Happy Valentine's Day to all of you: The Notebook cynics, the marathon kissers locked in a 58-hour-long chapped embrace, the bipartisan curious, the romantic unmanned aerial vehicles that shoot conversation hearts from above, the brat fry lovers ("it was an absolute disaster as a brat fry," but love finds a way) and the corpses of people whose husbands were cruel to them because laser hair removal hadn't been invented yet. Having a shitty Valentine's Day? Well, at least Matt Damon envies you.

So, wait: Lena Dunham neglects to give her fictional alter ego a sassy black friend, and the Internet is all "#burnthewitch," but meanwhile TV history's most terrible lady-monster, Whitney Cummings, continues doing everything short of building her own orc army and everybody yawns? Priorities, people. Dunham gets knocked for being an exemplar of privilege, but you know what "privilege" is? Privilege is getting another chance to build a TV show around a "sensibility" the viewing public just finished gagging on when it was served to them in multicamera-sitcom form.