What Love Is

Okay.

You taking off?

Yeah.

Mysterious.

All right.

Happy Valentine's day.

Say, hey, my man.

Hey, what's up, tom?

Thanks, tom.

Happy Valentine's day.

What do you mean you're

leaving me? You're not here.

Technically, you can't leave me

until you're here to leave.

Well, hell, yes,

I'm gonna argue semantics, Sara.

It's the least I can do.

I come home on Valentine's day

with two bags ready to go

by the front door

and a dear John telling me

how you need your space?

Come on, what is that?

That is totally unoriginal

and completely devoid

of any real information

that would give me some insight

to why you're doing this.

Hell, yes, I want to know.

I'm asking you, right?

I'm not yelling.

I'm just speaking pointedly

to make my point.

F*** the neighbors.

It's 2:
00 in the morning

on a Saturday night.

F*** 'em if they don't have

a social life. No, no, no.

Sara, listen, don't leave me.

You can't leave me. I mean,

I've done everything

I know how to do.

I've given you every ounce

of my heart and soul.

I've given more of myself to you

than I've ever given

anybody else.

After three years,

you're gonna walk out.

You're gonna throw me away

like that

and not even tell me why?

Yeah, yeah,

I'm gonna be here.

I invited half the bar over

to help us

celebrate Valentine's day,

remember?

Okay, all right.

Well, then I'll see you

when you get here.

Bye.

F***.

Christ, Tommy, you left about

five minutes too soon.

Seriously, five minutes.

Unbelievable.

Where are the girls?

What?

Didn't you invite chicks?

That's not what this

is supposed to be about.

Oh, Christ, Tommy.

Thank god I did, huh?

What?

Yeah, broads, skirts.

I got a gang of girls

coming over in 15 minutes,

so be prepared.

No, you don't understand.

No, you don't understand.

After what happened,

I'm not gonna

sit around here with guys sword

fighting on Valentine's day.

I need chicks,

and I need 'em now.

Why? What happened?

Oh, you remember Charlotte,

right?

Charlotte?

The dancer. With the thing.

What thing?

The f***ed-up Peter Falk eye.

Oh, yeah, sure, she was nice.

I threw her out.

You threw her out. Why?

It got embarrassing taking

her out, showing her around,

always that eye

looming out at you.

I'm telling you, that thing

had a mind of its own.

Anyways, it made me

feel self-conscious.

Something made you

feel self-conscious?

You believe that?

Chocolates, you shouldn't have.

Anyway,

you cannot be with someone

you're ashamed to be seen with.

It's not practical.

You spend so much time

going to places

that you never go,

trying not to run into people

that you do know.

It doesn't make any sense.

Besides, she wasn't exactly

sending rockets to the moon.

What'd she say?

She informed me

that the world

does not evolve around me.

She said "evolve"?

Evolve.

You didn't redeem yourself

by telling her

your theory of revolution?

No, I just cut her off.

You cut her off.

She was starting

to get too clingy.

Who you trying to convince?

You know how they get

with "honey this,"

and "honey that. " I thought

I was turning into a bee.

I cut her off this morning

on the phone.

On the phone?

On the phone.

How'd she take it?

What'd she say?

Don't know.

I asked if she'd met tone,

she said no.

You know the rest. Click.

That's horrible, Sal. I thought

you said this girl was nice.

My dog's nice. You don't

see me talking dirty to her.

If you did,

I wouldn't tell anybody.

Butch ain't the spitting image

of Columbo.

True. Give me a beer.

Anyway, so that was today.

Tonight, knowing

I'm gonna be at the bar,

she comes in with this big,

muscle-bound beach guy,

trying to make me jealous.

Me. Ha.

Gino points 'em out, and I'm

a bit sauced up at this point,

and I walk over

and I say, "hey,

you're not really with this

hippie-fied fag, are you?"

He stands up and says,

"what'd you say?"

I pulled back my jacket

just enough

so he can see my piece

and I said,

"I just called you

a cockeyed-loving,

"biscuit-lipped,

hippie-fied-looking fag.

Now what are you gonna do?"

Holy sh*t. What did he do?

What can he do? His tanned ass

turned white as a ghost

and made like Ralph Kramden...

homina-homina-homina. Heh.

So I go back

to drinking.

Gino comes over later and says,

"will you look at that?"

And there is Fabio making out

with Columbo all over my bar.

Whatever. So I finish up

my whiskey and I walk over.

I slap Tarzan, and I say...

Holy sh*t.

"Antonio Banderas, you know,

you're kissing my old girl. "

And he says, "yeah?"

I say, "yeah.

How's my cock taste?"

Holy sh*t.

So I strolled up out of there,

I grabbed myself a bottle

of maker's and here I am.

Ha-ha-ha. Holy sh*t.

And she was kissing

that Fabio guy

right there in front of you?

Yeah.

The two of you broke up

this morning?

I broke up with her.

Now, why they do that?

Women are supposed

to be sensitive.

Women f***ing suck.

You think so?

No, some suck,

but few suck well.

I cannot tell you the last time

I had a halfway-decent blowj*b.

Must admit, it is a lost art.

I stop 'em half the time.

I'm, like, "yo, yo, yo.

It ain't a f***ing artichoke,

all right?"

Totally.

And the funny thing is...

These women think

they're so fantastic at it.

I cannot tell you how many times

in my life I've heard,

"oh, baby, you cannot handle me.

I will rock your world. "

Then it comes time

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