My fellow inebriates,
Some people aren’t shaking hands because of COVID-19.
I’m not shaking paws with people because everyone seems to be out of toilet paper.
And as my mum pointed out, bears like me are absorbent.
Luckily, we made our Costco run just before the madness started, so we have abundant TP. I reckon we should spend all the money we saved on booze.
My fellow inebriates,
It’s come to my attention that people are using vodka to make hand sanitizer.
This appalling waste of good liquor has prompted me to end my hiatus and tackle some rampant myths.
“The stores are out of hand sanitizer, so I need to buy it on Amazon for $400 or make my own.”
Wrong. Purell has stepped up production. Soon you’ll have all the hand sanitizer you want.
But it’s still not as effective as washing your hands with soap.
“Hand sanitizer is the best thing for killing viruses such as COVID-19.”
Wrong. Hand sanitizer is for situations where soap and water aren’t available or convenient. The Center for Disease Control recommends washing with soap because it’s more effective.
“I feel like I need hand sanitizer anyway, so I’m going to make my own with vodka.”
WRONG, WRONG, WRONG. For one thing, hand sanitizer is made with a solution of at least 60% alcohol, and as my parents have reminded me many times, it’s not the drinking kind. The higher the alcohol percentage, the more effective hand sanitizer is – which means your 80-proof vodka isn’t going to cut it. Better save that Grey Goose and its yummy 40% alcohol for a martini.
So that’s my public service for today, my fellow inebriates. Don’t waste your vodka, and wash your hands. Of course, that’s useless advice for me, a furry bear. I’m going to stop “Purell tasting” and make myself scarce before my mum puts me in the washing machine.
OMG, my fellow inebriates. I glanced at the gerbil tank (which I rarely do because I’m terrified of the gerbils’ ability to chew and shred). And what did I see?
It was Cocoa the Gerbil, villainously gnawing on the box that used to contain LAGAVULIN 8 YEAR OLD 200TH ANNIVERSARY WHISKY. Where did he get that box??? And where was the bottle?
In a panic I ransacked the kitchen looking for the bottle. Surely it had to be there, with the two inches I remembered of smoky, peaty yet round and buttery not to mention complex whisky. OMG, where was it? Under the sink I went looking for at least an EMPTY bottles from which to inhale the tarry, honey-roasted, briny dregs. But the recycling had gone out days before, apparently with my precious Lagavulin.
This was unforgivable. Not just because my dad and his friend R had finished it, but because Cocoa was now having his way with the box! I’m terrified of Cocoa at the best of times, and here he was lording it over me that my beloved whisky had been drained.
Photo courtesy of Miss V
What the hell was I doing while Dad and R inhaled its sublime smoky yet fruit-forward notes, then sampled its gently charry, burnt-sugar flavour with its hints of licorice and seaweed followed by a baking-spice kick? WHAT WAS I DOING?!!
I was avoiding Cocoa, that’s what. My dad has finally found an effective guard for his liquor. As long as that gerbil tank stands between me and the kitchen, all booze is off limits.