Ask the drunk Oracle of Delphi anything

Those who know me really well, my innermost posse of writers, drunks and hockey fans, know that I’ve always had a bit of an obsession with Greek history.  Well, I love “My Big Fat Greek Wedding” and a good Feta. So this week when I was celebrating my personal spirit animal, Dionysus (aka cousin to the Roman Bacchus, god of wine), as I am wont to do 6 nights a week (the 7th I’m usually too hungover), I stumbled upon a story about the Oracle of Delphi. And since I’ve had writer’s block forever thanks to major work drama, I thought I might channel the Oracle and take some reader questions from my 12 followers. Ok, really I’m having my dog pick some tarot cards to answer the questions, but he’s very good at this sort of thing.

The legend of the Oracle has all kinds of things I can relate to. It started when a lonely goatherder noticed his goats behaving strangely as they approached a giant chasm in the earth at Delphi. I am imagining pygmy goats wearing togas, because it’s my fucking story and that would be cool. So anyhow, the goatherder, Steve, stuck his head into the chasm and found himself in a trancelike state and channeling the god, Apollo. Apollo told him to find a hot chick to channel his messages. According to Wikipedia, the channeler “had to be an older woman of blameless life chosen from among the peasants of the area.” So I could have been the Oracle. Maybe in a past life. The Oracle sat on a tripod over the chasm in a temple/pergola (OUCH, or OOH, depending on your architect).  Apollo supposedly killed Python, whose body fell into the chasm. When Python’s body decomposed, the fumes it gave off sent the Oracle into a trancelike state where she could communicate with Apollo. But this could only happen in spring and summer, when apparently the body would decompose.  It is not clear from my historical sources how big Python was, if his body took a century to finish decomposing. But during the cold weather, the Oracle couldn’t sit on her tripod, so Dionysus would temple-sit, throw epic toga parties, and presumably feed the Oracle’s hundreds of feral cats.  Dionysus just gets more awesome with time. He’s like the Greek David Hasselhoff.

SO…WHAT WOULD YOU LIKE TO ASK THE ORACLE?

Q. O great Oracle of Delphi, how can I avoid being drafted for the impending WWIII? -Nicolas from Canada

A. Greetings, Nicolas. First of all, the Oracle didn’t know they had a draft in Canada, so I had to do some research on this.  My gut reaction is that your Sexy Prime Minister won’t be dragged into Orange Julius’ Great War to Compensate for a Tiny Orange Penis.  However, you do live in Eastern Canada, so you may be within range of nuclear attack.  Fortunately for you, I know that Canada does not have an extradition treaty with many more countries than the US, so I would start checking Trivago for cheap flights to American Samoa, Burkina Faso, Liechtenstein, or Djibouti.

 

Q. Hey sexy Oracle of Delphi, do aliens exist? – Frank from Las Vegas

A. Thanks for the question, Frank. What do you think Python was that he took a century to decompose?  Also, have you seen Senator Dick Blumenthal?

 

Q. Oracle, is it possible to own too many cats? – Kelley from Connecticut

A. Never. My temple was overrun with cats back in the day, and that didn’t stop me from getting my Superfreak on with Dionysus.

 

Q. Wise Oracle, what is a transvestite to do with Trump’s pending executive order requiring spray tans? Orange clashes with many colors.  – Brad from Connecticut

A. My heart goes out to you, Brad. I know how you love your pink and hooker red lipstick, and this will cause you major sadness.  I think your best bet would be to get arrested protesting this infringement of your freedom of expression, because unfortunately, an orange jumpsuit is the only thing that goes with orange skin.

 

Q. Most Greek Oracle, what are your thoughts on spanking? – Geraldo from Iowa

A. If you’re talking about bratty children, I support it. This trophy-for-participating bullshit is the reason the Oracle’s secretary can’t draft an email that doesn’t have textspeak and she thinks she can do my job (channeling Apollo).  On the other hand, if you’re talking about sex, the Oracle doesn’t know what you’re talking about because I’m an older woman who’s led a blameless life. But if you’re a sexy Greek goatherder in his 20s (and not a creepy old lute-player), then I’d gladly slap your ass with a shepherd’s crook and call you Socrates.

Thanks for all the questions. Until then, the Oracle says floss daily, drink a glass (bottle) of wine every day, and Windex cures everything.

 

 

 

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