If you've ever fallen hard for a special someone, you know that love can be as dangerous a drug as heroin or vodka tampons. One minute you're completely sane, the next you're jumping on Oprah's couch like a coked-up toddler who just found out about Pop Rocks. But no matter how much you love your significant other, you've probably never crossed the line from crazy romantic to crazy insane.
We can't say the same thing about these guys.
Imagine you're meeting your boyfriend at a diner or vodka bar. Instead of finding your lover staring adoringly at you over candlelight, there's a first rate trauma scene unfolding in the parking lot: ambulances, wrecked cars ... and your boyfriend lifeless and bloody on the ground. The paramedic gives you the worst news of all -- the love of your life is dead. Your dreams are as torn as the very visible flesh on his tender neck.
The Daily Mail
"We could have saved him. But look at those suspenders -- he's better off dead."
You turn your back to the horror movie that's now your life to process everything that's happening. And as you do, your goddamned boyfriend pops up, skips over to the ambulance and emerges with a balloon in his hand. A FREAKING BALLOON. This whole scene was Freddy Kruegerski's idea of a marriage proposal. And since you're obviously suffering from PTSD, you say yes.
When Alexey Bykov proposed to his girlfriend in the completely true scenario above, he knew it had to be convincing. So he hired a movie director, stuntmen, make-up artists and even a scriptwriter to stage the whole thing. "I wanted her to realize how empty her life would be without me and how life would have no meaning without me," he said, dickishly.
The Daily Mail
"Also, we're now ridiculously in debt. Aaron Sorkin and Ridley Scott do not come cheap."
We've all known a couple that's so in love that they finish each other's sentences or take on each other's mannerisms. Some lovey-dovey couples are so in sync that they even start physically looking alike after a while. But when husband and wife Neil and Jacqueline Megson started the look-alike phase of their courtship, it was more than just a case of buying a couple of wacky matching sweaters. They went for a more permanent change -- through the magic of plastic surgery.
San Francisco Gate
We're pretty sure this is the sort of thing Hippocrates had in mind.
Before continuing, we should clarify something about Neil and Jacqueline. Neil was a performance artist and Jacqueline was a nurse turned performance artist collaborator. So it's not like we're talking about a pair of married homebodies who hosted Pampered Chef parties on the weekend (or maybe they did, but like really weird ones that mixed adult diapers with cooking).
Anyway, Neil and Jacqueline loved each other so much that they felt as if they were the same person. So why not physically alter their appearances to look like they were twins who went by one name -- Genesis Breyer P-Orridge? This involved getting matching boob jobs, and after that, it was eye and nose jobs, then cheek and chin implants, followed by lip plumping and liposuction. There was even a tattooed beauty mark thrown in there, though whose was natural and whose was a tat is probably irrelevant at this point. All told, the pair received more than $200,000 worth of plastic surgery, all for this:
New York Magazine
No word on who had which genitals. If any.
Now here's where it gets weird ... er. Mrs. Pandrogeny died of cancer in 2007. Mr. Pandrogeny kept going with the surgeries and continues to call himself "we" until this day. And you thought you were in love.
Being a kid in love is one thing. Being a kid in love and possessing the brain of a hamster is lethal. Especially for 20-year-old Jordan Cardella, who begged his buddy to shoot him (with a gun!) so his ex-girlfriend would feel sorry for him. In Jordan's sad little head, he figured that if he got shot, his girlfriend would go all Florence Nightingale on his bullet-riddled body and feel so sorry for him that she'd take him back. He probably got the idea from a soap opera or JFK.
So Jordan enlisted the help of Michael Wezyk, who simultaneously wins the awards for Best and Stupidest Friend of All Time by agreeing to shoot Jordan like he asked. Why didn't Jordan just do the deed himself? Because he was a convicted felon, and handling a firearm with his history of law troubles would be dumb.
The Daily Mail
And that was the last time Jordan and logic were ever on speaking terms.
The two picked out a nice, serene spot in a park where they could quietly proceed with getting freaking shot for love. Now get this: Jordan asked Michael to shoot him not once, not twice, but three goddamn times in order to get his girlfriend back. Michael agreed, aimed his weapon and shot Jordan in the arm. Jordan predictably fell to the ground, clutching his bleeding appendage. However, when Jordan demanded that Michael shoot him two more times, Michael came down with a sudden case of holy-balls-what-am-I-doing and refused. Michael put the gun away and instead took Jordan to the hospital.
Hey, this is the part of the story where Jordan's pain and suffering pay off with some sweet girlfriend loving, right? Wrong. Jordan's ex decided to stay the shit away from all that noise, and never even visited him in the hospital. But you know who did visit Jordan? The fuzz. Turns out the cops don't take kindly to people getting shot, even if it's for romance.
"Why didn't you just hold a boombox over your head like a normal creep?"
Some women complain that their husbands only give shitty presents. Farmer Dick Kleis is the embodiment of that sentiment. On one special occasion, he actually gave his wife, Carole, tons and tons of shit.
Dick had a manure spreader just lying around, doing nothing in particular, and he decided to put it to use. For love! Dick gathered up 123,000 pounds of manure, presumably after feeding his cows nothing but Taco Bell for a week, and got to work. After three hours of carefully spreading the manure all over his field, he spelled out a birthday message to his dear wife: "HAP BDAY LUV U." In shit.
"Of course it's abbreviated. What am I, made of cow shit?"
How did Carole react to this scatological show of affection? She loved it.
And Dick isn't the only man who's expressed his love in excrement. One Valentine's Day, Bruce Andersland busted out the ol' manure spreader, aka the Love Machine, loaded her up with a few tons of dung and drew a gigantic heart with an arrow through it on his field.
"This is great and all, but how are you going to fertilize the crops come spring?"
When Bruce's day-long project was done, he had a heart that was a half-mile wide and could seriously confuse a visiting alien species into thinking that we show our love by making one another heave. And yeah, Bruce's wife, Beth, was impressed with her little Poop Cupid. She called the gift "cute" and said, "Why not do something fun with what you got?"
Truer words were never spoken. Oh, and for any would-be Feces Casanovas out there, Dick Kleis has some truly useful advice on what kind of manure to use: "Any manure will work but the good, soft, gushy, warm stuff works the best. It kind of melts the snow." Yes, if you want to woo that special someone, only the gooiest diarrhea will do.