Splitting the Uprights

It used to be a lot of things long ago.  It used to be TV stations actually went off the air at some point in the night.  It used to be you could only buy Feather Healer’s pinnacle album Twenty-Sided Die: The Roll of Destiny on vinyl from Romanian gypsies in an opium den.  And it used to be that no groin was safe from Tag Larkin.  But now someone is infringing on Tag Larkin’s territory…

In British Columbia there’s been a rash of groin-kickings in a park by some woman.  One guy got kicked so hard his testicle ruptured and had to be removed.  He’s getting an artificial nut for Christmas, which we think was the original title of that “All I want for Christmas is my two front teeth” song but was changed because the social scolds at the time turned a blind eye to scrotum trauma.

If our memory serves us right (and that’s a coin-flip considering our alcohol intake) our old Renal Failure regulars Raincoaster and Timethief are in BC, and as such must be considered suspects, if only to make them comment here and proclaim their innocence, and say hi to us.

But we’re not just casting baseless accusations at our Western Canada audience.  We’re looking at the women of Renal Failure to determine whether or not they are the mysterious groin-kicker.

“Yeah, I could kick someone hard enough to make their nut explode,”  says Ninja Vicki.  “But why would I do that when I can just stab a dude in the back of his neck?”

“I would never open with a kick to the groin,”  says Samurai Cathy.  “Later in the fight, of course.  But the samurai code prevents me from going around and punting guys in the crotch like I’m in an episode of Jackass.”

“They never told us in my self-defense class that testicles could rupture from a kick to the sack,”    says Tina the Lesbian.  “That is awesome.  But no, my lesbian sisters and I do not fight the oppressive heteronormalcy of the patriarchy with random groin shots.”

“I hit a guy who owed me money in the balls with my pimp broom once,”  says Avonia the Wiccan Pimp.  “But I’m not going around kicking men in the crotch.  I’m not sure what the 3-by-3 retribution for that would be for me.  Three kicks in my crotch?”

“Yah, tha’ sands lake sam’thin’ I’d due,”  says Marlie, who is sporting a Jameson’s Irish whiskey IV drip because she’s in a rush today.  “A penalty kack right’en tha yarbles… tha’s ha’ I usta greet paepel back en tha day.  Fack, I steel due.  A’right… ya gat me.  Take me en and tell Bearnay ta get me bail maney ready.”

Lucky for most of the Renal Roster the groin assailant was described with brunette hair.  Marlie and Cathy are redheads.  Tina is a blonde, and so is Ninja Vicki when she’s not dying her hair with stuff she’s stolen from the local store.  Our only true brunette is Avonia.

So, gentlemen, until this groin kicker is found please refrain from standing square to anyone.  Or if you must be square to someone, stand like you’re a soccer player on a wall for a free kick.  An ounce of prevention is worth your left nut.

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Tag Larkin Is Not Coming To Dinner: Part Five

Upon hearing the footsteps of the murderer coming our way, we hatched a plan to catch said murderer.  Ninja Vicki hides up on the ceiling, Samurai Cathy conceals herself against the wall near the entrance to the study.  Bernie the Half-Cyborg Cat takes up sniper position by the couch.  Avonia casts an invisibility spell over the rest of us, which isn’t as good as Anonymous Doug’s original plan of having Marlie, Tina the Lesbian, and Avonia making out by the fire to lure the murderer in unawares, because murderers in horror movies can’t resist killing the participants of such wanton displays of lust.  But the ladies weren’t down for being girl-on-girl-on-girl bait.  Even on Halloween.

And so we took our places and listened as the footsteps on the hard wood floors thundered closer.  We saw a dark figure enter the study, but the shadows obscured his features.  He had something in his hands, something cylindrical, which we took as the murder weapon.  When he got to the center of the room where the body was Samurai Cathy threw on the lights and Ninja Vicki jumped down from the ceiling.  Swords were drawn, hip-mounted laser cannons were deployed, even Tina the Lesbian had a golf-club in hand.  But though our trap had been sprung, it was we who were surprised.

“It can’t be…”  Ninja Vicki said, staring down her blade at the suspected murderer.  “You’re…”

Tag Larkin Is Not Coming For Dinner: Part Four

Tag Larkin remains dead at his own Halloween party, but the accusations are still flying about his possible killer.  So far we’ve pointed a finger at Ninja Vicki, Samurai Cathy, Avonia the Wiccan Pimp, Bernie the Half-Cyborg Cat and his wife Marlie.  Right now we’re accusing Tina the Lesbian.

“I didn’t poison Tag Larkin,” says Tina.  “I don’t know anything about poisons.”

“What’s to know?”  says Ninja Vicki.  “Poison goes in drink, drink goes into Tag Larkin.  Shark’s in the water.  Our shark.”

“Hey, you’re supposed to be helping me!”  says Tina the Lesbian. “Are you selling me out AGAIN at Halloween, like you did with the zombies last year?”

“Hey yourself!”  says Ninja Vicki.  “I didn’t hear a peep from you when everyone was accusing me of murder.  Where was my best friend then?”

“I don’t see Tina as someone who’s into poisoning people,” says Mikka.  “If anyone here is an expert of slipping things into people’s drinks, it’s Anonymous Doug.”

“Yeah, but that’s only in girls’ drinks,” says Anonymous Doug.

“But… who would be a more efficient killer than a ninja?”  says Bernie the Half-Cyborg Cat.  “How about a man you can’t remember?”

“Anonymous murderer!”  I yell while pointing at Doug.

“At this time I would like to appropriate one of Ninja Vicki’s defenses, except this time it won’t sound retarded,” says Anonymous Doug.  “If I killed Tag Larkin, and I know everyone forgets I exist after I leave the room, why the hell would I still be around?”

“Because you can’t get off the island until the ferry comes in the morning,” says Samurai Cathy.

“But I could hide in this vast mansion and you’d never find me because you wouldn’t remember to look for me,”  says Anonymous Doug.

“He’s got us there,” says Ninja Vicki.  “Who’s left to accuse?”

“No one’s accused me yet,” says Mikka.  His statement is met with derisive laughter.

“Feckin’ hell, Meeka, I cauld be passed aut drank as shite and ya still cauldn’t kill me,”  Marlie says.  “Yer a wee sprite of a pixie.  Fack, I’ve yanked out tampans meatier than ya.”

“Could you not emasculate my boyfriend in front of me?”  says Samurai Cathy.  “He’s got enough issues as it is.”

“Hey, what about you?”  says Bernie the Half-Cyborg Cat, pointing a paw at me.

“What about me?”  I say.

“You could have killed Tag Larkin,”  says Tina the Lesbian.

“No, that would be stupid,”  I say.  “The narrator of the murder story shouldn’t end up being the murderer.  It cheats the audience in my opinion.”

“You could be half-assing it with this story,” says Ninja Vicki.  “You’ve phoned it in before, why not again?”

“Sometimes you just don’t have the time to write quality stuff,” says Avonia.  “Sometimes you just want to put something up for the day and be done with it.”

“We all have bad days,” says Bernie the Half-Cyborg Cat.  “This could be one of them.”

“So your theory on why I’m the one who killed Tag Larkin is that I might be in a creative rut?”  I say.

“Well, it makes more sense than Mikka killing Tag Larkin,”  says Anonymous Doug.

But just before Mikka could say something to feebly defend his manhood, we hear footsteps coming down the stairs.

“Wait, I thought no one else was here,”  says Avonia.  “Who the hell is that?”

“That, my friend…” I say as I put on a second pair of sunglasses over the sunglasses I put on before.  “…is our murderer.”

YAAAAAH!

to be concluded…

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Tag Larkin Is Not Coming For Dinner: Part Three

Our investigation of the Halloween murder of  Tag Larkin has taken a turn for the magical as Avonia the Wiccan Pimp has been implicated by a suspicious Bernie the Half-Cyborg Cat.

“Why would I want to kill Tag Larkin?”  says Avonia.  “I barely have anything to do with Tag Larkin.”

“Except for that time he kept interrupting you like he was Kanye West,” says Bernie the Half-Cyborg Cat.

“I’m going to kill someone over that?”  says Avonia.

“Victoria’s killed people for less,” says Samurai Cathy.

“But my soul isn’t empty like Ninja Vicki’s is,” says Avonia.  “I’m a healer, not a killer.”

“Then how do you explain why there’s no blood or visible wound on Tag Larkin’s body?”  says Mikka.  “It has to be witchcraft.”

“The body is face down,” says Avonia.  “We haven’t turned it over.  The wound could be on his front.”

“Still no blood,” says Bernie.

“Maybe that’s because he was hit with something that cauterized the wound immediately after inflicting it,”  says Avonia.  “Something like that laser cannon that comes out of your hip, Bernie!”

“That is malicious slander!” says Bernie the Half-Cyborg Cat, his tail getting all bushy.

“Bernie does want the human race to die so that the cats can take over the world,” says Mikka.  “With Tag Larkin gone, who could stop them?”

“Hey!  Dan’t ya be accusin’ me Bernie a’ killin’ Tag Lark’n!”  Marlie says.

“We can accuse you too if you’d like,”  says Anonymous Doug.  “Someone had to distract Tag Larkin while Bernie took aim and fired at him.”

“I say we flip Tag Larkin over and see what’s on his front,” says Tina the Lesbian.

So we all get rubber gloves from the cleaning closet and carefully roll Tag Larkin over to see that there’s no marks on his front.

“See… I told you it was witchcraft,”  says Bernie.

“Maybe he was poisoned,” says Avonia the Wiccan Pimp.

“And you’d know all about poisons,” says Ninja Vicki.

“But I didn’t hand Tag Larkin his last snifter glass of rainwater and grain alcohol,” says Avonia.  “Tina the Lesbian did!”

“And Tag Larkin has been known to stand outside Tina’s house, serenading her with his boombox,” says Anonymous Doug.

“Looks like someone…” I say, putting on my sunglasses, “put a stop to the music.”

YAAAAAAH!!!

To be continued…

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Tag Larkin Is Not Coming For Dinner: Part Two

We’re still standing around Tag Larkin’s body in the study of Tag Larkin’s secluded mansion that no one else can reach and we can’t leave until morning.  I think this place was called “Casa del Convenient Plot Device.”

“I didn’t kill Tag Larkin and I can prove it,” says Ninja Vicki, our number one suspect in this Halloween murder.  “Why would I still be here if I killed Tag Larkin?  Ninjas don’t linger after a kill.”

“Because if we found Tag Larkin’s body and noticed you weren’t here it would be even more obvious that you killed him,”  says Mikka.

“All right… well… I’ve been framed!”  Ninja Vicki dramatically announces.  “By my arch-nemesis Samurai Cathy!”

Everyone lets that sink for a few moments before speaking again.

“Wait… why would she frame you?” says Avonia the Wiccan Pimp.

“Because she hates me,” says Ninja Vicki.  “And because she’s afraid of fighting me and if I go to jail she’ll never have to.”

“If you want to throw down, sunshine, we can go right now,” says Samurai Cathy.

“But that won’t change the fact that you still killed Tag Larkin,” says Ninja Vicki.  “You killed him to frame me and because you fear Tag Larkin.  Remember our double-date at the Japanese restaurant?  You fear no man, yet Tag Larkin terrified you.”

“That doesn’t mean she wanted to kill him,” says Mikka.  “Besides, what about when you got jealous that Tag Larkin wasn’t stalking you anymore?  That sounds like a stronger motive.”

“For murder!”  I say, punctuating Mikka’s sentence.  And hitting a little button on my keychain that does a thunder sound effect.

“I’m going to ask that you stop doing that,” says Tina the Lesbian.  “It’s going to get annoying really fast.”

“Hey, I dahn’t think either Vicki or Cath killed Tag,” says Marlie.  “Na stab waunds.”

“She’s right,” says Anonymous Doug.  “I don’t even see any blood.”

“You know what this means?”  says Bernie the Half-Cyborg Cat.  “Tag Larkin was killed… BY WITCHCRAFT!”

And everyone gasps and points at a very shocked Avonia the Wiccan Pimp…

to be continued…

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This Party Is Dead Sexy

Regular Renal Readers may recall our rock-solid Halloween costume advice that we’ve given in previous year (women can just be sexy versions of occupations and when in doubt go as a zombie version of a celebrity).  If not, well, now you know.

This year Bernie the Half-Cyborg Cat and Marlie are throwing a Halloween party that implements both these pieces of costuming advice.  All the women have to come as a sexy profession, and all the men have to come as a celebrity who died this year.  But to make sure everyone doesn’t show up as Zombie Patrick Swayze or Michael Jackson, you have to pull a name from a hat.  The same with the women, or else they’d all come as Nursemyra.

Mikka wanted either Billy Mays or David Carradine but he got the recently-deceased Captain Lou Albano, which he was fine with because of his affinity for professional wrestling.  Plus Captain Lou sort of looked like he crawled out a grave most of the time anyway so the costume’s easy.

Anonymous Doug pulled Ted Kennedy out of the hat, thus giving Anonymous Doug the rare Kennedy trifecta on Halloween.  A few years ago he showed up at a party as post-assassination JFK.  Next year he showed up as post-assassination RFK, which was sort of the same costume except the gunshot was in a different spot.  It’s not confirmed on whether he ever showed up at a party as Rosemary, the Kennedy that had the lobotomy.

I was hoping to get Ricardo Montulban, but ended up with Farrah Fawcett.

As for the ladies, Ninja Vicki picked “sexy mechanic,” which she will interpret as “sexy mechanic with a sword.”  So will Samurai Cathy with her  ”sexy patent attorney” costume.  These two never go anywhere unarmed.

Avonia was a bit confused at first when she pulled  ”sexy Ghostbuster”   out of the hat until I told her that a sexy Ghostbuster is just like a regular Ghostbuster except with a lot more cleavage and thigh-boots.  And Avonia has both of those things.

Tina the Lesbian argued that it was demaning and objectifying for the women to have to dress sexy while the men got to be zombie celebrities.  So Bernie let her pick out of the zombie hat and through some stroke of luck she pulled Zombie Bea Arthur.

Bernie pulled zombie Walter Cronkite, which means he’ll just be getting drunk behind a tiny kitty desk and reporting on everything as it happens at the party.  His wife Marlie pulled “sexy crack whore.”  We didn’t know that crack whore was an occupation, but if it’s in the hat who are we to argue.

And though Tag Larkin wasn’t invited, Tag Larkin will show up anyway dressed like he always is for Halloween: as Tag Larkin wearing a hat.  What hatwill it be this year?  A top hat?  A fez?  A World War I German helmet?  Only Tag Larkin knows for sure.

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NASA implements the Tag Larkin Program against the Moon

Renal Readers may recall a few months ago that Tag Larkin announced his intentions to fight the Moon.  Apparently NASA heard this declaration and decided to beat Tag Larkin to the punch, so to speak.

Last week NASA slammed a probe into the Moon to see if there’s water there, based on the debris that kicks up upon impact.  In essence, we’re bombing the Moon. Needless to say Tag Larkin is pissed off about someone hitting the Moon first, but I was interested in what other people here at the bar had to think about it.  Other people who won’t backhand you in the groin just for standing within arms’ reach.

“Take that Moon!” says Mikka.  “If you think that just because you’re out in space that America won’t bomb you, think again.  Venus, you’re next!”

“As someone who celebrates and draws energy and inspiration from the Moon, I find this highly distressing,” says Avonia the Wiccan Pimp.  “I would assume the Moon Goddess would be highly displeased with having things slammed into her.”

“Hasn’t India been hitting the Moon with shit for a while now?”  says Tina the Lesbian.  “Is this part of some sort of lunar pissing match between the US and India?  Don’t we have enough problems as a nation?”

“It’s like someone at NASA heard the song Bad Moon Rising by Credence Clearwater Revival and said ‘Not on my watch!”  says Anonymous Doug.  “Engineers are a strange lot.”

“If we blow up the Moon, all those dumb dogs will stop howling at it,” says Bernie the Half-Cyborg Cat.  “I am for this idea.”

“You know the expression ‘must be a full moon out tonight,’ meaning that there’s a lot of crazy people around, right?”  says Ninja Vicki.  “No full moon, no crazy people.”

“Is this some sort of preemptive strike against Al-Qaeda’s army of werewolves?”  says Samurai Cathy.  “That without the full moon the terrorists can’t shift into wolf form?  Is there a silver shortage?  Because that’s all it takes to take down a werewolf.  I’ve done it before.”

“Werewolves don’t need the Moon to shift, Catherine,” says Ninja Vicki.  “Teen Wolf taught us that.”

“And the Moon doesn’t make people go crazy, Victoria,” Samurai Cathy says.

“Well, the Moon is a sort of conduit of spiritual energy,” Avonia the Wiccan Pimp steps in.  “Some people can channel it into good works while others don’t do so well with its more chaotic attributes.  It’s neither good nor evil.”

“That’s why we have to blow it up, so that no one channels the Moon’s energy into a chaotic mega-weapon,” says Mikka.

“Why can’t we make the Moon into a lawful mega-weapon, you know, for the forces of good?”  says Tina the Lesbian.

“Because the forces of good don’t make mega-weapons,” says Anonymous Doug.  “That’s why the rebels in Star Wars didn’t have their own Death Star.  Because it’s hard to be the good guys when you own something call the Death Star.”

“What about Voltron?”  says Bernie the Half-Cyborg Cat.  “You can’t tell me a heroic robot made out of mechanical lions is not a mega-weapon for good.”

“It’s not the size of the Moon though,” says Mikka.  “Voltron is clearly a counter mega-weapon, built only to take out the mega-weapons of evil.”

“So we need Voltron to destroy the Moon,” says Ninja Vicki.

“No one needs to destroy the Moon!”  yells Avonia.

“Moon apologist!”  says Bernie the Half-Cyborg Cat.  “How about taking the side of the celestial body you happen to live on for a change?”

“Hey, being for the Moon doesn’t mean being against the Earth,” says Samurai Cathy.

“Cathy’s on the side of Al-Qaeda on the Moon!”  says Ninja Vicki.

This was the point that the fight broke out.   Vicki and Cathy went sword-crazy.  Bernie shot his laser at Avonia, who returned fire with lightning bolts from her fingertips.  Doug and Tina ended up wrestling on the floor for some reason, probably so Doug could cop a feel.  Mikka got grabbed by Tag Larkin and thrown through a wall.

We blamed the $3,500 in damages on the Moon.  Just because the Moon is harsh mistress doesn’t mean she’s not liable.

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It’s like Road House, except with more box munching

Samurai Cathy has settled into her new job as a bouncer down at ClamLappers, our local lesbian bar. But not without a few issues…

“We can’t have you chopping off the hands of patrons,” says owner Gwendolyn Lucida-Console (no, she’s not the heir to the Lucida Console font family fortune, her maiden name was Console and she married her life partner Harriet Lucida in Massachusettes last year).

“So you want me to behead people?” says Samurai Cathy. “Because I thought that would be a bit much.”

“No, we don’t want you cutting off any body parts whatsoever,” says Mrs. Lucida-Console.

“But it’s what I do,” says Samurai Cathy. “Why would you hire a samurai to be your bouncer if you didn’t want her cutting off the limbs of unruly customers?”

“I was under the impression that the sword was decorative,” says Mrs. Lucida-Console. “I thought you would just unsheathe the sword a little to make someone think twice about causing trouble.”

“I don’t draw my sword unless I’m prepared to spill blood,” says Samurai Cathy.

“But spilling blood is not what we want happening in this establishment,” says Mrs. Lucida-Console.

“But my spilling of blood prevents an even larger spilling of blood,” says Samurai Cathy. “And it sends a message that this bar will not tolerate unwelcome behavior.”

“No one wants to dance on a floor cover in blood,” says Mrs. Lucida-Console. “And no one wants to come to a bar where patrons have their limbs severed from their bodies.”

“If they act as they should they have no reason to fear losing body parts,” says Samurai Cathy.

“You’re going to send my insurance through the damn roof if you keep this up,” says Mrs. Lucida-Console. “And then I won’t be able to afford your services anymore. So let’s save the hand-removal thing for really serious situations, okay?”

Wanting to stay employed, Samurai Cathy agrees. And the next night she takes her short knife from her belt and stabs a disorderly lesbian’s hand to the bar. While that doesn’t make Mrs. Lucida-Console happy, it doesn’t violate her pledge to not cut off people limbs.  And it gives Samurai Cathy a new fun story to tell her boyfriend Mikka.  He finds her stories about maiming people really hot.

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Save the Cheerleader, Save Yourself a Torn ACL

An recent article in the Wall Street Journal posed the following question: What is the point of cheerleading?  The article was mainly about how dangerous cheerleading is and how many injuries occur from it, but I wanted an answer to the question posed in the headline so I gathered up a focus group.

First the women… what is the point of cheerleading?

“Why are you asking me?  I hated the cheerleaders at my high school and I hated our sports teams even more.”  says Ninja Vicki.  I then explain I asked her because she and the cheerleaders have similar athletic prowess.  “Ooh, some perky bitch can do a bunch of flippy shit.  Big motherfucking whoop.  Wake me when they can do that while swinging a sword and throwing ninja stars into people’s faces.”

“If there’s no cheerleaders, who will high school jocks date?”  says Tina the Lesbian.  “High school runs on a strict social ladder and exceeding your reach upward or downward on its rungs will not be tolerated by the powers that be.”

“Because it keeps those girls out of the band,” says Avonia the Wiccan Pimp, who played the flute in high school. 

“Chairlaedars ar’ fahkin’ useless as a twat en me elba,” Marlie says, halfway through her usual coffee pot of whiskey.  “Ya dan’t see pam-pam wavin’ tarts like that at a Manchesta U match.  Ef ya spart neads ‘alf-nekked cunts ta get ya ta cheer fa’ ya’ team, it’s ballacks.  Utta fahkin’ ballacks.”

“Well, what other outlet is there for tiny, easily throwable young women?”  says Samurai Cathy.  “They’re certainly not suited for basketball or field hockey.”

And now the guys…

“Seeing a cheerleader flip head over heels in a short skirt is the closest most of us got to seeing a girl’s underwear in high school,” says Mikka.  “You can look at all the panties you want in a Victoria’s Secret Catalog, but there’s nothing like seeing it live.” 

“Without cheerleaders we’d lose the second-most popular costume for bedroom role-playing,” says Bernie the Half-Cyborg Cat.  The most popular being Catholic school girl.  Rounding out the top five are Nurse,  French Maid, and Wonder Woman.

“Because who else am I supposed to whack off to at a high school football game?”  says Anonymous Doug.  “The color guard?  Please…” 

Tag Larkin was not available for comment because no one wants to talk to him until he stops doing his Kanye West/Joe Wilson interruptions, so I called upon the living embodiment of male oppression Lance Patriarchy to throw in his two cents on the issue.

“Well, I mandate cheerleading in the world for objectification purposes,” says Lance Patriarchy.  “Then over the past couple decades women got it in their heads that if they added acrobatics to it they could stop being just a tits and ass show.  Didn’t really work, so now not only does cheerleading continue objectifying women it also gives them brutal injuries.  But hey, whatever perpetuates my reign, right?”

Maybe a group of people who didn’t have the best time in high school was a poor choice for this question.  But then again, they’re the only people I can tolerate listening to.

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My life was saved by something I bought off the television at 3am because I was lonely

As always, stories in the news about swords get our attention here at Renal Failure.  This one is about a college student who killed a burglar in his house with a samurai sword.

“He did kill the guy with the sword, so I’ll give him that,” says our resident expert on samurai swords, Samurai Cathy.  “But the report said the burglar’s hand was ‘nearly severed,’ and that just rubs me the wrong way.  You need to keep that blade and your skills sharp so you can swing clean and true through bone and sinew.”

“Well, the dude is just a college student,” I say.  “I doubt he’s received the years of intense training you have.”

“Doesn’t matter,” says Samurai Cathy.  “He obviously had the inkling he would some day need to cut someone down, otherwise why would he have bought an actual samurai sword instead of a cheaper decorative replica?”

“Decorative replicas can scare off people,” I say.  “If I broke into a house and I saw a dude holding a William Wallace claymore right out of Braveheart, I’m probably going to shit my meal and run the hell away before I check to see if it’s real, let alone sharp enough to lop off my head.”

“Unless the burglar is Ninja Vicki,” says Samurai Cathy.  “She’ll snap that replica off at the hilt and jam it up your ass.  Besides, weapons are not for decoration.  Especially swords.  They will fucking cut you wide open.”

“True… I don’t really see people buying decorative guns much,” I say.  “Do you see swords replacing guns as the weapon of choice for home defense in the near future?”

“I hope that doesn’t happen,” Samurai Cathy says.  “People are reckless enough with guns, they’re even worse with swords.  There was that story in Ohio about the father and son who got into an argument that escalated into a sword fight.  No one died or was injured and the cops broke it up.  What the hell is that crap?  What’s the usual police response time to a call?  Eight minutes or so?  You mean in eight minutes neither of them scored a hit?  I could wipe out an entire family bloodline in eight minutes.”

“You could teach people how to properly sword fight,” I say.  “Get some extra money to supplement your new bouncer job.”

“I don’t teach sword fighting, I teach people to kill,” says Samurai Cathy.  “That way when they meet some son of a bitch who studied swordfighting, they send his soul straight to hell.”

“You’ve watched Spartan recently,” I say.

“Mikka got me into some David Mamet movies recently, yes,” says Samurai Cathy.

That’s all we need… a samurai with a penchant for vicious dialogue.

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