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…
Original! Original! Pear is just a grab for sweet-toothed underage drinkers!
This one’s a toughie. For Jim Beam I’m gonna say with ice. Sort of like holding your nose and voting.
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.
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 Fellow Inebriates,
Craziness has a talent for self-replication, which is why we (even Canadians) should keep an eye on Mitt Romney. Fundamentalists have a penchant for spreading their seed, and with wingnut Republicans such as Richard Mourdock sanctifying all progeny, borne of consenting relations or not, as gifts from God, we’ll need good names for the raft of new Republican infants who’ll one day cast their vote for some curiously inbred-looking Romney descendant chowing down on a corndog.
Yesterday’s inanely metronomic pumpkin poem got my brain into a relentless rhythm that no amount of alcohol could derail. I spent this morning trying to channel that compulsion into another rhythmic project—thinking of awesome Romney baby names.
HELL (why not?)
There must be plenty more, my fellow inebriates. The new generation needs these names. What’s missing?
OMG, my fellow inebriates, I almost slept through the my anniversary. Only by accident did I even realize this daily dose of randomness is a year old. Holy crap, how did that happen?
One year ago I had no idea what this thing was going to be about. Well, sure, I knew it would be about liquor, but I didn’t even have any idea what to say. Uh, liquor is good? The picture above was my banner, then this one…
But as the humans around me realized I was actually going to do this blog thing for real, scenes like the one below became more the norm. This day in November is still one of the most awesome I’ve ever had. My parents’ friend Pixie gave me a bottle of Crystal Head vodka—the best breakfast ever.
But vodka wasn’t the only inspirational liquid to flow into LBHQ. When I learned our liquor store was no longer carrying one of my favorite products, Broker’s Gin, I hastened to contact Broker’s and ended up making one of the best friends I’ve ever had. I know Broker’s Gin Business Development Manager Julia Gale would do anything for me, as I would for her.
While I couldn’t have my beloved gin (and still haven’t got it, although I’ve cheated on Julia with at least half a dozen other brands this year), I did have art. In January artist Dan Lacey kindly sent me a print:
Blogging ideas often came unbidden…
Still, I had other obligations at home…
Harboring the ghost of my dead Granny, Fluffy had arrived recently from Ireland. Our home would never be at peace again…bumps in the night, freaky cold spots, big wads of paper jamming up the toilet. Was there nothing Fluffy wouldn’t do to terrify us?
I needed distractions.
Some distractions were good, others not so good…
I tried to account for myself.
I had projects to do. Talking a bunch of gummy bears into (accidentally) a suicide mission was just one of them. (I didn’t know they’d melt in the Bacardi Big Apple.)
Depressed, I went to my friend Blackie for help.
We moved headquarters in August and my parents liquidated our already meager stock.
I went on a deep search for wisdom. I was lost, people. Living with functioning human beings who didn’t descend nightly into a drunken binge wasn’t working for me. I needed a message—some sort of message that everything was going to be okay…
I think it’s going to be okay.
Thanks for reading, my fellow inebriates! You’ve made me so happy this past year. Let me know what you’re drinking tonight 🙂