Love is just a four-letter word

"Eeh hee hee! A book?!
C'mere, you fucking daft get!"

February: that most romantic of months. Not because you actually stand more of a chance of getting owt in the sack, but because the forlorn hope, the huge expense and the inevitable crushing disappointment are the stuff of the finest Mills & Boon. February is when you feel duty bound to splash out on pathetic tat, simply because cynical marketing cunts tell you to.

But we're not like that. We wouldn't tart up the Burglar's Dog Book in hearts and flowers, and desperately try to hawk the last remaining copies so our publishers tonto press can finally get back into their garage. Link? What link? You mean this one?

Oh, go on then, Casanova. After all, at a bargain Ł6.59 (+ P&P) it costs less than flowers or champagne or a fancy box of Thornton's chocs. What have you got to lose, apart from your cherry?

What's that you're saying? You don't think a foul-mouthed and irascible pub guide is an appropriate gift for Valentine's? You'd prefer to stick with something more traditional. Allow us to be so bold as to guess what that entails:

For him: some piss-poor cuddly toy he wouldn't wash the fucking car with, or Homer Simpson boxer shorts from Primark, or a posing pouch that goes right up his crease.

For her: pot-luck PVC shit worn by the dummies in Ann Summers' window, or a Girls Night In compilation, or any old sodding crap with a bear on it.

Are we right?

So aye, go on. You go right ahead and buy your drippy Madeleine Peyroux CD, or that big chocolate cock with a white fondant filling, you lovable funster. Stick it on the list with all the other shite you've bought over the years, the one that shows the target of your affections just how little imagination you have. Show them the lifetime of tedium they have in store if they only realise that - underneath your bashful, gauche exterior - lies an utter, utter cunt

Then again, you could always reach for the starriest of skies and treat your beloved to The Burglar's Dog Guide to Drinking in Newcastle upon Tyne. The most tender ode to tipsy loving published in many a blue moon, this weighty tome ascends to the absolute pinnacle of modern romantic literature. And, as we say, it's less than a tenner all in.

Not convinced? Here are just some of the quotes from mags that lasses read:

"Indispensable" - Marie Claire
"Essential relationship guide for the modern couple" - Cosmopolitan
"Ooh la la!" - Grazia
"It will change the way you think about love" - Vogue
"You'll be knuckle deep" - The Gusset Typist

It's up to you: do you want to look as blissful as this smug pair of middle-aged fucks, or do you want to spend the next few months sitting on your tod, with a hanky in your paw, alternately dabbing twixt eyes and genitals?

LOOK, JUST BUY THE DAMN THING, WILL YOU? Buy TWO. Keep on buying them, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health. After all, is love a one-off gesture? We think if you look deep, deep down in your heart, you'll find the answer to that. The answers to everything else are found within the pages of our book.

And if you're reading this after February 14th, remember it's not too late to give them that special present. Look deep into their eyes, tell them they're worth much more than the tacky emotional shysterism of Valentine's Day, and then hand over your heartfelt gift. We can GUARANTEE a lifetime of love and understanding between you and your paramour. Might even be some bum fun, too. Do we really need to say more?
I know that look, mister. I told you last time: I am NEVER letting you do that again

Here's that link, once more with feeling: