Valentine’s Day falls on a Saturday once every thirty years and creates the cursed, malevolent whirlwind of chaos and suffering that in my village we call “Friday the Valenteenth.” Local Amish girls are freed from their kitchens for a tense, violent 48 hours with only two thoughts on their minds: getting hammered and getting married to an unbaptized English boy. Doors are barred and the streets emptied––woe to the encyclopedia salesman that wanders into town this day! Whispers are passed in dark basements so as to not alert the predatory Amish females––strong hormones long repressed have given them superhuman hearing, smell, an adamantium skeleton, and razor-sharp claws. Be forewarned, dear reader, but cast your eyes upon the fair and deadly maidens below, as it may save your life.
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