Men Who Allow Groundhog Day To Take Precedence Over Sid Vicious’ Death Anniversary.

“Men” often enjoy mentioning when it’s Groundhog Day because it’s a Bill Murray movie and maybe because they themselves share the same grotesque physical qualities and personal habits as the hole-dwelling animal (oh yeah, and then there’s the “hole-dwelling” that subliminally calls to them since it’s their sole purpose in life to stick their scant appendage into something else).

Sid, with a haircut that makes him look a bit like a groundhog

Sid, with a haircut that makes him look a bit like a groundhog

But what about the more important commemorative element of February 2nd? That element being the death anniversary of Sid Vicious, whose entire essence holds a special place in the month of February. His passionate nature led him to an early demise as a result of that cold, drug-addled morning back in October of 1978 in the Chelsea Hotel, where he proved he could only take so much love from Nancy Spungen by noting, “I stabbed her, but I never meant to kill her.” After making bail for the crime on February 1, 1979, Sid would overdose on heroin in the early hours of the next day; his mother later found a note in his pocket that read, “We had a death pact, and I have to keep my half of the bargain. Please bury me next to my baby. Bury me in my leather jacket, jeans and motorcycle boots Goodbye.” Gumption like that ought to warrant February 2nd being Sid Vicious Day, not Groundhog Day. Any “bloke” who says otherwise simply hasn’t got the dick.

Men Who Don’t Treat Valentine’s Day With the Crazed, All-Consuming Nature of Sid Vicious.

When you’re in love with a broad, it’s important that you display it accordingly. Lackluster demonstrations like flowers or chocolate on Valentine’s Day are not only cliche, but show an utter lack of innovation. A complete failure to do anything at all, of course, makes you–to quote Shirley Manson on Kanye–a twat.

Your flowers are as shriveled as your penis

Your flowers are as shriveled as your penis


The best “man” to take a page from in ardency, really, is Sid Vicious from (in case you’re daft and don’t know) the Sex Pistols. The all-consuming love he felt for crack whore-chic Nancy Spungen is all you need to know about how it’s done in terms of expressing passion. Did he ultimately kill her? Yes. But it was out of love. And honestly, maybe death is a better fate than sitting in some cheesy Williamsburg restaurant on Valentine’s Day.