politics

Apples vs pears…holding your nose to vote (or adding ice)…a hint of corruption…but you have Absolut power…America votes and this bear gets shitfaced watching the election coverage

OMG, my American inebriate friends, I am so excited about your election. I wish I could vote! (Not that bears can vote in Canada.)

All our favorite alcohol purveyors are shamelessly on board with the election…

Two candidates. Who gets your vote?

Original! Original! Pear is just a grab for sweet-toothed underage drinkers!

 

Let your vote be heard. Neat or on the rocks?

This one’s a toughie. For Jim Beam I’m gonna say with ice. Sort of like holding your nose and voting.

 

Vota por Corona. Siempre la elección correcta.
(Vote for Corona. Always the right choice.)

Corona probably doesn’t have any business talking about elections. This marketplace bully with its light mediocrity is so ubiquitous that everyone can remember a party where there was nothing but Corona—even if they “voted” for something else. Kind of like a Mexican election.

 

The future begins with you.

Just remember, if you fill your head full of vodka before you hit the polling station, try not to spoil your ballot! And if they try to prevent you voting because you’re intoxicated, stand your ground, my fellow inebriates. Voting drunk isn’t illegal—just being publicly intoxicated, and they can arrest you after you cast your ballot. Bring your toothbrush!

 

HAPPY VOTING, MY AMERICAN FRIENDS!

One last image on this important day, not of alcohol but of art…

My belated contribution to the recent Horses and Bayonets post third debate meme; a new addition in my continuing (over the course of the past four years) Obama Unicorn series; a painting of a nude Mitt Romney riding on Rafalca the dancing horse and battling President Barack Obama nude on a unicorn                                                                 —artist Dan Lacey

 

Cheers, Oreo!

My Fellow Inebriates,

Who knew so many intolerant, barely literate A-holes would crawl out from under their rocks in response to the special Oreo that appeared on Facebook last night?

Buddy, I think your ass is safe, so let it hang out.

Taking into consideration the Pride Week Oreo’s presumably mega-caloric six layers of yummy hydrogenated filling, you have to know it hit the trailer park where it lives. Picture (former) Oreo devotees stocking up on massive bulk packages of (non-gay!) Oreos at Costco and Walmart with their butt-cracks hanging vilely out of sweatpants barely able to contain their (heterosexual) Oreo-eating girth.

Yes, when Oreo published a fanciful picture of a rainbow-filled cookie, homophobes went berserk, posting a barrage of hateful comments and inciting their gay-hating Lord to punish confectioners with the audacity to “support” gay America and the so-called gay agenda.

The Oreo Facebook campaign evidently hurt these people. It commandeered a product that probably constituted a sizeable percentage of their shopping budget with its yummy, gooey, chocolatey, icing-sugary delightfulness and turned it into a sick, Satanic, and deviant snack. Poor teabaggers!

Of course, they’re probably mad about the rainbow itself being appropriated in the first place. The rainbow, according to the Bible, represents God’s promise to never again send mass flooding. Which of course He never has. Oh wait, heathens don’t count.

Thankfully a “boycott” hasn’t manifested in any meaningful size. You need numbers to stage an effective boycott, and these haters—despite their confidence that they will make a financial dent in Nabisco—constitute a small island of fucktards in a changing sea.

Fact is, an Oreo with that much stuff in it could probably give you a heart attack. But it’s still a beautiful thing.

Cheers, Oreo! You didn’t need those hatin’ riffraff anyway (they’re not numerous—just rabidly vocal, if not plain rabid). Toasting you with a delicious Oreo martini.

Bottoms up!

CYPRESS HONEY LAGER—Good swill during unpleasant times

8:00am

Somebody mailed a human foot to the Conservative Party’s Ottawa HQ yesterday, causing police to declare a Hazmat situation while investigators pored over the Canada Post sorting plant where all packages go before final delivery.

Weirdly, a maggoty human torso had just been discovered in a suitcase in Montreal. Who knows where the head and remaining limbs are destined… I sure wouldn’t want to be a mail sorter this week.

Tory MP Brad Trost, a hardcore pro-lifer who apparently thinks Stephen Harper is too conservative and longs to reopen the abortion debate in Canada, first learned about the foot on TV. “It’s just awful,” said Trost, describing it as “someone’s sick idea.”

Newsflash, Brad: A picture or a story about a severed foot is a sick idea. An actual severed foot goes beyond ideation. Dude, when somebody mails you a body part, it’s either:

  • A mistake (Was it in an ice bath? Was it supposed to be reattached to somebody waiting at the hospital?)
  • A joke (Not funny!)
  • A message (What do you think it could mean, my fellow inebriates?)

▪ ▪ ▪

12:00pm

Wow! A lot can happen while you’re out swinging on swings, visiting Tim Horton’s, and watching dogs get haircuts at the pet store. The police just intercepted a package containing a severed HAND at the Ottawa Postal Terminal. They’ve connected the hand and foot with the torso in Montreal, plus they have a suspect. In all likelihood the gruesome mailings are a mob-style message related to the Charbonneau Commission investigating organized crime in the construction industry.

Although police have expressed doubt that any more body parts will show up in the mail, if I were an employee of Canada Post or the Harper government I would definitely be bringing a flask to work. Maybe even phoning in drunk.

With a six-pack of GRANVILLE ISLAND CYPRESS HONEY LAGER I could just manage it, although my friends weighing more than a pound might want to consider a full case. Amber-yellow with a quickly receding beige head, this lager promises honey. Instead bakery leftovers and cloying malt waft from the glass. If you detect honey then you have a finer nose than I and/or the power of suggestion is strong with you. If this latter characteristic fits, you might not wish to drink CYPRESS HONEY LAGER while reading about detached body parts crawling with maggots—you wouldn’t want to cement that association.

Honey, when added to a lager, often mitigates the tinny lightness of that brewing style and lends some depth. But one sip of CYPRESS HONEY LAGER confirms what the nose suspected: precious little honey. Sweetness, yes, but of a juvenile, corn-syrup stripe unable to elevate this lager from a thin, watery and even sour taste experience. This would be an excellent keg beer. If, say, you were moving from a house with a mean landlord and wanted to host one last housewrecker party, CYPRESS HONEY LAGER would be a good choice. Its promise of delicious honey is exactly like a parsimonious landlord’s commitment to fix the toilet.

If you don’t have enough friends to warrant a kegger, but you do like pounding beers while watching morbid CBC news stories, this lager would do for that too.