs with a baseball bat, but is unable to finish me off because he’s eaten alive by cats.

I don’t care. All I know is any dream that ends with me not being able to dance anymore would quickly become my favorite dream of all-time.

* * *

This is your captain speaking. Just giving a friendly reminder that if you press the service button to summon a flight attendant, they will glare at you angrily as if you ran over their child with your car. If you feel this attitude is unprofessional, feel free to send an e-mail to whatever random address you can find on our website, where it will rest forever in a neglected inbox with spam advertisements for Viagra and unwanted updates from the Classmates.com account we signed up for eight years ago and then forgot about.

Flight attendants will be coming around shortly with your choice of a frozen vegetarian sandwich that hasn’t quite defrosted fully, or a plastic bowl full of mystery meat which may or may not contain pooooop. Each meal costs $12, and we only have three veggie sandwiches. Have a wonderful flight, and once again, thank you for choosing Sun Country.

* * *

This is your captain speaking. You may notice some turbulence over the next hour, as some of the checked luggage found its way out of the belly of the plane only to be sucked into one of our engines. No reason for concern though, folks. We didn’t really need that fourth engine anyway. Passengers on the left side of the aircraft can watch the charred remains of the luggage squirt out the backend of the engine and try to decipher whether it’s theirs.

While I have your attention, I’d like to use this time to tell you an interesting story about my life. A lot of people think airline pilots have it all. We get paid well, we’re incredible lovers, and these uniforms collect more poon in a week than most of you see in a lifetime. But even so, sometimes I too feel the lonely bug. Sometimes I long for a lover who will arouse my feelings instead of my enormous loins. Oh sweet Penelope! How I long for your soft kisses and intoxicating lady odor! You are dead from a snowmobiling accident, but perhaps I shall find another like you someday! Have a wonderful flight, and yet again, thank you for choosing Sun Country.

* * *

This is your captain speaking. I understand some passengers are complaining about my constant announcements, saying some of them are unnecessary and interrupt their sleep. Well pardon me for trying to start a conversation. Pardon me for being a human being with feelings. Pardon me for trying to brighten your day with behind the scenes plane-related gems that very few people have the privilege of learning. God forbid I bore you inbred sociopathic bastards with my fragile heart!

I’m putting on the fasten seatbelts sign just for spite. And no electronic devices! And you have to return your seats to their upright position! All for spite! Have a wonderful flight, and as always, thank you for choosing Sun Country.

* * *

This is your captain speaking. We’ve had a slight change in our flight plans this evening. Our stock price is down a bit, so after landing, we’ll be sitting on the tarmac for 4-5 hours, during which time we’ll charge $5 for every 10 seconds of bathroom usage. Our flight attendant Martha will stand outside the door and count your time aloud for everyone to hear.

We want to thank you one more time for choosing Sun Country airlines. We know our planes are more cramped than a city bus, and our flight attendants are considerably uglier than other airlines, but you’re poor and we thank you for being poor. Have a wonderful evening.

(The camera cuts away to a shot of the teams warming up. The broadcasters can be heard quietly arguing, all of it unintelligible except for Bill whispering “Get it together, man!” at the end.

Bill: We talked about it coming in, how this Vikings front four needs to dictate this game. If they can put pressure on Drew Brees and force him into making some bad decisions, the game could take a turn in Minnesota’s favor.

Mitch: I agree, Bill. Bad decisions can turn the tide on everything. Brees really could dictate the game with his mistakes. A few bad passes, some lost fumbles, or neglecting to utilize protection while bagging the biggest whore in his hometown during his senior year of high school, impregnating her and imprisoning himself in her rusty cage of a vagina for the rest of his life, could change the entire way the game is played.

Bill: I think Reggie Bush is a bright spot in -

Mitch: Oh, she said she wasn’t fertile during that week, Bill, but Brees should have known better. Her lower region was a vat of quicksand that still has yet to release him. The only thing that passes through is his money, his hopes and dreams, and his very soul. Drew Brees is certainly in for a lot of unpleasantness, Bill.

(Awkward pause)

Bill: I’m expecting a lot of man coverage defensively by Minnesota. They’ve been so good about keeping people out of the endzone and not giving up points. But if they’re not careful and protective of their side of the field today, you’ll see a lot of points by New Orleans.

Mitch: I’ve already talked about protection a lot today, but I want to again stress that it is of the upmost importance, Bill.

Bill: Wow. Okay, I should have seen that coming. Poor choice of words on my part.

Mitch: You have to protect your little guy, Bill.

Bill: Oh God. Please stop talking.

Mitch: If you don’t protect your little guy, the defense will cut him right off and feed him to you as you lay helpless on your back. It’s not even halftime yet in your life, and you’re already defeated, choking on the one thing that identifies you as a man.

Bill: Speaking of halftime, coming up after what I’m sure will be the longest two quarters of my life, is the Visa halftime report, where Terry, Howie, Michael, and Jimmy will give highlights and commentary.

Mitch: You know what’s great about Terry, Howie, Michael and Jimmy? Eight wives between them. Eight rotten, lousy, stinking wives. I applaud them for getting rid of their wives. They should get a tax credit. I should get a tax credit! To help pay for all this goddamn alimony, you lousy bitch! I’ll kill you, Marguerite! I’ll make Haiti look like a loud fart!

Bill: We’ll be sure to address that during the halftime show, Mitch. We’d like to take this unique segue opportunity to remind everyone to text the word “HAITI” to 90999. $10 will be charged to your cellphone bill and donated to the relief effort. Mitch will certainly be donating quite a bit after that last comment. Hey Mitch, what do you think of these newfangled cellphones? Haha, my kids are whizzes with them, but us old folks find them pretty confusing. Am I right?

Mitch: I don’t give a rat’s ass, Bill. Screw your dunce kids and their worthless robots. I can’t afford a cellphone. I . . . my . . . (Mitch begins crying).

Bill: We’d like to take this time to thank our sponsor, Taco Bell. Their chicken fajitas are, um . . .

Mitch: (Sobbing uncontrollably)

Bill: . . . the chickeniest. The most chickeny of all the chicken fajitas. Stuff some in your face today and decide for yourself. Only 99 cents if you, uh . . .

Mitch: (Wails into the microphone)

Bill: . . . if you say “Chickeny chicky chick boo” at the register. Again, that’s “Chickeny chicky chick boo.” You have to say it. It is a requirement.