Theologian Charles Swindoll wrote:  ”Attitude, to me, is more important than facts.”

Obviously Mr. Swindoll knows Tag Larkin, because that’s exactly how Tag Larkin lives his life.

Sure, it’s a fact that most if not all shopping malls, coffee shops, and convenience stores declare that you can’t walk around their establishments shirtless and with an opened tallboy of beer.  But if Tag Larkin wants to purchase some wrinkle-free slacks or a moccachino or a box of Hot Pockets while bearing his manly chest and chugging 24 ounces of Schlitz, then you’re not going to stop Tag Larkin from doing so.  And all those  pleas about “please the leave the store” and “we’re calling the cops”  and “put down the beer or we’ll taser you” won’t move him either because to Tag Larkin…

Attitude is more important than facts.

Sure, it’s a fact that Ankara is the capital of Turkey and not Gobble-gobblestan, and Alex Trebek told Tag Larkin this during an episode of Jeopardy that Tag Larkin was part of as a contestant.  But it doesn’t make much difference what the capital of Turkey is after Tag Larkin hits you with your own podium and that’s because…

Attitude is more important than facts.

Sure, it’s a fact that Tag Larkin is not the drummer for the Rolling Stones or the King of Norway or the first man to fuck a comet.  But that doesn’t stop Tag Larkin from telling women these things when Tag Larkin tries picking them up at a bar, or a bank, or a funeral.  And to everyone’s surprise sometimes it actually works.  Well, everyone’s surprise except Tag Larkin because Tag Larkin knows…

Attitude is more important than facts.  It’s also more important than education and money, which is why Tag Larkin also says he owns Monaco and has a PhD in GlobalThermoAstroDynamic Brain Surgery.  Go ahead, tell him he doesn’t.  See how far that gets you.

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“So a lot of people still have that famous Farrah Fawcett poster from the 70’s,”  I say.

“And I’m one of them,” says Anonymous Doug.

“Is it going to be weird to whack off to it now that she’s dead?”  I say.

“Not at all,” says Anonymous Doug.  “I didn’t give up my Betty Page collection when she died in 2008.  I never stopped enjoying Deep Throat after Linda Lovelace died in 2002.  And I sure didn’t stop cranking it to Bea Arthur when she went this year.”

*blink* *blink*

“Bea Arthur?”  I say.

“Sometimes I’m in the mood for something unconventional,” says Anonymous Doug.  “She’s a tough old broad, like Pat Summit.  She’ll get in your face and make you love it.”

*blink* *blink*

“Seriously?  Bea Arthur?”  I say.  “Were you trying to whack it to Adrienne Barbeau on ‘Maude’ and you reached climax when Bea Arthur popped up on the screen, thus conditioning yourself in an unexpected way?”

“No, I’m just into a lot of weird shit,” says Anonymous Doug.  “My years of debauchery with impunity sometimes leaves me desensitized to what would normally stimulate the average person.  On those occasions, I need something just totally out there to get off.”

I’m afraid Anonymous Doug’s going to end up like David Carradine or Michael Hutchence or that pastor who suffocated while hogtied, wearing two wetsuits, and having a dildo up his ass.  Then again, I’m not sure what is a fitting death for an anonymous man like Doug.

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Every Precious Encouragement shot back at you all at once…

This has been your Precious Encouragement of the Week.  Encouraging you preciously until you can barely stand it.

Mikka wants to set the record straight about vikings…

We’re skipping Haiku Friday this week to provide the first-ever get well card/legal motion…

Dear Da Old Man of Crotchedy Old Man Yells At Cars,

It has come to our (belated) attention here at Renal Failure, via HumorBloggers.com, that you are in the hospital and are, by your accounts, “in renal failure.”

This admission represents a severe encroachment on our intellectual property and copyrights, as well as possible confusion in the market place that could cause irreparable harm to our brand.

By the authority of Brigid, the pagan goddess of fire, ice, and trademark law, we request that you immediately cease and desist being in renal failure.  May we suggest yelling at your kidneys to function properly.  Tag Larkin once saved a heart attack victim by hollering profanities at him, and possibly tasering him repeatedly.  That last part is still disputed.

Failure to comply with this cease and desist order will result in a more sternly-worded missive, and possibly a ninja visiting you in the night to switch your hospital charts with the pre-op transsexual down the hall.

Please do not die.  It will just drive your legal costs up because we retain the services of Avonia the Wiccan Pimp who can commune with the dead, thus allowing us to bring the recently departed to trial.

We await your full recovery so that you can stop defaming our good name.

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With TV pitchman Billy Mays dead, the nation looks to the horizon for the next great salesman of things you didn’t know you needed but can purchase from the comfort of your recliner.  Sure, there’s Vince the ShamWow/Slap Chop guy, but he’s in a bit of trouble for beating up a hooker and that could have negative effects in the marketplace.

So we turn to the Renal Failure roster for a suitable replacement.  Avonia the Wiccan Pimp doesn’t quite have the aggression needed for selling food processors, for while pimping may not be easy it’s certainly easier than convincing people they need an Awesome Auger for their gardens.   Ninja Vicki’s not necessarily a good salesperson; she just sneaks into people’s houses while they sleep, leaves a tub of Oxi-Clean or Orange Glow, and then steals the appropriate amount of money from their wallets.  And no one can remember that they bought a Ronco dehydrator from Anonymous Doug,  so they keep returning them after they arrive in the mail.

But there is one person who can fill Billy Mays’ beard… Tag Larkin.

If Tag Larkin shows up on your TV and tells you to buy something, you’re going to buy two of them.  Tag Larkin could sell you a gallon of cancer.  Did you know you needed a gallon of cancer for your home, boat, or RV?  You do now, because Tag Larkin just told you.

Tag Larkin doesn’t even have to show you the product or give you customer testimonials.  He just stares into the camera and demands you buy whatever he’s selling.  You’re lucky if Tag Larkin even gives you the name of the product. Tag Larkin has already sold you the product, you just don’t know it yet.

Have your credit card ready.  Supplies are limited.  And if you act now, Tag Larkin will let you keep your face at no extra cost.

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Regular Renal Readers will recall that one of my favorite phrases to yell is “Shut the fuck up, Colin!”  This is mainly because former Secretary of State Colin Powell knew the war in Iraq was a dumb idea and went along with it anyway, giving it an air of sensibility that tricked others into believing it was a good idea (just like my man-slave Tony Blair, who does whatever an American tells him). 

But I was so busy telling Colin Powell to shut the fuck up and telling Tony Blair to insert things into his ass that I never got around to calling up Vietnam War architect Robert S. McNamara and telling him to shut the fuck up.  Now he’s dead.  Sure, I could still tell him to shut the fuck up but it’s just not the same. 

What I find interesting is that after leaving his post as Secretary of Defense he found immediate work running the World Bank.  I mean, Tag Larkin has trouble applying for jobs because of his blatant drinking in public.  McNamara’s cock-ups were responsible for 58,000+ American deaths in Vietnam during his years as Secretary of Defense, yet he gets a nice cush job at the World Bank while Tag Larkin has to slum it at Chickensian Dystopia, dishing out Tale of Two Cities Chicken Strip combos and Nicholas Nickleby Nuggets for shit wages.

Then again, deputy Sec. of Defense during the Iraq War Paul Wolfowitz got a job at the World Bank too (which he fucked up as well).  I guess the lesson here is either the World Bank will hire fucking anyone or if you’re going to screw up do it huge because then no one will think you’re capable of screwing up that big again. 

Perhaps it’s something in American culture that rewards royally screwing up.  Might be a Protestant thing, like how it doesn’t matter how much you’ve fucked up in the past as long as you find Jesus and are Born Again.  It’s a big cosmic eraser on the whiteboard that tallies up your transgressions against the human race.  It sure explains why Newt Gingrich still shows up on television. 

(At least the Jews make you fast for an entire day for the same effect on Yom Kippur.  Come on, work a little for that clean slate.)

But screw up big enough and not only do your sins somehow don’t count against you, they are handsomely rewarded.  CEO’s run companies into the ground and are given golden parachutes. No one from any cable business channel like CNBC or Bloomberg of FoxBusiness lost their jobs (or committed suicide) after utterly failing to see the economic fuckstorm that hit us last year and continues fuckstorming (or stormfucking) us today.  No one paid any price in the Catholic Church for their complicity in covering up priests buggering children for decades.  And to this day Sherri Shepherd still draws a paycheck from The View after saying on national television that she doesn’t know if the world is round and that no one pre-dated Christians.

There seems to be an undercurrent in all these cases that these screw-ups were in service to a status quo that rewards allegiance to tenets like financial greed, militaristic lust, and devolving people’s intelligence for the good of some outdated authority.  Devote yourself to this cause hard enough and you’ll never have worry for work.  Case in point: the majority of political pundits on TV and in print.  The fact that Peggy Noonan is not starving in the streets is proof of this.

So if anyone asks why Avonia the Wiccan Pimp is over my house having a seance, it’s so I can tell Robert McNamara right to his ghostly face to shut the fuck up.  And then I’ll make him tell Colin Powell to shut the fuck up for not learning from the past.  A past he was there for, ass.

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So Sarah Palin is quitting being governor of Alaska at the end of the month.  Or I think that’s what she’s doing.  I watched her speech on the matter and really couldn’t understand what she was saying.  At some point during her rambling I was under the impression she was joining the WNBA as a point guard, or that her Down’s Syndrome baby Trig was going to be given the governorship, or that she too was going to fly down to Argentina to bang some other woman.

(side note: this is just another example of why you don’t pick fights with Tag Larkin by stealing his question answering technique and naming your kids Trig and Track, because not only does Tag Larkin always win, he will win the shit out of you.)

So for further insight I hit up someone who has experience in leaving political office early: the pimptastic senator from Mississippi Trent Lott.  He left the Senate  in 2007 after winning reelection in 2006 to go into lobbying, and because being in the minority party is just no damn fun.

“Fuck if I know what she’s doing,”  T-Lott says.   “When I left office I didn’t say I was gonna change shit.  I said, ‘Fuck y’all, I’m makin’ money.’  That’s what I did.  Chickenhead here is talkin’ crazy.”

“She’s pretty much saying the best thing for Alaska is for her not to be in charge of running it,” I say.  “I’m not sure how you can spin that in your favor, but doggone it she’s going to give it a try.”

“She’s not even out of her first term,” says T-Rizzy.  “I had three full terms under my belt before leaving in the middle of my fourth.”

“Her basketball analogy doesn’t even make sense,” I say.

“A good point guard drives through a full court press, protecting the ball, keeping her eye on the basket… and she knows exactly when to pass the ball so that the team can WIN. And I’m doing that – keeping our eye on the ball that represents sound priorities – smaller government, energy independence, national security, freedom! And I know when it’s time to pass the ball – for victory.”

“But she’s not passing the ball,” I say.  “She’s walking off the court and quitting the sport.”

“So she’s looking at the basket and the ball at the same time?”  says Trent Dogg.  “No, no, sorry but my years hustling ballers out on the blacktop have taught me that you don’t look at the ball when you’re dribbling because some chump’s gonna strip you clean and make you look dumb.”

“Then there was her line about when she visited the troops in Kosovo,”  I say. … we can ALL learn from our selfless Troops… they’re bold, they don’t give up… “Unlike her who is giving up at a press conference on a Friday afternoon right before Independence Day.”

“I just hope with all her free time she don’t come looking to hang out with me,” says T-to-the-Rizzent.  “Because Ol’ Dirty Bastard- God rest his soul – ain’t got nothin’ on Sarah Palin when it comes to crazy-ass shit.  I see her number come up on my cellie, I’m making like the Frank family.  Your ass ain’t gonna see me.  Fuck it, I’ll flip that shit.  I’ll make like a Nazi war criminal and hide in Argentina like my cracka Mark Sanford.  Get us some phat drinks and some Argentine hotties.  Represent the dirty south in South America, ya feel me?”

“So what the hell is she going to do now that she’s not governor?”  I say.  “Does she need all this time to get ready for the 2012 Presidential election?  Does she think she’s Nixon?  At least he spent four years in the House, three in the Senate, and eight as Vice-President before going into the wilderness for eight years.”

“Palin ain’t got shit on Nixon,” Notorious L.O.T.T. says.  “Nixon was the motherfuckin’ game.  Nixon ran his shit from the windows to the motherfuckin’ walls.  Nixon shits on Palin.  Nixon’s left nut’s got more savvy than Palin, and that nut’s been dead and buried for 15 years.”

“Nixon also thought abortion was all right regarding interracial pregnancies,”  I say.  “And that Jews had a death wish.”

“Shit, dawg, Palin can’t even pronounce interracial,” says Trent-Pac.

We’re not sure what Sarah Palin is going to do in the near future, but we’re pretty sure it will be incomprehensible. 

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We’re back from our little week-long respite, and contrary to popular rumors that I started I was not down in Argentina banging some woman like I’m the governor of South Carolina.  I mean, that would have been really awesome, putting the gubernatorial spurs to a hot South American chick who’s not my wife or the mother of my children, but that’s not what I was doing.

(side note: Hey Mark Sanford, how about cheating on your wife like John Edwards, Eliot Spitzer, and John Ensign did: Fuck American!  It doesn’t do our economy any good if you spend your dirty mistress money for motel rooms, bondage gear, and goat masks down in Argentina.)

Now I don’t know any Argentinian women, personally or in public.  No, scratch that, there’s Evita Peron but she’s dead and I don’t care for musicals.  So I have no gauge on the hotness of Argentine women like I do for Columbia (Shakira) or Australia (Kylie Minogue) or New Zealand (Lucy Lawless and Nursemyra).  But based on this Sanford experience, I wouldn’t be surprised if Argentine women provide some competition there.

Maybe Argentina is a land of untapped hotness.  Brazil gets all the attention when it comes to hotness in South America, seeing how they have a bikini wax named after them.  And while Buenos Aires may be a great city in its own right, it’s no Rio de Janeiro  I make this claim based on three subjective points: 1) the movie’s called Blame It on Rio, not Blame It on Buenos Aires; 2) Duran Duran’s album and self-titled hit song was called “Rio” not “Bueno;”  and 3)my spotty memories of watching game shows as a child telling that the reaction for prize trips to Rio de Janeiro were much louder and more excited than for Buenos Aires.  But that just means Argentina’s hotness just hasn’t been discovered yet by a larger audience yet.

I can see brochures touting Argentina as a land of women so hot that you’ll disappear off the face of the Earth for a week and throw away your marriage and political career for them.  This is also the same reason I want to find the hookers that former New York governor Eliot Spitzer banged, because they had to have been smoking hot for him to ruin his life over them.

That’s what I’d like Argentina to be known for.  It sure beats being known as the land where Nazis went to hide after World War II, or for that whole Falkland Islands mess.  Hot chicks tend to make you forget stuff like that.

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Sherri Shepherd of The View is the Dumbest Woman in America.  Worse than Miss Teen South Carolina.  Ninja Vicki confirms this.

Psycho Dave proves that burning down a PhotoMat makes more sense than beating up the father of a dead soldier.

The Screaming Head on the Radio will condescend to every ethic minority one restaurant at a time.

Avonia the Wiccan Pimp shows us the darker side of the Wiccan sabbat of Mabon, which involved her getting thrown through a table.  Avonia is hardcore.

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