Can Sylvia Browne solve the Fluffy problem?

My Fellow Inebriates,

We bears were left to our own devices Sunday, as Dad was helping my uncle (he doesn’t know I call him that) mount a TV. I was resentful because (1) presumably there would be beer there; and (2) Fluffy had just destroyed our TV with his mind, and I wondered how my dad could bear to fondle another man’s television when our own was kaput.

Dad says Fluffy really didn’t destroy the TV and that I am just being a dick. Why would Fluffy destroy the TV? He likes TV. In fact, watching TV is the only activity that suits his catatonic demeanor.

Fluffy possessed copyOkay, so maybe Fluffy didn’t deliberately break our TV. He probably just hasn’t learned to control his mind powers yet. If he goes too long without letting off some paranormal steam, the result is a telekinetic ejaculation the likes of which might wreck a TV or a dishwasher without him actually intending it.

So we need a solution, otherwise all our electronics are in danger. What Fluffy needs is a controlled way of releasing his telekinetic energy and whatever other occult stuff he’s got going on so we can all live in peace. He needs his own Psychic Channel.

sylviaheadshotI contacted Sylvia Browne to see how she built up her psychic empire, not just because I don’t have a clue how Fluffy should proceed, but because I wanted to know if she, too, had been having difficulty blowing her telekinetic load before she founded her Inner Circle. But Sylvia Browne is huge! You can’t just send her an email. You have to use her corporate customer service form (unless, of course, you subscribe, in which case I’m guessing you could ask her a question, also for a fee).

 sylvia browne form

Dear Sylvia,
I don’t have $850 for a reading but I figure you’re doing okay so you won’t mind answering a quickie for free.
There’s this bear in our house who used to live with my dead Granny (well, not when she was dead, but before that). Then he moved to my house where he started making stuff move around and break. He’s wrecked the dishwasher and the TV plus a few other items. I don’t know why he would break the TV—he likes TV—but maybe you can figure it out.
My main question is: Is there such a thing as blowing your telekinetic wad? Does this happen to you? Or did it before you started your corporation? Should we start a similar corporation?
 Liquorstore Bear


As soon as I said Fluffy Bear’s paranormal activities had ceased, I knew it was a mistake. Sure, he’d been staring blankly at the wall for weeks without incident. Sure, the bumps in the night had settled into the normal noises of a 30-year-old house. But you never want to take the occult for granted.

I could kick myself for saying Granny had departed Fluffy’s body. Of course she hadn’t; the two of them must have been hibernating. Because as soon as I posted it, our television died. With one psychic zap, Fluffy annihilated our plasma, and now we have no TV.


You are so dead, LB.

Scarybear is devastated. Television is his whole life, and naturally he’s pissed at yours truly for foolishly saying Fluffy had gone dormant. Of course he hadn’t!! If anything he was saving up his telekinetic powers. Who knows—maybe it was Fluffy who broke the dishwasher in October, and he just needed to recharge so he could attack the TV.

You never want an animal like Scary mad at you, so I offered him some ERRAZURIZ ESTATE RESERVA SAUVIGNON BLANC (2012). To this he made a politically incorrect limp-wrist gesture, and then kicked my ass. Scary isn’t very enlightened.

DSCN2986Too bad for Scary. This Chilean wine is crisp and zingy with hints of tropical fruit and sharp green apple. Produced from grapes grown in the Aconcagua Valley, a region thought for many years to be unsuitably hot, ERRAZURIZ proves naysayers wrong with its elegant and substantial (13.5%) Sauvignon Blanc. In perfect character for the varietal, ERRAZURIZ would be refreshing on a hot summer day or when you’re sweating after an ass-kicking. It disappeared very quickly at LBHQ.

Would we buy it again, though? It’s light, it’s zingy…but Scary may accidentally be right about it being too airy and bright—at least in winter. It’s certainly worth noting for when the hot weather comes.

As for Fluffy, he’s getting no wine. Seriously, he likes TV. The dishwasher he may not have given a crap about, but TV?? Breaking Bad? What the hell, Fluffy?

How (not?) to mollify an angry Irish bear

My dad has finally accepted the reality of the Fluffy Problem.

He’s been laughing it off for quite a while, telling me I’m delusional. (Yeah, and who’s talking to a bear?) But a couple of mornings ago the stove woke him up. Beeping. All on its own, people!

No one had set the oven timer. There hadn’t been any clock-resetting electrical outage; the clock time displayed correctly—but the stupid thing was beeping at 6:00 a.m. It would have to have been set the evening before. What the hell? Seriously, no one at LBHQ is so super-curious about household appliances that they’d bother to figure out how to set a 12-hour timer…holy crap, for what reason?

Finally we figured it out. The night before, the family had watched a movie. We bears sat on the couch getting kicked and shoved and tangled up in V’s favorite comforter. Somehow Fluffy got kicked off the couch and rolled under it, where he stayed all night after the family had gone upstairs and we other bears had been tucked into bed (i.e., the laundry basket).

No one noticed that Fluffy had been abandoned. He was alone all night. And even when the oven timer started bleating at 6:00 a.m., no one put it together that it was powered by Fluffy’s mind. Not until later when he was discovered under the couch.

OMG, my fellow inebriates. If Fluffy can make the oven do something it’s not even supposed to, that means he can do anything electrical. He could set the house on fire, my fellow inebriates. He could fry us all.

So our first order of business is to make nice with Fluffy.

The most obvious way to do this, I decided today, was to offer him a taste of the liqueur we made on the weekend. Sure, the recipe says to let it mellow three weeks or more, but we have an emergency here. We have an Irish bear in the house with angry magical powers who might (logically) be mollified by some Irish Canadian Cream.

But getting into the fridge turned out to be a bitch. That appliance has some mean suction on it, and I was stuck for quite a while. When my dad did finally discover me, he paused to take a picture.

And then another.

“Bearly had a chance,” said my dad.

And so the countdown to our tasting continues…ploddingly. No Irish Canadian Cream tonight, which leaves us at the mercy of whatever Fluffy does next.

Just as well, perhaps. Is it creeping determinism to say it might be for the best that Fluffy doesn’t critique our homemade liqueur? Who knows what he might do if he realizes the base spirit isn’t Jameson Irish whisky but…Wisers?