"He who makes a beast of himself gets rid of the pain of being a man."

That is correct, Dr. J. Now begone—go dunk on Michael Cooper. Leave Dog and Dr. Skunk alone. It is time for us to slake our thirst for mead and mutton, time to quench our desire for mushrooms and medicinals. It is time for Dog and Dr. Skunk to travel down, down into the murky depths of depravity. But do not fret. Do not worry. Dr. Skunk has this weekend all planned out.........


Edmonton International Airport…assuming he and his Tom Selleck get through security, Dr. Skunk will pick up Dog on Friday afternoon. On the way to getting his luggage, Dog will admire the jumbo “You’re In Oil Country” sign that greets him, as well as the Maritimer slave-women who serve milk and honey sandwiches in containers made from $1000 bills. Welcome to Edmonton, Alberta…

Sam Abouhassan Custom Clothiers…legend has it that The Sather used to take every Oilers rookie to Sam’s shop, where they’d be suited up in new garb. What’s good enough for Slats is good enough for Dr. Skunk. Dog the Rookie will purchase a suit, and then give his own left testicle to Abouhassan as tribute to the tailor’s benevolence...

Boston Pizza…Dog is completely deprived of such succulence in The Hinterland. Here he will be sated on Alberta beef and local spirits. And believe me, he will be pleased…

Mark Messier Trail…we will venture down the path of darkness, like Orpheus in search of lost love. Flames will nip at our heels, with one cupping towards us before fading away. The howling screams of broken-boned Europeans will attempt to deter us, Sirens of despair and unaccomplished glory. But Dog and Dr. Skunk will not be held back. No. We will reach the land of Brother Moose, and there delight in the radiant splendour of the Communion of Saints…

Clare Drake Arena…on this night, the Golden Bears of Alberta will play the Thunderbirds of British Columbia. Dog will have no choice but to admire the Banners of Dominance in the arena. We will not be alone. Other souls will join us, and we will taunt and mock and jeer the T-Birds until they can stand no more, weeping as the Bears roll over them, failed-seekers of CIS success…

RATT…the room at the top of the world. Seat of government to the north. Seat of industry to the east. Seat of roller coaster to the west. It is here that Dog and Dr. Skunk and Cosh and Muhly and all the great men and women of the City of Champions shall spit in the face of their own mortality. And then laugh. We will end the night triumphantly, warmed by hard drink, firm friendship, and the monumental gases of discourse…

University Optical…this is where The Lorieau makes a living, so this is where Dog and Dr. Skunk will begin their Saturn day. We will beg the master to sing to us. We will rend our hair and gnash our teeth until he concedes. When he grants us our wish, and begins to serenade us with the “O’s” and the “Native Lands,” our hearts will be overjoyed, and our delirium tremens will subside. It will be as if a choir of Angels has breathed new life into our lungs, and we will take to the day with vigour and vitality…

The Black Dog Freehouse…we must of course visit here, so that Dog can mingle with and mount his kin. Dog can also then walk the Holy Ground known as Whyte, a land where in 2006 sots and rebel rousers sacrificed blood and dignity for Oil and for Grail. White pickup trucks will litter the streets and avenues, bull nuts dangling from their rears…

Katz Manor…we will look upon it from afar. Dr. Skunk will say to Dog, “I fooled around with that dude once, you know”…

Bearclaw Gallery…to witness the artistry of Aaron Paquette, commenter and friend of the Oilogosphere. Dr. Skunk will encourage Aaron to stroke the lip hair of Dog. Aaron will recoil at the sight of the great beast, and Dr. Skunk will giggle and chuckle and howl at the moon…

Sherlock Holmes Pub…the location of a lost and seemingly forgotten treasure: many, many, MANY pictures of drunken media members from the 80’s. Dog and Dr. Skunk will look at them all, taking pictures of pictures taken of Cole and MacLean and Neale and Hughson and Strachan and Davidson and some guys who wrote for the Sun, and then emailing them all to Jiri Tlusty…

Overtime Broiler and Taproom…this is merely an advance scouting exercise. Will it be a suitable location for post-game libations? Will there be Cougars for the Dog to bite? Will we get in without black leather jackets and thinning hair? Is that Mickey Rourke Dr. Skunk sees in the corner? So many questions, so little time…

Rexall Place…Mecca. As we approach on Wayne Gretzky Drive, Dog will stick his head out the window, sniffing the air and wagging his tongue. He will be so excited getting out of the car, Dr. Skunk will have to put him on a leash. We will get our picture taken in front of the statue of The Great One, and Dog will pee on His leg. We will run away from members of the Canadian Armed Forces, who do not understand that Dog is urinating out of love. Inside, it will be Literally. Crush. We will not care. Dog has already gone to the bathroom. Dog will look for merchandise while Dr. Skunk checks out the goods. Five Stanley Cup banners overlook the rink, silent testaments to history. Yet it is the rookies Dog and Dr. Skunk look forward to watching. Gagner West, Cogs, and Gilbert Gilbert. Kane and Toews, too. Four of the five are twenty or under. The game will be excellent. The seats will be, too. The Oil will win, and the fanatics will spill out of Rexall, drunk on victory and overpriced beer…

Downtown… we will meet up with the others, having barely escaped the wrath of roving gangs of Hobo Terrorists. The night will become a blur, as liquids and toxins fill our bellies. During a moment of lucidity, Dog will look over at Dr. Skunk, and tears will well up in his eyes. He will get on his knees and worship the awesomeness of Dr. Skunk. Dr. Skunk will tap Dog on the shoulder—like a King granting Knighthood—and then will utter the most solemn of words to his loyal hound: “Get the fuck up, Pat. You’re embarrassing me."