Greetings, my fellow port swillers and happy St. Valentine’s Day!  If you’ll forgive me, I just can’t resist:



If only it was just chocolates.  Chocolates suggest romance, a concept that seems quaint if not downright naive in this day and age.   Indeed, ol’ Robbo might just be getting older and grouchier, but it seems to me that every year I see more advertising  for “Valentine’s gifts” that, well, don’t exactly bear discussing on a family blog, if you know what I mean and I think you do.   Let’s just say that Satan really knocked one out of the park when he arranged the Sexual Revolution.   I hope everyone is happy and fulfilled under the state into which our so-called “culture” has fallen.  (If you want to read something thoroughly depressing, I suggest checking out Kevin Williamson’s recent article on the pronification of America.  I confess this piece substantially fuels my ire this year.)

Of course, as for the chocolates themselves – and the roses, and the jewelry and the expensive dinners out –  regular friends of the decanter will know that ol’ Robbo has long despised the Hallmark/FTD/Kay’s cabal and refuses to have his wallet hoovered in the name of industrial sentimentality.  I try to make it a point to show my appreciation for Mrs. R every day.

Now, if you want a good link to ponder on the Feast of Valentine, read  this article about his life and martyrdom, and what we can learn from them.