Requiem for Franklin on a G String

Technically, it’s a bikini.

Raised, as I was, to learn the ways of the woods old-skool, telling direction with nothing more elaborate than a stick, tracking lynxes and bobcats, and finding fresh water aided by the smell of unseen ferns, I cast a skeptical eye on modern technology dependent on batteries, satellites, and whether or not you’ve renewed your license on that sorry-ass copy of Outlook on your computer back home.

Not to mention the three hour hike around the lake that was invisible to the GPS. Remember, when you’re using one of those things in Canada you’re rather in the position Columbus was in; ie, you have a pretty good idea more or less where A is, and B as well, but you don’t exactly know what you’ll encounter when you try to connect those two dots, because nobody’s done it yet. What will you encounter? Almost certainly things. Like lakes. And barbed wire. And lynxes and bobcats.

So, for me, I prefer the old-skool tools. After all, a cigar may not always be a cigar or a rock a rock, but a stick is pretty much more or less always a stick and even when it’s not, you can usually get it to hold still long enough to work. Cold-blooded things such as stick insects and other items which spring to mind are known to slow down, even to the point of immobility, in Arctic conditions.

Surprisingly, if the temperatures are cold enough, you can even get a bikini to hold still long enough to be put to practical use.

Hot:

Cold:

“Due to our proximity to the Magnetic North Pole, our compasses are currently going haywire, said navigator Ann Daniels. “The earth’s strong magnetic field on this part of the ocean means that the compass needle simply spins uselessly in its housing. As such, we’re currently relying on more traditional methods for day-to-day navigation, using the sun (for those few precious hours each day when it graces us with its presence), and using wind direction, as indicated by the panties…”

Polar Panties of Power!

Polar Panties of Power!

If only Franklin had toted a pair of these along on his fatal expedition, perhaps things might have gone very differently. While Gizmodo says there is no word on whether the woman pictured above actually wears the windsock panties when they are not otherwise occupied, certain of the more broad-minded among us (and I refer, of course, to myself) are wondering whether or not there might be any Englishmen among the team.

quiz: which aphrodisiac are you?

Yes, it’s blog filler. No, we’re not proud. You should know that by now.

We ARE, however, self-promotional, so this is the perfect time to remind you all that the Crime Pays party on Monday will feature an auction of Vangroover‘s finest hotties of all sexes, plus a poetry brothel! Come on, bid! When was the last time you had a chance to win a date with a legendary (well, actually fictional) character among others? Eh? Answer me that!


You Are Wine


You are very naturally sexy and inviting. You don’t have to try too hard.

The longer people spend time with you, the more drawn in they become.

You believe that seduction shouldn’t be rushed, you like to savor every moment.

Going too fast kills the excitement. You like to indulge all of your senses.

Beaver Shots: Wild Road Beaver

Beaver is, of course, the national animal of Canada, and for good reason: who doesn’t like a friendly beaver? Why, there’s nothing so welcoming to travel-weary tourists as the sight of a naked beaver straddling the dotted line in the middle of the highway, greeting the newcomers with what passes for wild abandon here in Canuckistan.

You’ve heard, perhaps, of the Canadian who asked the US border guard to say “Please?” He got pepper sprayed.

And a few years ago there was a lineup at an ATM in Montreal. A Canadian got to the front of the line, got his money from the machine, said “Thank you,” to the machine…

And the American in line behind him beat him up.

Crime Pays: Fundraiser for the Federation of BC Writers

Cross–posted from the Shebeen Club

Who: The Federation of BC Writers and the Shebeen Club

What: a wicked good fundraiser for the Fed

When: Monday, March 16th, 6-9pm

Where: The Vancouver Police Museum, 240 East Cordova Street, Vancouver

Why: it would be criminal to miss this party!

Crime Pays film noir femme fatale

Wanted: YOU!

Come help the Fed celebrate 32 years of getting away with murder. Whether infiltrating schools, divvying up swag, or distributing subversive publications, the Federation of BC Writers has been operating unchecked in our province for decades.

Do you enjoy the vicarious thrill of rubbing shoulder pads with the Lost Literati of the Wild West, surrounded by instruments of murder and mayhem in the cosy confines of the police museum? Do you have what it takes to make your bones as a Fed member? There’s only one way to find out! Come out to the party and make us an offer we can’t refuse.

Admission: $20 minimum donation includes a drink and appetizers. Click here to register. If you won’t be attending, but would like to support the Fed, you can click the Paypal button in the sidebar to make an online donation in the amount of your choice.

Dress code: Trenchcoat and fedora, deerstalker and cape, jailhouse stripes, uniforms, Bond Villain suits or femme fatale slinkwear all optional but encouraged. Attitude absolutely mandatory.

This arresting experience will feature Western Canada’s first Poetry Brothel (five bucks buys a love poem read to you by a sexy stunner) as well as a Guys and Dolls date auction, so bring your chequebook! Our lineup of lads and lovelies will show the winning bidders the times of their lives, thanks to generous sponsorship from premier local entertainments.

Raffle prize donations, bribes, and sponsorship applications very welcome: please email lorraine.murphy at Gmail dot com. Anything related to crime or the theme of noir is particularly welcome, eg detective books, Martini glasses, etc, or anything black or white.

The Crime Pays fundraiser will be our Shebeen Club meeting for the month of March, so I hope to see everyone there, dressed fabulously and behaving infamously!

The Luck of the Irish

Pull up a stool!

So, the other night I was, as I am not infrequently, at the bar of the Irish Heather, spending, as I do not infrequently, too damn much money for somebody who blogs for a living, and I met, as I not infrequently do, an Irishman.

I mean, where else would you? Right? Amiright?

And his Zimbabwean sidekick, Julius I’m Not Kidding You although he may have been telling a stretcher Caesar. Julius Caesar.

I never did catch the Irishman’s name, either because it was so exotic or because I have a cold and my ears were stuffed up with Strongbow I mean earwax now where was I?

Right. At the bar of the Irish Heather, talking about luck with a lanky, nameless Irishman and a black guy from Zimbabwe called Julius Caesar. They’d just gotten back from the Yukon, where they were checking out the dogsled race and NO I AM NOT MAKING THIS UP the one that goes all the way to Alaska, and thereupon I told them my story about the American Minutemen guarding the border and the time one of them shot himself in the foot and Canada refused to let him in, as he did not have proper identification documents and they must have laughed and laughed at Canadian Border Guard Union Headquarters over that one, oh yes.

And then the Irishman told me the secret of winning bar bets, which he then proceeded to prove by winning two toonies from me. But he bought me a Strongbow, so I figure I came out four bucks ahead when you figure tax into it which in Canada you always do, on general principles and yes, even in bar bets.

And this is the secret:

Get the other person to make a bet, and bet against him.

You’re welcome.