Tina calls this one “New Year’s Anxiety” or ”I sort of stole this off Ninja Vicki.”
I am not going
straight just to get a kiss at
midnight for New Year’s.
And this one she calls “Why I didn’t drink three bottles of wine on Thanksgiving.”
No sinner comments
Grandma’s in the ICU
Peaceful Thanksgiving
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It’s December and we’re thinking about New Year’s Eve because it’s less painful than thinking about Christmas. And since it’s the end of the decade, we’re thinking about what we did for New Year’s Eve back in 1999.
“Not sure where I was, but I had a girlfriend at the time,” I say. “And to think, the decade started off so well…”
“I was probably out robbing houses of people who went out to celebrate the new millennium,” says Ninja Vicki. “I think that’s how I got my first DVD player.”
“I was at a bar because no one ever remembers to invite me to any New Year’s parties,” says Anonymous Doug. “Lot of desperate girls that year wanting a New Year’s kiss. And considering I was drunk by 3pm that day, I was blindly willing to oblige. Emphasis on blindly.”
“College friends, lots of box wine, probably some crying,” Tina the Lesbian says. “Every odd New Year’s Eve tends to be like that for me.”
Bernie the Half-Cyborg Cat doesn’t have a story because he’s only seven years old in human years. His wife Marlie doesn’t have a story either because years of severe alcoholism have rendered her unable to remember anything before 2002.
“I hadn’t gotten into Wicca yet, so I didn’t have a coven to drink with,” says Avonia the Wiccan Pimp. “I think I was probably working on a catering crew for some New Year’s gala, serving veal marsala to rich assholes, hoping that Y2K thing was real so we’d all die in some cataclysmic event.”
“I was in a bunker in North Dakota with a survivalist family who thought Y2K was going to cause a nuclear holocaust,” says Samurai Cathy. “Those survivalist families… the worst conversationalists ever.”
“Marathon Goldeneye tournament with friends,” Mikka says, referring to the classic Nintendo 64 shooting game. “Deathmatches until the sun came up. Sad, I know. But at least this year will be better, right Cath?”
“Yes, rub it in a little more why don’t you, you fucking happy twat. Your bliss makes me want to wretch my meal and torch the earth.”
It takes me a few seconds to realize I just said all that out loud, as everyone is silently staring at me with that “Did he just say what I think he said” look on their faces.
“Um… did you know Tag Larkin celebrates New Year’s any damn day he wants?” I say, trying to change the subject. “So Tag Larkin is actually living in the year 29, 822.”
No, that didn’t work.
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At 8:35, the lights went down in Theater 21 at the Colonial Ultraplex movie theater for the showing of New Moon. At 8:45, the film inexplicably catches fire and the theater goers are forced to evacuate. Among them are Tina the Lesbian and Samurai Cathy. As they come outside, they see Ninja Vicki and Avonia the Wiccan Pimp waiting for them.
“Vicki?” Tina says. “What… What are you doing here?”
“Where else would I be?” Ninja Vicki says accusingly. “On a date with Tag Larkin perhaps?”
“Maybe, yeah… I mean, no…” Tina the Lesbian stammers.
“Cath, would you excuse my friend and I for a few moments?” Ninja Vicki says to her archenemy. “We have a matter of great importance to discuss.”
Samurai Cathy shrugs and lets Ninja Vicki lead Tina the Lesbian around the side of the movie theater to talk in private.
“It was almost a perfect plan, Tina,” Ninja Vicki says. “Getting Tag Larkin to go out on a date with me so I would be out of the way when you put your ill-fated moves on Samurai Cathy. You got him to play on my tendency to only like men who don’t like me. You fed him vital information like my anti-rose policy and my taste in music. You even got Tag Larkin to suppress his Tag Larkin tendencies, if only for a little while. But you forgot one little thing…”
“And that is what?” says Tina the Lesbian.
“My self-loathing and low self-image wouldn’t allow me to believe Tag Larkin was truly interested me,” Ninja Vicki says, a smirk creeping over her face as she remembered Tag Larkin calling her stunningly beautiful. “Though to be fair, he came very close.”
“All right, Sherlock Vicki, you got me,” Tina the Lesbian says. “I knew you’d never let me escalate my designs on Samurai Cathy, so I recruited Tag Larkin to keep you busy for the evening. He owed me for that Halloween Murder Mystery bullshit he pulled. So I told him exactly how to court you… all your likes and dislikes… I even gave him money to pay for your dinner.”
“I knew it!” Ninja Vicki says. “Tag Larkin always goes dutch.”
“I expected you to put these pieces together eventually,” Tina the Lesbian said. “But after the 8:35 New Moon showing.”
“You should have picked an earlier show,” Ninja Vicki says.
“The 7:05 was sold out, damn 12-year olds and love-starved Twimoms,” Tina the Lesbian says. “So… now that you’ve exposed my plot, what are you going to do?”
“Nothing,” Ninja Vicki says with a sigh. “Except try to get you to understand how crazy you’re letting your crush on Samurai Cathy make you. You can’t insure love through convoluted mastermind machinations like this. And you don’t even like Twilight! You’re turning into a LifeTime Movie of the Week villainess here. It’s not healthy.”
“Maybe you’re right…” Tina the Lesbian says. “Maybe I’ve become obsessed. But it’s been so long since I last clicked with someone. And I feel a connection with Cathy I don’t feel with anyone else.”
“How about this… I promise I won’t get upset if you two hang out together, and you promise to stop trying to get Cathy to turn gay for you,” says Ninja Vicki. “I think that’s fair, right?”
“All right, you’ve got a deal,” Tina the Lesbian says. “One question… why did you bring Avonia the Wiccan Pimp here?”
“I needed someone to start a fire to get you out of the theater,” Ninja Vicki says. “Plus Avonia really hates Twilight.”
They return to the front of the movie theater where Avonia is regaling Samurai Cathy with tales of how the Twilight series is the worst thing to happen to young girls since MTV’s My Super Sweet Sixteen (Avonia also refers to the Twilight Series as a multi-volume bag of sadness). And Samurai Cathy agrees, which is why she wants to hunt down all the sparkly daywalker vampires, should they ever become real. That and the author wish fulfillment and blatant Mormon overtones skeeve her out as well.
And so the quartet of girls go out to a nearby bar for drinks, where they find Tag Larkin waiting inside with four flowers in his hand, each one the favorite of Avonia (yellow lily), Cathy (purple lotus), Tina (blue rose), and Vicki (violet).
“You’re right on time…” Tag Larkin says. “Just as Tag Larkin planned all along. For why settle for one woman when Tag Larkin can have four! Now who wants to come back to Tag Larkin’s place and break some furniture with our love?”
The ladies all force yawns, mutter something about calling it a night, and leave in a hurry. Tag Larkin uses the four flowers to pick up a quartet of college seniors down the bar from him to break his furniture in the act of coitus. Just as Tag Larkin planned.
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So Ninja Vicki’s date with Tag Larkin went… well, she did expect him to throw a table at some point, but running out of the restaurant yelling “abort mission!” was highly unexpected. And something didn’t sit right with Vicki the whole time Tag Larkin was charming the pants off her, but she couldn’t put her finger on it. So she returned to me and Anonymous Doug at the Bass-to-Bass for our fingers, which have been curled around pint glasses for the past six hours.
“So, did you fuck him?” says Anonymous Doug.
“No… but he got uncomfortably close to doing that,” says Ninja Vicki. “Tag Larkin knew I liked violets instead of roses.”
“Why is that?” Anonymous Doug asks.
“Because a boy in seventh grade gave me a rose for Valentine’s Day and I pricked my finger on the thorn and got sporotrichosis,” says Ninja Vicki. “So ever since then I’ve been anti-rose and pro-violet.”
“Your face is pro-violet,” I say. I am drunk.
“Then Tag Larkin said that he was paying for dinner,” says Ninja Vicki.
“But Tag Larkin always goes dutch,” says Anonymous Doug.
“You can go dutch… with your ass!” I say and laugh. I don’t know how I’m still staying on my bar stool.
“Then Tag Larkin complemented me and said I was stunningly beautiful,” says Ninja Vicki.
“That monster!” says Anonymous Doug.
“But he insulted me at the food court,” says Ninja Vicki. “And then he tricked me into dating him… as if he knew that I only like guys who don’t want me.”
“What woman would want me?” I say, slumping over the bar. “They never have…”
“But the real kicker is that Tag Larkin knew I like Lady GaGa,” Ninja Vicki says.
“You do?” Anonymous Doug says, laughing. “You have the worst taste in music ever.”
“I’m a hideous unlovable monster…” I say, falling off my barstool. “And now I’m on the floor.”
“But how would Tag Larkin know my musical tastes?” Ninja Vicki says. “The only person who’s ever seen my iPod selection is… oh mother-cock-fucker!”
Ninja Vicki roots through my pants pocket for my cell phone, and she uses it to dial Mikka.
“Did I just get lucky?” I say from the floor.
“Where’s Samurai Cathy?” she asks as soon as Mikka picks up his phone.
“She’s not here,” Mikka says. “She and Tina the Lesbian just left to go see that shitty Twilight New Moon movie.”
“Wait, Catherine likes Twilight?” Ninja Vicki says, stifling a laugh.
“No, she sees it as a training film on how to kill daywalker vampires,” says Mikka. “So when Robert Pattinson comes to kill us she’ll be ready.”
“Which theater are they going to?” Ninja Vicki says.
“What?” says Mikka.
“Damn it, man! There isn’t time!” Ninja Vicki yells.
“The Colonial Ultraplex,” says Mikka.
Ninja Vicki drops the phone on my stomach and runs out the door.
“I feel cold…” I say, unable to get up from the floor.
“That’s either loneliness or death,” says Anonymous Doug. “Need me to call an ambulance for you?”
Somehow my keys are in my hand. “No… I’ll drive myself.”
To be continued…
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I’m at the bar with Anonymous Doug, going through our fourth pitcher of Wes Anderson Wheat Beer: The beer that makes you stare listlessly and not have any inflection in your voice, like most of the characters in his movies. And just as we pour ourselves some fresh pints, Ninja Vicki comes jumping down from the ceiling to join us, and by her eyes peeking out from over her ninja mask, she seems troubled.
“I got tricked into going on a date with Tag Larkin tonight,” Ninja Vicki says, taking my beer and drinking it.
“How the hell do you get tricked into going on a date with someone?” I say. “Furthermore, how do you get tricked by Tag Larkin?”
“I don’t know!” Ninja Vicki says. “All I know is he’s going to be waiting for me at 7pm at Codependent’s.”
“Love their beer selection,” says Anonymous Doug. “You’re going to have a good time there.”
“I’m not showing up,” Ninja Vicki says.
“You’re going to stand up Tag Larkin?” I say.
“No one stands up Tag Larkin,” says Anonymous Doug.
“Well, I’m gonna,” says Ninja Vicki.
“Vicki… no one stands up Tag Larkin,” Anonymous Doug repeats. “It’s like fighting on holy ground in Highlander. You just don’t do it.”
“Well, I’m gonna,” says Ninja Vicki.
“The last time a woman stood up Tag Larkin was August 28th, 2005,” Anonymous Doug says. “The next day Hurricane Katrina hit New Orleans.”
“That’s a coincidence and you know it,” says Ninja Vicki.
“December 25th, 2004… Tag Larkin is stood up on a Christmas date,” Anonymous Doug says. “The next day the Tsunami hits Indonesia and kills 300,000 people.”
“Tag Larkin does not have the power of hurricanes and tsunamis,” Ninja Vicki says.
“And let’s never forget the evening of September 10th, 2001 when Tag Larkin sat all alone at the Rib House waiting all night for an online date who never showed,” says Anonymous Doug. “No one stands up Tag Larkin.”
“But… Tag Larkin tricked me,” says Ninja Vicki. “He said I wasn’t fun or interesting and I said I was too and I could prove it and I then he said to meet him for dinner and I said yes.”
“Yes… Tag Larkin played you like a cheap fiddle there,” I say sarcastically. “Especially when he asked you out and you said yes.”
“What part of Nobody Stands Up Tag Larkin are you struggling with?” Anonymous Doug says. “Now go put on something pretty and have a nice time with Tag Larkin so that we don’t have another national tragedy.”
Ninja Vicki finishes the rest of my beer and jumps back up to the ceiling to leave.
“Is all that stuff about Katrina and Tsunami and 9/11 and Tag Larkin true?” I say.
“Fuck if I know,” says Anonymous Doug. “But do you really want Tag Larkin walking around town for the next few weeks pissed off about being stood up?”
Anonymous Doug is the smartest man I know who isn’t Batman.
To be continued…
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You might remember that Tina the Lesbian has a crush on Samurai Cathy. You might also remember that Samurai Cathy is dating Mikka. And you might also remember that Tina the Lesbian got Samurai Cathy a job as a bouncer down at the local lesbian bar ClamLappers as part of a plan to see if maybe perhaps possibly Cathy could discover her inner lesbo and have the same feelings for Tina as Tina has for her without upsetting the social balance because Samurai Cathy is dating Mikka.
(Whew, trying saying that sentence in one breath…)
“I don’t think it’s working,” Tina the Lesbian says to her best friend Ninja Vicki as they have lunch at the food court in the mall. “It’s been like three months and I haven’t seen anything to suggest Cathy’s even considering being bi-curious.”
“I guess that means the experiment has failed and you can stop having a crush on my archenemy,” says Ninja Vicki.
“Or maybe I need to nudge her a little harder,” says Tina the Lesbian. “Maybe I’m being too subtle.”
“Tina… no, just no,” Ninja Vicki says. “I know this is going to sound crazy coming from your ninja friend, but do not force the issue. It won’t end well.”
“I’m not talking about grabbing her and kissing her,” Tina the Lesbian says. “Maybe a little incidental contact that perhaps lingers a bit longer than usual.”
“Tina, I will put Tag Larkin back on your front lawn to serenade you if you try this stupid idea,” Ninja Vicki says with a hard glare. “Look, I know Catherine. Catherine is not gay, just like how you will never be straight.”
“Well it doesn’t change the way I feel about her,” Tina the Lesbian says, excusing herself to use the little lesbian’s room.
Ninja Vicki shakes her head and sighs. “Not this shit again… fuck me…”
Tag Larkin jumps up from his seat clear across the food court and runs over to Ninja Vicki’s table, like a dog following a sound only he can hear.
“Oh… it’s you,” Tag Larkin says, disappointed when he sees Ninja Vicki.
“Yeah, it’s me,” Ninja Vicki says, then realizes she’s been insulted. “Hey! What the hell does that mean?”
“Tag Larkin thought an interesting and fun woman wanted Tag Larkin to fuck her,” says Tag Larkin. “But it’s just you.”
Ninja Vicki’s jaw visibily drops from behind her mask. “I’m a fucking ninja! You don’t get much more interesting and fun than me.”
“Tag Larkin knows otherwise,” Tag Larkin says.
Ninja Vicki jumps up on the table. “Oh yeah? Well how about I prove it then?”
“Codependents’ Brewery and Steak House, 7pm tonight, be there!” Tag Larkin says.
“No, you be there!” says Ninja Vicki. “Because I’ll be waiting there for you.”
“Good! And wear something nice!”
As Tag Larkin walks away and Ninja Vicki steps down from the table, a cold realization slowly grips her. “Wait… what just happened?”
To be continued…
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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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Disappointment abound this week. I’m disappointed that Feather Healer’s reunion tour won’t be coming to my area, and Tina the Lesbian’s disappointed in the injustice that gay marriage got voted down by ballot referendum last week in Maine, though she takes solace that they only lost 53-47 this time out. She takes less solace in the fact that Maine’s citizens voted in favor of expanding medical marijuana use in their state.
“This is why civil rights issues should not be decided by popular vote,” says Tina the Lesbian. “I thought we’d win this one.”
“But now you know what the gay marriage movement needs to do next time,” I say. “You need to link gay marriage and marijuana.”
“What?” says Tina the Lesbian.
“Marijuana is obviously more popular than gay marriage,” I say. “If you can piggyback gay marriage onto the marijuana bandwagon, I’d say you stand a better chance of winning a ballot referendum.”
“But we’ve already got the stoner vote,” says Tina the Lesbian. “Potheads don’t care if gay people get married.”
“You need to target old people who want pot for glaucoma and chemotherapy,” I say. “Those are the only potheads who would get high and be against gay marriage.”
“All right… how do we do that?” says Tina the Lesbian.
“You need a campaign targeting old people saying Let’s Make a Deal,” I say. “And the deal is that if you vote for gay marriage being legal, the homosexual community will score you some really good weed.”
“So we’d be smoking up old people in exchange for their support legalizing gay marriage?” says Tina the Lesbian.
“Old people may think Jesus saves, but Jesus doesn’t bring nuggets of kind bud to allievate their rheumatoid arthritis,” I say. “After a while of getting high of your lesbian weed they start thinking maybe the gays really aren’t hellbound monsters if they’re providing such good pot. Then it’s only a matter of time until they say ‘Oh, why don’t we help that nice lesbian who gets us high get married?’ Ballot referendum comes up, old people go to the polls, Bob’s your Uncle, and you can get married to your roller derby dream girl.”
“Martin Luther King Jr. didn’t have to smoke people up to end segregation in the south,” says Tina the Lesbian.
“He also got beaten by cops, doused by fire hoses, wiretapped by the FBI, and eventually shot,” I say. “Now you can do all that… or, you can start growing awesome Cheech and Chong-like weed and pass it out at retirement homes.”
Tina said she’d take the idea into consideration, just like how the Mexican consolate said he’d take my idea of having Mexicans running across the border with coolers full of margaritas, thus encouraging America to help them become US citizens because – hey – they brought drinks.
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This one is called “Things are much cooler when you mishear them.”
Abstinence only?
Try Absinthe-only sex-ed
Trippin’ and learnin’
This one is called “Why I stopped going to the Lilith Fair.”
Acoustic guitars
plus pretentious twats equals
Bad open mic night
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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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