It wasn't Sesame Street, that much was for sure. While Snuffalupagus didn't meander around the streetlamp, crack addicts did. Oscar the Grouch was replaced by a garbage can and inside--more garbage! And instead of the friendly faces of Ernie, Bert, Grover, Elmo, Big Bird, Gordon, and Telly, the most you would ever see on this city block was a rotting dead man. Nothing swept these clouds away.

Until February 14, 2004 rolled around, that is. On this one day of the year something magical always seemed to happen. Elsewhere. But here, in San Malo, California, the word "love" hadn't even been invented yet. Tonight it would be.

As far as Dick Baltwood was concerned, love was an illusion, and not a very good one. True, he believed in the classic American values: Pride, Money, and Animalistic Lust. Beyond that there was Dick. He was an actor for the San Malo Repertory Company of Flailing Careers, which consisted mainly of professional waiters trying to earn money on the side. He lived alone with his ego for many years, but soon had to find a bigger apartment. Dick was as shallow as a river that's really not too deep; and everyday he looked in the mirror for a good half hour. He had dreams of getting rich, getting away from San Malo, and getting out of this sloppy exposition. Let's put it this way: the man was just like his name--a real Baltwood!

Dick had a guardian angel named Cynthia who watched over him always. She was as magic as that river from the previous analogy was shallow, but she dreadfully wanted to return to life on Earth. She never appreciated the wonderful job security she had in being a guardian angel, and rather resented the fact that in Heaven, the Saints always got to sit in the front of the bus, while the angels took the rear. But that was neither here nor there, since on this Valentine's Day, Cynthia was convinced that her subject was in deadly trouble. And she hated Simon with a passion.

Simon was a snake-man. Half man, half snake. From the neck up he displayed all of the features of a python, including his slimy forked tongue, his deep-set eyes, and basically his snake head. He also had arms and glasses, but at the time of this story, he was thinking about contacts; so if you're looking for Simon, be less on the lookout for the glasses, and concentrate more on the snake head. He was the result of an Affirmative Action program gone wrong, instituted under the leadership of President Steven Tyler. Working his way up in the theater world like a snake-man can, Simon became the director of a series of one-act plays at Dick's theater. He hated Dick with a passion similar to Cynthia's dislike for Simon himself, but even more identical to the actual shallowness of the aforementioned river. Another important characteristic of Simon was that he ate toddlers.

After a long day of blocking--a circle of hell unto itself--Simon ordered the cast to go home and get some rest. His ways of wickedness were subtle, but those are the kinds that sting the most. As he chowed down on the pelvis of a two-year-old, Dick approached him.

"Simon. I think possibly you made some bad choices today, and if you don't mind I would like to discuss them with you at whatever time is best for you."

"No! I hate you, Dick. You couldn't act your way out of an algebra equation, so I will not listen to your criticisms. In fact, you are being replaced!"

"What?! Me?! Replaced?! Me?! What?!"

"I'm sorry, Dick, but even palindromes can't save you now. Ha ha ha." And as he said this, he sipped the blood out of the toddler in his hand.

"Who could possibly replace me--an actor of my caliber?" questioned Dick.

"He's a TV star. In fact, he's backstage now. Come on out here!"

And with that the curtains opened to reveal a small, blue monster with cookies in his hand. In his eyes was a twinkle of mischief, a dabble of pathos, and some cookie crumbs. With an overzealous click of his heels, he ran over to Simon and Dick, howling with delight.

"Cooooooookies. Cookies, cookies, cookies!"

Dick retorted, "Cookie Monster? I'm being replaced by Cookie Monster?"

But all Simon and Cookie could respond with was a few cackles of laughter. Dick threw a tantrum, but there was no use. He was finished, wasn't he? No, he wasn't. I know because I've just decided how this story will end. It was pretty unfair to ask you, come to think about it, but . . . anyway. There was a catch to all of this.

Simon stopped Dick right before he left and said, "Wait a minute, Baltwood. There is a chance you can have your part back."

"Really? What is it? What can I do?

"I might consider hiring you back if you can perform a few simple tasks."

"Anything, Simon, anything. This production of 'Beer, Blood, & Ashes,' is a pivotal role in my career."

"Fine, fine. If you want the part, you must obtain three things for me before tomorrow's practice. You must find me a four-leaf clover that's missing a leaf. You must go to the sea shore and get a half-chewed apple out of the mouth of Cap'n Peter the Meek. And you must go to the strip and persuade a hooker to work for charity."
"What's the charity?"

"Me, you fool! Me!"

"And that's it, Simon?"

"Or else the part goes to the Cookie Monster."

Cookie Monster again began laughing maniacally, pausing only to eat cookies. Simon finished his toddler, and washed it down with some RC Cola. After Dick left, Simon turned to Cookie Monster.

"Do you think he'll actually attempt these ridiculous tasks, designed only to make this the most miserable Valentine's Day of his life? Do you, my blue-colored confectionery partner in evil?"

"Coooooooooooookies!"

Simon questioned the monster's rationale behind such a bold statement, but soon understood the subtext.

"Ah, yes. Indeed. Cookies. Heh heh heh."

Meanwhile, Dick was despondent, filled with despair, depression and danishes from the local Dunkin Danishes. His head was spinning on an axis that only time would determine. It was then and there that he had his first realization. Then was around 7:30 at night, and there was in a dirty alley--just so you know. As he lay upon a cardboard box, he thought aloud to himself.

Why am I even bothering with this? Maybe Cookie Monster deserves the part more than me. He is a Guild member, and a star in his own right. All I really have is good looks, a deep voice, and a legion of stray cats who follow me around."

Suddenly a legion of cats ran around the corner and laid by his side.

"You are my only friends, you pussy cats. That is to say me, whom many call Dick, seem only to be loved by the lot of you, which most would call pussies. Which to put it even simpler . . . Anyway, I want to lie right here with you guys tonight."

From the sky, a bright light flashed, which was probably a plane flying by. But later on, another light shone down from atop the buildings. With a magical thud and a puff of dry ice, Cynthia landed on the street near Dick and his cats. She kissed him on the forehead, and he awoke.

"Dick. Wake up, Dick. It is me--Cynthia."

"Cynthia? You're back? I thought you were dead."

"I am Dick. I no longer dwell in this mortal coil."

"Does that mean you get to fly around all the time, helping people, without ever having to pay back your college loans?"

"Yes, Dick. I suppose it does. But the only person I ever help is you. You see, I am your guardian angel."

"That's ironic, seeing as how I was the one who accidentally killed you that day in the greenhouse with that deadly pesticide."

"That was you? You son-of-a-bitch."

Then she punched him in the chest, and it hurt a lot.

"That hurt a lot!" he exclaimed.

"Sorry. Probably not as much as it hurt when I FUCKING DIED!"

"True. Hey, sorry about that. My bad. But now you're here to help me find those three things, so that I can return to the part of Michael Madsen in 'Beer, Blood, & Ashes,' after I present them to Simon?"

"Well, I was . . . but you seemed to handle yourself pretty well in that greenhouse alone. I'm sure you can do this alone too."

"Then what will you do, Cynthia?"

"I don't know. Probably just fly around and bug the shit out of you."

So Cynthia sulked, and Dick headed off to find a patch of wild clovers. But city block after city block, all he could find were cars, mailboxes, garbage cans, cigarettes, the beach, Cap'n Peter eating an apple, pathetic whores begging for company, more cars, more mailboxes, more . . . wait a minute! Damn . . . he missed them.

No sooner did he think about this than he came upon a vine of clover growing up the San Malo Public Library for Flailing Careers. He spotted one clover, way at the top of the vine that was unlike all of the others. Amidst all those three-leaf clovers, there sat one beautiful four-leaf clover which was missing one of its leaves. But how to get it? Suddenly Cynthia appeared.

"Cynthia! Can you fly up to the top of that vine and pick that clover?"

"Yeah, I could. Could you bring me back to life?"

"No."

"Sorry. Good luck, then."

"Fine. I'll get it somehow."

So he climbed precariously up the vine and grasped for the one clover which was just about in his fingertips. He lost his footing, however, and he and the vine came crashing down to the ground.

"Oh no! Now I'll never find it."

But as he surveyed the mess, he made a startling realization.

"I must have broken them all, for now they are all missing a leaf!"

And with that stupidity, he picked up a clover and put it in his pocket. He smiled an obnoxious smile at Cynthia, as if to say, "See, I can do it without you." Cynthia then punched him in the belly, as if to say, "I don't care what you do, I enjoy causing you pain." Dick's belly began to groan, as if to say, "Aw, shucks. I never did nobody no harm." Then Dick's persnickety brain began to hurt, as if to say, "Don't forget about that entire chocolate cheesecake the other night."

But none of this was actually said, so Dick moved on. He went to the sea shore, found Cap'n Peter the Meek, and struck up a conversation. Cap'n Peter was ornery, yet meek, and on this occasion he was luckily eating an apple.

"So, Cap'n Peter . . . " said Dick, "I . . . "

And he suddenly grabbed the half-eaten apple and ran away. Cynthia followed him to the strip and questioned him about this turn of events.

"That was it? That was all you had to do? Why did you even bother starting a conversation?"

"You don't know Cap'n Peter like I do. One second more and he would have been on to my scheme."

"Of stealing his apple?"

"Yes. I practically gave it away. In my eyes."

"You're an idiot, Dick."

"And you're cute when you're angry."

"Too bad you killed me, though."

"Yeah."

At this point, a cheap hooker approached Dick and his floating apparition, saying, "Hey, honey, need a date?"

Dick was taken aback, saying, "Ah . . . I don't have a lot of money."

"That's OK. I do a lot of work for free. In fact, I don't necessarily have to sleep with you, but maybe you'd like to set me up with someone you know."

Dick thought this was too good to be true, but he didn't question it--just assumed that this hooker must be a concoction of the writer's to move things along much more rapidly, with respect to the diagesis. He hadn't seen anything yet!

So Dick, Cynthia, and the hooker arrived at the theater, just as Cookie Monster and the lead actress were running lines on stage. Their dialogue seemed to flow in an acting approach that Dick had never considered.

"Oh, Michael," said the lead actress, "why must you express love through your fists?"

"Coooooookies," said the monster.

"That's not fair. You never even treat me like an equal."

"Cookies. Cookies. Cookies."

"I'm sorry. Please don't leave me."

"Coooooookies?"

"I love you too."

With that, the two embraced to a smattering of applause. Dick ran in with the apple, the clover, and the hooker. He threw them, one by one, at Simon, ranting like a madman.

"There's what you wanted, Simon. All of it! I don't even want your stinking part anymore. For on this journey I've done enough self-exploration to realize that I'm a conceited bastard. Isn't that right, Cynthia?"

"What? When did all that happen?"

"Ah . . . while they were acting out that scene. I realized that . . . well, you were watching the play, but I made that decision."

"I didn't see any of that. How did you come to . . . ?"

"Look, never mind all that. I also realized that I love you, Cynthia. And if I could bring you back to life, I would this very second. Unfortunately there's no way I could do that."

"Yes there is," responded Cynthia.

"Because if there were, I'd . . . there is? Are you sure? 'Cause . . . maybe it wouldn't work, or would involve bodily damage to me, or someone I care about, like . . . me."

"All you have to do is marry me, and I become a mortal being."

"Really? I thought that just worked with foreigners."

"No, it works for angels too."

"Well I do love you. Do you love me?"

"I love you enough. You know . . . in a roundabout way. Sure."

"Well, that's it then. If only there were a priest here so we could get married right away."

Simon asked, "Why does it have to happen so soon?"

Dick replied, "Because it's Valentine's Day, silly! And it's almost midnight!"

"No it isn't," Simon said.

"Well, we're all locked in here, and there's a lunar eclipse tonight, after which Cynthia will turn into . . . "

"I'm a priest!" shouted the hooker. "I can marry the two of you right now."

"How wonderfully ironic," said Cynthia, with a knowing look in her voice. She took all of this at face value, however, so the entire story was a pleasurable one. She thought to herself that deconstructing the implausabilities of all of this would only detract from her general pleasure in the happenings of the day. So they decided to get married. But just when they got to the 'I do's,' Simon interrupted with several fires he started in the theater.

"Now we will all burn, and nobody will survive or get married, except me!" he cackled.

"To whom?" questioned Dick.

"Shut up. I mean nobody will survive except me."

"That's not what you said," offered the whore-priest.

"The point is that the doors are locked from the outside, and you all are about to perish and die! Whereas I, who had the foresight to drink up all of the water reserves in the Greater San Malo metropolitan area earlier this evening, will be unharmed."

"Now that's just plain ridiculous," said Cynthia. "What possible reason would you have had to drink . . . "

But she became overwhelmed by the fumes, as did the others. The whore-priest collapsed, and Cookie Monster's eyes grew heavy with smoke. Cynthia's legs gave way, and Dick fell soon after. Simon beamed with menace as the flames engulfed them. Suddenly, Cynthia had an idea.

"Dick. Can you reach that cookie?"

Dick nodded. He threw the cookie to Cynthia. She held her breath and launched it into the air, where it landed on Simon's head. Cookie Monster noticed this, and leapt through the air--in one final attempt to eat his last cookie. As his teeth sunk into the cookie, it also pierced Simon's snake head.

"Aiiiiiiiiiiiiyeeeeeeeee!" screamed Simon.

Instead of blood spouting out, water began gushing from Simon's head; sprinkling the entire theater, and effectively putting out the fire. As Cookie Monster continued to gnaw away at the cookie and Simon's cookie-tasting skull, the others were able to stand up and breathe normally. The whore-priest finished marrying Dick and Cynthia, at which point Cynthia became mortal again, and Dick became--officially--"whipped for life."

After that fateful night, the whore-priest decided to change her ways, and give up the priesting business altogether. She now devotes all her time to sleeping with men for money. Dick and Cynthia live and work happily in a renovated schoolhouse in downtown Knoxville, where they sell knick-knacks, gadgets, and discount notions to the local senior citizens. Cookie Monster hung up his acting robe, and ran successfully for a seat in the Senate.

Amazing story, huh? At this point, you may just be wondering how indeed did Cookie Monster actually save Valentine's Day. He certainly saved that specific Valentine's Day for Dick and company, by dousing the fire that threatened their lives. But even more importantly, Cookie Monster saved the holiday for all of us. For, you see, President Tyler was contemplating abolishing the crassly commercial holiday altogether, until Senator Cookie Monster told him this harrowing tale of love, angels, and snake heads, thereby changing the cold-hearted Aerosmith rocker's mind. I didn't tell you about that part earlier, because I didn't want you to worry too much. But now it's all candy hearts and Teddy-Grams, so feel free to sleep tight!