In the future all women will look like Janeane Garafalo

I was rocking out to some bootleg Feather Healer concert tracks the other day when I came across some sciencey story about the future evolution of women.  Much to my disappointment, there was no mention about a third breast or tongue clitori.

Apparently according to the article the evolved woman of the future will be “slightly shorter and chubbier, have lower blood pressure and cholesterol and will have their first children earlier in life.”  I find this disappointing as well because I thought the future would be dominated by 6-foot tall amazon women in shape-hugging jumpsuits wielding laser rifles.  So I decide to share this news with someone who has already reached the form of what these scientists suggest is the evolved woman of the future.

“I said I will go to the gym once this cold clears up,” says Tina the Lesbian, who I estimate to be around 5′ 5″/ 5′ 6″.

“But aren’t you glad you’re the model of the future woman?”  I say.

“Well, I’m glad women won’t have as many problems with heart disease in the future,”  says Tina the Lesbian.  “But the increased time it takes to reach menopause is sort of weird.  Why would we evolve to be fertile for longer?”

“Yeah, it doesn’t make sense if evolution will have you having your first child sooner than you already do,”  I say.   “American women have their first child at 24.9 years old.  What does nature know that they’d push that up to 23 or 22 or even 19?”

“Maybe this part of woman evolution is geared toward other countries where they have babies later in life,” says Tina the Lesbian.  “New Zealand woman have their first child at 29.9 years old.  The UK is 29.1.  Maybe America stays the same and they slide down to like 27 or 26 years old.”

“Or there’s some sort of cataclysmic event that requires a steady sustained effort to repopulate the Earth,”  I say.  “Like 300 or 400 years from now, because Mother Nature always plans long-term.”

“Actually that’s a bit comforting,” says Tina the Lesbian.  “Knowing that the largest test for the survival of the human race won’t be for another few centuries.”

“And it might be something really cool too,” I say.  “Like an alien invasion, or a civil war between Earth and our colonies on Mars that leaves the Earth a smoldering chunk of rock and so we have to get on rocket ships to Venus because those genocidal pricks Mars won’t have us.”

“You just want your future to be like the song The Final Countdown,”  says Tina the Lesbian.

“It’s not just the greatest song of all time but it is also a prophetic look into the future of humanity,” I say.  “Did you know the keyboardist for Feather Healer almost was in the band Europe?  But he misread the audition sheet and ended up trying out for the band Asia instead?  He didn’t get in that band either.”

“Who the hell is Feather Healer?”  says Tina the Lesbian.

“Never mind that,”  I say.  “The important thing is that we start stockpiling these shorter, chubbier, more fertile women of the future on Venus before those Martian bastards bomb the shit out of us.”

I think that was the plot of a Robert Heinlein book.

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Which amendment gives me free broadband?

There was a court ruling in Finland recently that said that broadband internet access was a legal right.  I needed to speak to my authority on Finnish matters about this immediately.

“Finland is just awesome like that,” says Mikka.  “We have Lordi, we die more from drinking than anything else, and now all of us have the right to high-speed internet access.  Fuck your American dial-up bullshit!”

“But is internet access something that we want to assign as right-worthy?”  I say.  “Food, shelter, education… I can see those being rights.  But I don’t think the ability to check my Gmail account in at an expedient speed is on that level.”

“On the contrary, internet access has become just as vital as anything, and I’ll prove it,”  says Mikka.  “Could you go a week without Internet access?”

“No,”  I say.  “But if you ask a heroin fiend whether he could a month without smack he’d say no too, but that doesn’t make heroin a right.”

“The Internet does more than heroin,” says Mikka.  “You can research anything on the Internet.  You can buy anything off the Internet.  You can communicate to almost anyone on the Internet.  It is an empowering tool and those without it are lost in a knowledgeless analog wasteland, hindered by the limitations of the flesh-world.”

“Yeah, that’s a lot more useful than heroin,” I say.   “And without the Internet, Renal Failure wouldn’t exist.  Or maybe it would but only in the form of manic scribblings in a notebook that no one else would ever read.”

“And without the Internet, there’d be no Corset Friday,” says Mikka.  “Or kitten videos.”

Well, I’m convinced.  Broadband internet access truly should be a legal right, and once again Finland shows how awesome they are.

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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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Your location on this map will determine your prowess in bed

In a recent poll, it turns out that the worst lovers in the world are from Germany.  Apparently they are “too smelly,” though they don’t specify the smell.  Is it bratwurst?  Beer hall piss?  Unwashed lederhosen?  I’d like to know.

The second worst lovers came from England for being “too lazy.”  Number Seven was Wales for being “too selfish” and Number Eight was Scotland for being “too loud.”  Ireland, however, was Number Five on the Best Lovers List, which made Marlie smile because not only is she from Ireland but because she also hates Great Britain.

“I delite en tha’ fact that na’n af them fahkin’ wankars can fack fer shite,” Marlie says before taking a swig of her coffee pot of whiskey and going back to work on another nail bomb.

The Swedes were ranked Third Worst for being “too quick,” which makes Mikka glad because he’s Finnish and always looks for any opportunity to stick it to Sweden.  Finland was not listed on either the Best of Worst lists, but he’s content with the Finns being average in the bedroom.  Someone has to play on checking line.

American lovers were down as the Fifth Worst for being “too rough.”   Hey, I don’t think our country should be penalized just because some women can’t handle Tag Larkin’s love.  Because Tag Larkin doesn’t just make love. Tag Larkin forges love in the fiery pits of ecstasy like a blacksmith of pleasure, and you’re the anvil upon which Tag Larkin swings his mighty hammer to produce his master craft.

Spain, Brazil, Italy, France, and Ireland were the Top Five Best Lovers in that order, which I like because I’m of Irish and Italian heritage.  Australia is ranked Seventh, so that should brighten Alex L.’s week as well as our large contingent of Australia-based readers.  New Zealand is Eighth, which seems pretty low considering Nursemyra’s a Kiwi. But she lives in Australia so that might have driven down New Zealand and boosted Australia.

We still can’t figure out how South Africa got to be Sixth on the Best Lovers list.  Canada at Tenth, sure, we’ll buy that.  They’re very polite and considerate in the Great White North so they’re generous lovers.  But at no point have I ever known anyone to remark “Hey, you should bang a South African.  They’re pretty good in the sack.”  Maybe those years of apartheid overshadowed that particular talent.  Maybe I missed it when someone said in the 80’s “Yeah, I won’t play Sun City, and that’s a real shame because they fuck like minxes down there.”

Oh… and in case you didn’t get it… the hammer is Tag Larkin’s penis.

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Activate Baby Shield!

I’m going to let the first sentence of this news story from Florida speak for itself…

“A man who was threatening a Florida Fish and Wildlife Conservation Commission officer used a 1-year-old as a shield when the officer reached for his pepper spray.”

“It’s like that scene from The Dead Zone when Martin Sheen grabs the child to protect himself from Christopher Walken’s assassination attempt,” I say.

“Hey, the guy didn’t get pepper sprayed,” says Anonymous Doug, himself no stranger to pepper spray.  “That is an effective defense.”

“Yeah, what are you going to do, spray the baby?” I say.  “If I was a criminal I’d wear a vest of babies.  What police sargeant is going to give the order to open fire on me when I’m wearing a baby vest?”

“You know what babies make the best shield?  Retarded ones.”  says Anonymous Doug.  “Hell, Sarah Palin hides behind hers enough they could change the kid’s name to Tarp.”

“So I’m safe in a baby vest, but I’d be super-safe in a retarded baby vest?” I say.

“From a physical sense and in an argument too,” says Anonymous Doug.  “The retarded baby card is a strong defensive card in your rhetorical deck,  stronger than the ‘I was there on 9/11′ card or the ’My friend lost an arm in Iraq’ card but not as fucking douchey.”

“Do you think the public will now use babies to curb the problem of police brutality?”  I say.

“Perhaps, or it will instead normalize cops tasering the shit out of babies,” says Anonymous Doug.

“Babies getting tasered would be the biggest thing on YouTube,”  I say.

“And then that would lead to parents legally being able to taser their kids when they get out of line instead of hitting them,” says Anonymous Doug.  “Because if you can taser a baby, you can certainly taser a crying four-year-old in a Wal-Mart.”

“So our retarded baby vest idea will either lead to the total protection of its wearer or the widespread utilization of tasers against children,”  I say.

“Either way, we win,” says Anonymous Doug.

And winning is all that matters, even if it involves a bunch of retarded babies strapped to a vest.

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But There’s No Whore School

I brought this article to the attention of Avonia the Wiccan Pimp about something called John School.  Apparently in Tennessee if it’s your first-time being arrested for soliciting a prostitute you can attend a “one-day program” about the dangers and problems of prostitution and then, after paying a $250 fine, if you don’t get caught trolling for hookers again for a year you can get the charge dismissed off your record.

“I don’t see them being that accommodating for first time hookers,” says Avonia.  “No one’s holding a class for them and dismissing their charges after  a year’s probationary period.”

“Sounds like traffic school,” I say.  “Like after a whole bunch of traffic violations you have to attend a class on not being a shitty driver.  Except in this case it’s about not buying whores.”

“But at least traffic school goes on for a number of classes,” says Avonia.  “This is one stinkin’ class.”

“They say it works great,” I say.  “The re-arrest rate for dudes in this program is supposed to be real low.”

“Or that just means they figured out the proper way to purchase the services of a hooker without getting caught,” says Avonia.  “Like going through me.”

But the obvious disparity between how johns are treated by law enforcement as opposed to hookers isn’t the only thing about the article that has Avonia’s dander up.  It’s this line in the article:  “Prostitution is based on the law of supply and demand. The thinking is: Women won’t stop selling sex until men stop buying.”

“Our entire capitalist system is based on selling sex,” says Avonia.  “You watch a commercial break on television, I bet you at least 75 percent of them are selling you sex along with their product.”

“90 percent if you’re a pedophile,” I say in agreement.  I figure ads for children’s clothes and sugary fruit juices and such are like soft-core porn to pedos.  “But maybe people don’t like it when sex is advertised directly.  They need to be sold sex and a beer, or sex and a car, or sex and a wireless phone plan.”

“If that we true there wouldn’t be all those commercials for Zyrtek or Cialis or Viagra,” says Avonia.  “We’re selling men their own erections back to them at jacked up pharmaceutical prices.”

“Does that make me proud or ashamed to be an American?”  I say.

“My point is men aren’t going to stop buying sex because sex is all anyone is selling,” says Avonia.  “Men are marketed and advertised to be constantly aroused.”

“Is that why I have an erection right now?”  I say.

Hey, I found a new way to abruptly end conversations!

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I Can’t Get Off On This Private Health Insurance

In the aftermath of President Obama’s speech on health care last week, there was a column by NBC’s Chuck Todd that got our attention in which he refers liberals’ “public option fetish.” 

Now I’d like to think I’m rather open-minded when it comes to getting kinky, but I’m not familiar with someone getting off to the idea of universal healthcare.  But luckily I just happen to be sitting next to an expert on the subject matter.

“I’m not sure I’d put government-run healthcare in the same category as bondage, feet, spankings, and furries,” says Anonymous Doug. 

“So it’s not just me who can’t figure out how universal health care would get someone aroused?”  I say.  “I mean, I can see how guns and slavish devotion to the military industrial complex can get those carnal juices flowing.  Bullets and bombs and dominant men in uniform will do that.  But I just don’t see anything in universal health care that would get it up for me, except maybe if they hand out Viagra but that’s not endemic to public healthcare.”

“Hell, the national anthem is pretty much a metaphor for maintaining an erection through a wild night,” says Anonymous Doug.  “If flags aren’t phallic, then why do we raise them  up at the end of long poles for everyone to see?”

“Is there a pubic option we’re not aware of?”  I say.  “Like the option to be completely shaved down there or have that 70’s porn muff?  Because some like the shrubbery thick and others prefer the wood floor.  Or would the government hand out free stencils if you wanted a diamond or a lightning bolt?”

“Public health care would be a real boring fetish,” says Anonymous Doug.  “Too many people are into it already.  Most of Europe’s got it.  Those socialists in Israel have it.  Hell, if public health care is a fetish then it’s most normal one that Japan has.”

“So can I say that Chuck Todd is a malodorous fuckwit for equating support for a public option for healthcare with that Baptist minister who asphyxiated after hogtying himself while wearing two wet suits and rubber mask and shoving a condom-sheathed dildo up his ass?”

“Now that’s a fetish!”  says Anonymous Doug.  ”And yes, that Chuck guy is a fuckwit.”

Anonymous Doug knows his fetishes and his fuckwits. 

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Why Does God Need Teamsters?

I read the story a bunch of weeks ago about the Feds seizing the fundamentalist amusement park that depicts humans and dinosaurs living side by side in harmony because they believe the Earth is only 6,000 years old and evolution is a lie of the devil.  What struck me in this story was the fact that they guy who created the park, Kent Hovind, refused to pay his taxes because he “claimed no income or property since he was employed by God and said that his ministers were not subject to payroll taxes.”

So now I’ve got the concept of “Employees of God” rolling around in my head and it makes me wish I wasn’t an atheist because atheists don’t get to say anything as batshit crazy as this to anyone, let alone federal prosecutors.

Let’s go for a mental walk, shall we?  You’re the Lord, your God, the Father Almighty.  You created the Heavens and the Earth and everything in between in six days.  You are omnipotent and omnipresent.  By your will cities are destroyed and even your Chosen People are punished for displeasing you.  There was that one time you gave a dude the power to summon bears to eat people.  You once fucked up Job’s life on a bet with the devil, who you also created because, well, we’re assuming this was your first time creating the universe and some things slip through quality control.  The question is… why do you need employees?

How do you apply?  Does God post on Monster.com?  Is it all recruiting and headhunting?  Does he have an interview process?  He obviously discriminates based on religious creed.

Furthermore, if God employs you then that would assume that God has a business.  What does God need with a limited liability company?  Is God publicly traded on the New York Stock Exchange?  So God can make profits and investments but he’s immune from payroll taxes?  Are we to believe God handicapped himself to play the rules of business that his meat puppet creations established and then he said “Fuck it, I don’t have to follow all of these guidelines”?  Are we to believe that God is a cheater?  You don’t have to cheat if you’re omnipotent.  That’s why people want to be omnipotent because then you don’t have to do bullshit like cheating.

God:  “Taxes?  What are they?  Oh, that’s right they don’t exist anymore in human history because I just now erased the concept with my fucking mind!”

That’s fucking omnipotence.

The concept of God as a cheater renders him unworthy of worship.  Children will kneel by their beds and say “Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord that he doesn’t deal from the bottom of the deck the next time we play Go Fish.”  And the Lord as a cheater is someone you don’t want employing you either.  What kind of recourse do you have if you find out God’s skimming off the top and raiding the pension fund?

Or we can just stipulate that Kent Hovind is a fucking nut and go get ourselves some ice cream.

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Sinisterly Dexterious

I read a story in Newsweek saying that people ”associate the side of space where we’re clumsier with bad, stupid, dishonest, unhappy and other negative qualities,” according to a recent study.  This means if you’re right-handed you equate things situated on the righthand side of things more positively than the things on the lefthand side.

This poses an interesting dilemma for me because I’m a half-breed of sorts when it comes to handedness.

I throw lefthanded.  I bat lefthanded.  I kick soccer balls left-footed.  I hold my hockey stick lefthanded.  I golf left-handed.  My natural fighting stance is lefty.  If I played guitar I’d do it lefthanded.

But I write righthanded.  I use utensils like spoons and forks with my right hand.  My forehand is on the right side in tennis.  I shoot guns and wield knives righthanded (the world of Portuguese Intelligence is a hard one).

It’s seems as if anything I need to do that require strength and power comes from my left, while things that require precision are home on my right.  So what would I be considered?  Lefthanded or righthanded?

I say lefthanded.  Used to be in America if you were 1/8th black you were considered black, and I’m more than 1/8 lefthanded in a righthanded dominated world.  I’m like the Barack Obama of handedness.  He had a white momma and black daddy.  In my case, a righthanded egg and a lefthanded sperm collided in a petri dish and I was the result (because I don’t have parents, I was born in a lab, and the people who say they’ve met my parents and they’re wonderful people are dirty fucking liars).

The study says righthanded people are more likely to order items on the right side of the menu,while lefties are more likely to order from the left side.  Now I’m not sure what I’m inclined to do when faced with a menu, but I do know that if I’m out and about and someone’s walking right at me I will usually break to my left to avoid running into the person.  But usually that person is righthanded and so he’s breaking to his right and we’re still in front of each other and we do that stupid little dance of trying to get around each other.  Most of the time it ends with me doing a headfake and jumping around the person before his part in the dance puts him in my path again.  Other times it ends with a thrown elbow and a split eyebrow because damn it I’m a busy man with places to go.

So I guess if you put two girls in front of me I’m more likely to pick the one on my left.  Well not if the one on my left isn’t wearing shoes, because directional preference does not trump my disdain for flip-flops or any sandal anchored around something wedged between toes.  That shit is just nasty.

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Put on some shoes. I don’t want your AIDS.

Regular Renal readers and long-suffering friends of mine will know that I have a visceral disgust of flip-flops (or thongs to our broad international audience).  Turns out that disgust was well-founded.

Turns out flip-flops, on top of being hideously ugly and audibly annoying,  are footwear equivalent of the monkey from the movie Outbreak.  They crawl with an excessive and alarming amount of germs and bacteria, even more so if they’ve been worn into a public restroom. 

From the linked article, Dr. Philip M. Tierno Jr. says:

“These bacteria detected indicate obviously that feces, urine, spit, vomit, animal droppings were all present,” Tierno told TODAY. “That is what’s on the streets of a big city and in public bathrooms … Think about what’s on the ground we walk on in New York City. There’s rat-doo and cockroaches, and they’re harbingers of all sorts of germs.”

I don’t care how good you think your pedicure looks, all you really did was gloss up a nasty germ farm that resides at the bottom of your legs. 

We’ve already proven here at Renal Failure that sandal companies have a vested interest in global warming, but now we have to assume that they’re also in bed with companies that manufacture antibiotics that cure the illnesses caused by the bacteria and germs flip-flops collect. The conspiracy runs deep…

(We also proved that flip-flops and other sandals are what perpetuate female subjugation to patriarchal oppression, but that’s an argument for another day.)

I’m lobbying the Department of Health and Human Services to allow me to napalm Jimmy Buffett concerts, because they are the largest concentration of people wearing flip-flops in a sizable public setting that I can think of.  Germ-wise, Jimmy Buffet concerts are modern-day leper colonies, except with Hawaiian shirts, margaritas, and bland music that does nothing for the soul.  Cheeseburger in Paradise?  More like e.coli in Paradise!  Blew out my flip-flop, stepped on a pop top, then got infected with Staphylococcus aureus and died.

But at least you know you can outrun these Typhoid Marys.  Even if they kick off their bacteria-depository footwear, they’re still not going to catch you.  Unless they’re a Kenyan, because Kenyans used win marathons and Olympic events running barefoot.  And now that they have shoes they win by larger margins. 

Next up on the Confirm My Bias tour:  excessive birkenstock wearing causes AIDS .  Your immune system becomes too lazy to do its damn job because all your T-cells do anymore is listen to Phish and play Ultimate Frisbee.

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