A satirical look at the Alanis Morissette pansexual announcement, which was made on the Handsome podcast—a weekly gem hosted by the queer comedic trio of Tig Notaro, Fortune Feimster, and Mae Martin.
When Feimster asked if bad dates with men had ever tempted her toward women, Alanis bypassed the ordinary two-lane highway of bisexuality and drove head first into the cosmic weeds by declaring herself pansexual.
Bisexuality describes an inclination toward both conventional genders; pansexuality abolishes the scoreboard altogether, allowing attraction to bypass gender in favor of souls, vibes, and whatever assortment of matter presents itself. With that philosophical distinction on the record, the borders of earthly romance dissolve.
Meanwhile, her husband of sixteen years, hip-hop artist Souleye, has been forced to rethink his household security. For a man who has navigated the standard emotional terrain of marriage and raising three children, the sudden realization that his competition could include inanimate landscaping is a heavy burden. He reportedly spent Tuesday afternoon inventorying the backyard firepit and eyeing a particularly seductive-looking ficus in the foyer with deep, existential suspicion.
While most husbands worry about the handsome yoga instructor, Souleye finds himself checking the pulse of the patio furniture and wondering if a bag of mulch might sweep his wife off her feet.
With Alanis’s expanded horizons, geology, among other disciplines, will never be the same. The local quarry reports nervous whispers among the gravel, while several garden gnomes have submitted their two-week notices.
Moreover, her spaniel now sleeps on the kitchen floor with one eye open, clutching a rawhide toy he has chewed into a shiv.
Elsewhere, a suspicious heap of river stones in the driveway has hired legal counsel, worried that if a harmless garter snake took up residence among them, the heap would be reclassified as wildlife — and wildlife, under the new regime, is fair game. Nature, the stones fear, would follow a jagged course.
Until further clarification is issued by her publicist, the neighborhood remains under a strict municipal advisory. Local hardware stores report a brisk run on heavy-duty tarps, while Souleye has quietly installed deadbolts on the potting shed and hired an around-the-clock security detail to guard a particularly charismatic sack of topsoil. For the foreseeable future, every pebble, houseplant, and stray garter snake in the greater Los Angeles basin is presumed to be on alert.
Read more life-changing dispatches from a culture officially in decline by clicking here.
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