My Fellow Inebriates,

I awoke this morning with a scalding headache and a jones for some cuddles.

Now, even though I sleep with a pile of other bears, they are mostly mangy and toddler-abused like yours truly. Certainly not availing when it comes to hugs, and so, not wanting to face rejection first thing, I shuffled off elsewhere.

I thought I’d hit up my old girlfriend Dolly for a snuggle or two. Not that she’d be okay with my using her name and the word “girlfriend” in the same sentence, but here’s hoping she’s too mad to read my blog.

See, Dolly’s a poster girl for inter-species love. She digs bears the way I dig Jack Daniels…or so she did before she became self-conscious about it. I guess she over-thought it one day, or who knows, maybe somebody used the word “bestiality,” and suddenly LB was out in the cold.

No  more good times. No more of this:

http://www.facebook.com/v/1021654992214

And it doesn’t matter how often I say it’s a truly victimless crime if the bear comes back for more. Dolly’s not into it any more.

Still, I thought I’d surprise her this morning.

I had to hunt around, and finally I found her in the toybox. She said, “Get lost, LB, you smell like rancid Kokanee mixed with paranoia.”

“It’s my birthday,” I said.

I could see her thinking. She gets a really cute look when she’s thinking, like it might hurt just a little.

“How old are you?” she asked.

“I have no idea. My awareness is a little patchy. Six maybe?”

“Oh. How long do bears live?”

This I knew, being an apocalyptic sort of creature who constantly courts oblivion. “Thirty-two or so.”

“Oh,” she said. “Then come back when you’re legal. Get lost, LB.”

It wasn’t entirely unexpected. But I just wanted to tell you that I love Kokanee, even when it gets rancid. I highly RECOMMEND it. And I wouldn’t mind some for my birthday, since I can’t get any love.

*NOTE* Visiting the Kokanee website while drunk will give you vertigo!