humor

Get thee behind me, Fluffy!

My Fellow Inebriates,

This morning my mum drove my dad to the airport for his first-ever business trip with the corporate dark side.

Like many unbalanced people, she did a thorough scan of the house, and then another identical one, looking for unlocked doors, appliances left on, liquor cabinet secured, etc. Through the window I watched them drive away. Then I went back to sleep. All the bears were asleep—Glen, Red Bear, Fluffy…

Mum dropped Dad off at the airport and Miss P off at Grade One. She and Miss V shared a ginger cookie at Starbucks and did the grocery shopping. Finally they came home.

And one of the stove burners was on.

It wasn’t a burner anyone had used that morning. They’d used other ones, but not that one. And there it was, on “Lo.”

Obsessive compulsives like my mother check for these things before they leave the house. They make sure they are last to leave, just in case anyone else has an idea about turning on all the lights or taps for no good reason. When you have OCD you look out for stove burners—even ones you haven’t been using.

My dad was incommunicado on a five-hour flight to Toronto. The kids…they would never touch the stove; my mum has frightened the living daylights out of them regarding fire. As for my mum…she didn’t use the burner, but she doesn’t specifically recall checking it, although she recalls checking three times that the front door was locked.

It has a little red light! She would have seen that! My mother is a freak about stuff like this. She couldn’t have left the house without seeing that!

Now, I was sleeping off some Malibu dregs, and although I did briefly get up to say good-bye to my dad and remind him to check in with Ravenskye for me on Facebook, I conked out straightaway after. So I don’t know about that burner…

But I have an idea.

I think it was Fluffy.

If you’ve been following, you know Fluffy is the Fleecy-marinated semi-comatose bear who arrived shortly after my Granny died. He was her bear, and some strange shit’s been happening since his arrival. Cold spots. Noises. Fearful kids.

I’d like to say this all seemed benign, but it was creeping me out. And now! Finding stove burners on is a seriously sinister development. Somebody is trying to get our attention—as though being offensively redolent of fabric softener wasn’t sufficient. Fluffy, I don’t know what you want, dude, but you are seriously giving me the willies.

So here’s what I proposed to my mum: buy some chardonnay. Granny and I had a history of occasionally drinking chardonnay together, particularly some nice unoaked ones and a Semillon blend once. We had some good chats over her chardonnay, and she didn’t mind me dipping into her glass.

My mum has company coming this week anyway, so she did visit the booze shop. But she didn’t buy chardonnay; she bought sauvignon blanc.

I told her she is messing with things we cannot even comprehend. She is thumbing her nose at powerful spirits by buying the wrong booze.

She said she prefers sauvignon blanc and that the wine consultant recommended it.

Good enough for me, but will it keep Fluffy out of mischief?

If I don’t post for a few days, it’s because he’s set fire to the house.

ASTROLIQUOR for March 2-8—What the stars say you should drink!

My Fellow Inebriates,

Here’s your booze horoscope:

Your loyalty gets tested this week, Aries—be careful or you may lose your soulmate. It all boils down to horniness and your penchant for naughty encounters with strangers at the supermarket. Those people who expose their thong underwear at Walmart make your knees wobble, but before you let them seduce you, you need to understand how deeply disturbed they are. If you must indulge, any trysts should be at their place, not yours, because they tend to leave their mark (cinnamon schnapps and tabasco), and you don’t want your true love to find it. Beware of Libras.

Taurus, it’s one success after another for you this week. Get into everything—business, real estate, renos, finance, legal stuff. You’re a powerhouse: immune to illness and super-jacked-up on Dr. Pepper. But if you maintain this frenzy, you’ll freak people out and miss the chance to get lucky Wednesday or Friday. Cut that caffeinated beverage with brandy after you’ve done all your work.

You’re cut off, Gemini. No, I don’t mean booze; I mean money. You haven’t been spending wisely, which has led to a pile-up of frivolous belongings. These things weigh you down and prevent you from spur-of-the-moment travel. Call a moratorium on household spending and funnel your funds into liquor. It doesn’t take up much room, and it’s constantly disappearing. Start with some light rum, then use that frivolous blender that usually takes up counter space to frappé it with some cantaloupe and OJ.

Don’t feel insecure about your physique, Cancer, you’re not even close to looking like one of those People of Walmart (they’re usually Libras). People who truly know you don’t judge you on your outward attributes; they care much more about your liquor cabinet. Make sure you have some Smirnoff and vermouth on hand; you will meet a Virgo who likes a dry martini.

Leo, it would be foolish to make plans on your own this week. You can’t be trusted to be sensible, so enlist loved ones who are less drunk than you to give you perspective. But don’t abuse them! Try to empathize with the effort it takes them to tolerate you on an apple brandy bender. Oh yeah, and you’ll have a dinner date with a Virgo. Try not to throw up before the evening’s over.

A friend is bending your ear with a get-rich-quick scheme, Virgo, but you remain wisely skeptical. If this pal becomes too persistent, break out the Blue Curacao and ply him/her with it until the fantasy subsides. Not that high achievement isn’t possible for you. Just not through partnerships with nutty friends. You’ll probably have a three-way this week and, again, Blue Curacao will be a factor.

Libra, this is a great week to establish an understanding among friends who’ve held long-term differences. Honesty is the best policy. You’ll tell them you dislike their politics; they’ll tell you your sweatpants are inside out and exhibiting a brown skid mark. They’ll also urge you not to get caught in any more People of Walmart photographs. Grab some Absolut and drink a toast.

Sometimes you have a hard time expressing your true feelings, Scorpio. Bottling everything up has worked well for you in business but not so well in relationships. Fact is, you envy people who wear it all on their sleeve. You can be like them! It just takes Captain Morgan (rather a lot, actually). Try mixing it with watermelon schnapps, and next thing you know you’ll be pouring out your life story.

Sagittarius, you have not one but two stalkers—lucky you! One is a borderline lunatic but the other has potential. Call off the restraining order and invite this (second) person into your home. Break out the vanilla vodka and drink all night; then put it in your morning coffee. This person is okay. The other person, though, might be watching through the window. Sorry, Sagittarius.

This week features a pivotal career decision, Capricorn. From that stems an important decision about your living arrangements. Who knows? You might throw your present career away and go back to school, which might require some residential downsizing. It’s exciting for you, Capricorn, but your life partner will probably get nervous, wondering if you’ll jettison him/her. Have a heart-to-heart over a nice bottle of wine.

Aquarius, you’re not your usual strident self; something is mellowing you out. Perhaps it’s your budding realization that money isn’t everything. Perhaps it’s the resurfacing of an old fling. Or maybe it’s just what happens when you pound rum and anisette all day.

Pisces, how about a bet? Your recent stability is bumming you out, so it’s time to reintroduce risk into your life. Don’t weigh the pros and cons; just find a stock and go big. But save some money for liquor. You’ll be sad if you lose everything and have to buy cheap gin.

LINDEMAN’S CAWARRA CABERNET MERLOT (2011)—Helping you avoid santorum

My Fellow Inebriates,

Photograph: Charlie Riedel/AP

As a Canadian bear I lack a thorough understanding of American politics and find myself a bit lost as I watch from the Northern sidelines. With all due respect, the US political scene is far more of a freak show than you find up here. The personalities are bigger, more extreme, more misogynistic, more openly devout, and more hatin’ when it comes to perceived sexual deviance. To say it’s interesting is an understatement.

But I don’t know what to do.

I mean, even if I’m Canadian, I want to root for somebody. But the contest seems to feature multiple strains of crazy and not much else. Whatever homophobic freak ends up winning the GOP leadership—I don’t want that guy to keep going and take the whole prize. (It makes me anxious when Stephen Harper has a philosophical bum-buddy in the White House.) So is it smarter to root for the most extreme, most batshit-crazy Republican wingnut in hopes that the US citizenry will slap his ass down? Or is that just dangerous? Is it possible that the most batshit-crazy motherf#cker is in fact what the country wants????!! OMG!

A disclaimer: I honestly don’t know what I’m talking about. I’m (a) a bear, (b) Canadian, and (c) perpetually wasted. I learned about santorum before I learned about Rick Santorum, if that gives you any idea how informed I am, or where I get my information. Some would argue I have no business even peeking at the American process. But what happens to the South matters to the Great White North, especially in the context of our purportedly small-c Conservative majority government. The more freaking weirdos running the circus down there, the more I fear the erosion of (you’d think) basic human entitlements such as medical care up here. Monkey see, monkey do—even if the monkeys in question don’t believe they’re related to monkeys.

What amazes me is how unhindered Rick Santorum has been by his name. Surely most of North America if not the English-speaking world has been exposed to the de facto definition of santorum: “that frothy mix of lube and fecal matter that is sometimes the byproduct of anal sex.” And yet Rick Santorum has surged, has come from behind, has frothed into the political limelight. Does it speak to the openmindedness of America that so many Republicans don’t mind mouthing the word santorum in their prayers to Jesus Christ on his behalf? Or is the Mitt Romney magic-underpants alternative just too weird compared to Santorum’s quotidian women hating and gay bashing?

What’s bizarre to me is the extent to which the battle has revolved around sexuality and reproduction. These crazy fundamentalists have thrown actual politics aside to hammer it out on issues that belong between private citizens in the bedroom. And no mistake about it—the discourse is discriminatory. Basically, if you are a person who, during sex, might perform a blowjob, you are second-class. If you are a woman or a gay man, your private life is very important to Mitt, Rick, and all their f#cked-up cronies. (Lesbians too—no dick action necessary to claim your share of oppression.)

But do they know how to avoid santorum? Not Rick Santorum, whom they apparently like quite a bit, but actual santorum, that frothy mix of lube and fecal matter that is sometimes the byproduct of anal sex? It’s important to know, because even if you are an ultra-conservative whackjob, you might favor the back door occasionally, or at least fantasize about it.

Is it just me, or isn’t politics supposed to be about the regulation of public affairs? Isn’t it supposed to apply mostly to economics and extend to public aspects of law, infrastructure, and international affairs? That’s why politics always seems so boring to kids, right? Because it’s basically too bureaucratic to capture a kid’s attention span. But it’s not just kids who have trouble focusing—adults seem uninterested in the banalities of politics. Better dial up the sex—that way people will tune in to the debates, thinking the debates are the debates when they’re a prurient aside. There’s a whole nation of people who are terrified of homosexuality, nodding their heads as Rick Santorum equates gay relationships with “child rape and dog fucking.” And they will vote for conservative nutjobs.

The important thing is to realize that santorum is not inevitable. If you are doing anal correctly, Dan Savage writes, there needn’t be any fecal frothiness.

So how do you do anal correctly?

I don’t have an operational anus, peeps, so I defer to anal-savvy friends for advice on proper assplay:

  • Know your body. Be aware how it feels inside when you have the all-clear.
  • Be hygienic. Don’t be afraid to probe in the shower.
  • If you’re absolutely worried, have an enema, but don’t overdo it because it will detract from your natural lubrication.
  • Be safe. Use a condom.
  • Use lots of lubrication.
  • Relax. Go slowly.
  • Practice, practice, practice. If you’re hetero-curious about assplay, try a dildo. They come in all sorts of designs and orientations, and for staunch Republicans who’d like to experience Something in the Ass as long as it does not resemble a male penis, it’s as easy as shopping.

BONUS ADVICE! Stay relatively sober. Any kind of sex gets sloppy when you can’t even stand. If you’re a back-door neophyte, you’ll probably want to relax but maintain that all-important body awareness.

Mediocre wines are perfect for attaining this degree of relaxation. The desire to finish a so-so wine is far less acute than with a high-quality wine, so consider purchasing in the $9 range. For instance, you might want to purchase LINDEMAN’S CAWARRA CABERNET MERLOT (2011) to preface your first anal adventure.

Perhaps it’s unfair to judge this very young wine on its current merits, but it’s a little unrefined. We’ve been on a bit of a LINDEMAN’S kick lately because my parents have gone on a strict budget and LINDEMAN’S fits their price point. The product selection is massive, ranging from $8.99 to 12.99 at our government booze shop, and so far each pick has been a good value. This latest cabernet merlot, however, is at the very bottom end of the price range, and it’s apparent.

Billed as “approachable” and “fruity,” LINDEMAN’S CAWARRA CABERNET MERLOT smells yeasty up front with berries behind. It’s medium-bodied, perhaps even a little thin, and somewhat generic—the sort of plonk that would do just fine at a barbeque or party where the focus is on the company, not the wine. The first glass is inoffensive, which is almost surprising at the price point, but unfortunately it’s one of those wines that doesn’t benefit from opening up. Aeration unlocks some unharmonious flavors and, above all, draws attention to the youth of the wine. It might be worth putting it away for half a year to see if it settles.

You might initially feel enamored with LINDEMAN’S CAWARRA CABERNET MERLOT, having acquired it so cheaply and discovered it to be mostly harmless. The second glass is a different, less tasty story, which is what makes this LINDEMAN’S product perfect for first-time anal. Being able to cap the bottle after one glass without too much regret means you’ll reap its relaxing effect without getting wrecked—increasing your chances of non-sloppy anal penetration and decreasing the possibility of santorum appearing.

Not that santorum’s that much of a big deal. I’d much rather have santorum on the bed than Rick Santorum in the bedroom. Wouldn’t you?