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I’m about a month a way from sitting in a rocking chair and shaking my fist at those damn kids

June 29, 2013

The world seems to circle back on things we’ve written about here over the past seven years, and the only thing is conjures in me is crankiness in these later days.  Only two items here…

First – Americans are upset that the government data-mines your phone calls. They get no commiserating pat on the shoulder from me. The government’s been tapping my phone since 2006. The Jackal (the codename of the NSA agent on my phone) and I have had numerous conversations, often about his difficulties with life or the state of America and its people (sometimes his interns are listening in). Avonia the Wiccan Pimp doesn’t have any sympathy either; the government’s been planting moles and informants in her various covens since the run-up to the Iraq war. So now you’re on jumping on the “oh noes theyz spyings on the shits we do – is real bad!” bandwagon?  Go tell it to a wall, because we’re not sticking around to hear you bellyache about government intrusion now that it may actually apply to you, white devil.

Second – The Supreme Court ruling that cleared the way for legalizing gay marriage. Remember back in March when I was cranky about people switching their Facebook profile pics to that red equality sign just because the Supreme Court was hearing arguments on the Defense of Marriage Act and Prop 8?  Now’s the perfect time for the picture, but looking at my friends list it seems the same people who made that switch in March didn’t make the switch in June when the actual decision came down.  It’s like if Chicago Blackhawks fans were really hyped in April about making the Stanley Cup Playoffs and then zoned out and barely noticed when their team actually won the Stanley Cup.  Now is the time for celebratory graphics, people!  Surprisingly I haven’t seen any significant venturing into “FUCK YOU” and “COUNTER FUCK YOU” and “COUNTER COUNTER FUCK YOU” territory regarding this Supreme Court decision, which probably tells me that people will always bitch harder about fast food than actual court cases – but then again it’s only been a few days.

Yes, this wasn’t a good post. Hopefully now that this bad post has been pushed out, a better one can come later.




Studying that doesn’t require any studying whatsoever

October 14, 2012

Here at the Failure, we’ve been leading the way when it comes to the study of bullshit, because who better than the blog of wild fabrications and outright lies to conduct such research, right? And whenever election time comes around in the US, it’s prime bullshit season.  It’s like Haley’s Comet, solar eclipses, and summer blockbuster movie season all wrapped up into a giant bullshit burrito – and everyone gets to take a bite of it.

One of the key bullshit markers we’ve identified this year was people of a Christian bent spouting off bullshit and then trying to sidestep it by declaring that what really matters (other than the truth) is what’s in their heart, or that you don’t know what really in their heart, or their heart is telling them conflicting information than the actual truth.  We haven’t found any evidence of this happening with other faiths yet, but we’d be happy to include them on the list.

Well, there’s another phrase we need to be on the lookout for: “study it out.”  This was brought to our attention through an angry old lady yelling at Chris Matthews that President Obama is a communist – and then failing to explain why she makes that claim.

Matthews: What did you mean by that?

Romney Supporter: All you have to do is study it out. Just study it out and you’ll see. You haven’t done your homework, buddy.

Matthews: What do I need to study?

Romney Supporter: He’s a communist. And those of us who are not voting for him know it.

Matthews: And what do you mean by communist?

Romney Supporter: You don’t know?

Matthews: Just tell me. Help me out here. I want to know what you mean.

Romney Supporter: Oh I know what I mean.

Matthews: Well help us out. You’re on national television.

Romney Supporter: I know I’m on national television.

Matthews: Well tell me what you mean when you just accused the guy of being a communist.

Romney Supporter: You just study it out.

Apparently this phrase just isn’t a weird turn-of-phrase by a raging old woman untethered from reality, it has its roots in the Mormon Faith, which we’ve previously identified as the needless sequel Christianity never asked for.

But, behold, I say unto you, that you must study it out in your mind; then you must ask me if it be right, and if it is right I will cause that your bosom shall burn within you; therefore, you shall feel that it is right.

It is sort of comforting to see that “truthiness,” as Stephen Colbert coined it, has been around for a while. We’d hate to believe this high level of bullshit was a recent phenomena. You will know what is right because it will feel right – a laughable sentiment because previous research in the Renal Failure labs has determined that your feelings don’t matter.

“Study it out” seems more insidious than the previous “what in my heart” defense because it suggests actual research and thinking being done when really you’re doing none of those things to come to your conclusion.  That’s why the woman is so indignant when asked to explain herself.  I her mind, she’s apparently done the necessary intellectual legwork and you haven’t, so fuck you she’s better than you.  Granted, it’s not hard to be smarter than Chris Matthews (who we are still waiting for someone to stab in the neck with a pencil), but even a number-one ranked team has to put in some effort to beat a team near the bottom of the standings.

So we are pleased to induct “study it out” into your Bullshit Phrase Hall of Fame, putting it right next “what’s in my heart” and “bless your heart” as phrases that denote high-level bullshittery going down. Special thanks to the Church of Latter Day Saints for providing this new term for us to use when we want to justify things when little to no evidence exists to support such selfish assertions.


I’m just saying you should be stomped in the crotch with golf cleats

August 22, 2012

The thing about premium-grade fucktarded stupidity is that it often brings out other strains of rank fucktardedness that compliment it in ways you couldn’t fathom, like when a sommelier goes deep in the wine cellar to find the perfect wine for your dinner.

Case in point: GOP Senate candidate Todd Akin’s assertion that women can’t get pregnant if they are legitimately raped prompted a series of idiocy from reporter Dave Catanese on his Twitter feed.  The fact that this is on Twitter is the first sign that paint-drinking stupidity is about to happen:

Politico reporter Dave Catanese took to Twitter to defend comments made by Rep. Todd Akin (R-Mo.) about rape.

“Poor phrasing, but if you watch the intv @ToddAkin meant to convey that there’s less chance of getting pregnant if raped,” he said.

Who’s more despicable than the guy who told people that women can’t get pregnant if they are legitimately raped? The puddle of sputum that goes “well, maybe he’s got a point.”  He’d be the guy in Revolutionary France going “Hey, maybe Queen Antoinette has some bold ideas, perhaps we could use more pastries and sweets in our lives. Let’s hear her out.”  Or the guy during the Civil Rights Era in America standing up and saying “Hey, there could be legitimate reasons why black people have to sit in the back of the bus. Maybe if we stop marching we can hear them.”  In either case, the only proper response to this douchebag is a pipe wrench to the face because, as shown below, stupidity in motion not only tends to stay in motion, it snowballs.

This was Catanese’s next tweet on the topic after people told him he was being fucktarded:

“So perhaps some can agree that all rapes that are reported are not actually rapes? Or are we gonna really deny that for PC sake?”

Some people look at rape statistics and go, “Oh my god, that’s horrible.”  Dave Catanese looks at rape statistics and says “Well, they can’t all have been actual rapes.”  He’s a glass-half-full kind of guy, and then he rapes the glass.

And the stupid continues to gain speed as it slingshots around the Moon with his follow-up tweet…

“So looks like he meant to say — ‘If a woman was REALLY raped, it’s statistically less likely for her to get pregnant.’ What’s the science?”

I mean, really, we’re talking REALLY raped here, people.  We’re not talking about your garden-variety, pedestrian rape.  She’s gotta be REALLY raped where if fyou were watching you’d be like “Damn there is some pro-grade raping gone on here.”  Like we got the Citizen Kane of brutal sexual assault happening right in front of us.

This is also a lesson in strategic capitalization, where you only type in all-caps the words you want extraordinary emphasis on to really hammer home a point. In Dave Catanese’s case, it’s to express skepticism that women might actually be victims of rape.  And it obscures his “Where’s the science?” comment, which has no grip on science whatsoever because sperm and egg don’t care if the participants are willing.  So what reason do we have to doubt that Dave Catanese may one day build a rape dungeon in his basement in order to conduct his important research to answer the question he has posed?

Are we accusing Dave Catanese of having a rape dungeon?  Hey, we’re just trying to have a larger debate on the issue. That’s all. Actually, no, we’re just leading up to his next stupid Tweet…

“The left is often 1st to shut down debate as “off limits” when it deems so. Aren’t these moments supposed to open up a larger debate?”

The last refuge of those irrevocably-invested in their idiocy: “I’m just trying to open up debate/discussion on issue X.”  This always comes up late in the game when someone is backpedaling from the fucktarded shit they’ve said and subsequently made worse with even dumber defenses of their initial stupidity.  I can find no record of anyone making this argument and having it be valid.  It’s just a cue that the end is near.

Re last night: Bad idea trying to have nuanced conversation on highly charged issue on here. Did not intend to take a side. Lesson learned.

And there it is, the begrudging surrender with the wrong lesson being learned.  The sin he confesses is one of venue for his nuanced conversation – Twitter, where you can only post 140 characters at a time.  Also, that he did not intend to take a side when he stood up to declare that maybe the guy running for Senate who said that women who were being legitimately raped had natural defenses against becoming impregnated by their rapists may have had a point.  Let us place any declaration of not wanting to take sides as a blatant admission that you’re taking sides.  It’s like saying “No disrespect, but” or “I’m just saying.”  You’re telling us you’re doing the opposite of those things.

Eventually, his bosses got a hold of him and took him off the campaign beat for this Senate race, prompting Catanese to issue a memo of apology to his co-workers at Politico.  Part of that apology being:

I would never intentionally impugn a woman who has been the victim of the horrific crime of rape. My commentary on Rep. Akin’s repugnant rhetoric failed to make this clear.

Except for that whole “REALLY raped” thing you were pushing before.

Writing is hard, but you know what’s really easy? Not sticking up for an idiot who brought “legitimate rape” into the national vocabulary.  When you fail to make that point clear in your commentary, you suck at writing – which I fear is how most people get their job at in the first place.

There’s no positive lesson here, just examples of what not to do.  And many times that’s enough.  It’s an uncertain world and maybe there’s no right answer, but you can eliminate a lot of the wrong answers by documenting the failures of others.


Barbie’s Malibu Oncology Office

April 5, 2012

I was watching a marathon session of Maru videos when I blacked out. I awoke days later in a cardboard box with a punched train ticket to Colorado wedged between scraped and scabbed knuckles and a note stapled to my chest saying “Find the Orb.”  Obviously if I really want to know what I had done without my knowledge I would have left myself more clues, so I went back to zoning out on my computer where I found a news story about Barbie dolls, specifically that Barbie is going to have a new friend.

It appears a viral campaign on Facebook convinced Mattel to create a bald friend who lost all her hair due to cancer treatments for Barbie to… uh… I guess drive back and forth from the oncologist in her Malibu convertible.  That probably came off more glib and dismissive than we would have liked, but while we like the idea of a doll representing children who are suffering from cancer and have lost their hair we question whether Barbie is the right vehicle for such a sentiment.

“Considering Barbie and her friends are built to unrealistic body proportions, it still doesn’t do a whole lot for a girl who already has body issues,” says Tina the Lesbian.  “Yes, you can identify with Barbie’s friend’s hair loss, but she’s still going to have the size Negative-2 waist that you’ll never have, and those abnormally long and skinny legs with the dainty feet that could only be attained with cruel footbinding.”

“I guess with Cancer-Stricken Barbie you can sort of excuse her impossibly-thin body because of chemotherapy or the cancer just eating away at her,” says Samurai Cathy.  “Which then would make you wonder what sort of cancer has Barbie been fighting all these years to look so freakish.  Pancreatic?  Colon?  Maybe something in her brain screwing with her hormones?”

“That’s the exact same problem I had with the Wheelchair Becky friend for Barbie,” says Avonia the Wiccan Pimp.  “Becky and Barbie have pretty much the same toothpick legs that shouldn’t be able to maintain any weight on them, but Barbie gets to walk and Becky has to wait outside the Barbie Dream House because her wheelchair doesn’t fit through the door.  It’s not right.”

“That’s why I cut the legs off all my Barbie dolls, ” says Ninja Vicki.  “Now everyone knows Wheelchair Becky’s plight!  Except for Ken.  He had to give everyone piggyback rides. But then I had him drawn and quartered because he got mouthy, so I replaced him with Optimus Prime because he was a tractor trailer and could tow my crippled Barbies around.”

“I don’t see what the big deal is about a bald Barbie,” says Anonymous Doug.  “When I was fourteen I had like fifty bald Barbie dolls hanging naked from my basement ceiling.  Some I let keep their eyes, others not so much.”

“In retrospect, I believe Evil-Lyn suffered from liver failure because her action figure’s skin was yellow,” says Mikka, referring to the 80’s Masters of the Universe line of toys.  “That’s a brave choice, having a villain who so obviously suffered from severe jaundice.”

“But Barbie still won’t have any fattie friends, right?”  says Bernie the Half-Cyborg Cat.  “Well, that’s what Rainbow Brite and Strawberry Shortcake are for.  They were always on the chunky side.  And if Rainbow Brite wasn’t at least bisexual then I’d be astonished.”

No word yet on whether Barbie will get a bipolar friend who switches between paranoid mania fits that could turn tragically violent with but a mistimed word and despondent depressive valleys that prompt her friends to take every sharp object out of her house.  Maybe little girls will have a diabetic friend for Barbie to pal around with until you stop buying the insulin accessory packs and she loses her feet.  Hey, that means Wheelchair Becky will have a new friend to sit with her outside Barbie’s handicap-inaccessible Dream House!  Another problem solved by Renal Failure!  You’re welcome.


I’m looking forward to hookers getting workers’ compensation benefits

March 26, 2012

I’m surprised our Canadian readers – and I know we have a couple – haven’t told us about this yet, but the province of Ontario’s top court has just legalized brothels.  So right away I had to talk to my local expert on the subject of sex for money: Avonia the Wiccan Pimp.

“Does this mean you’ll be moving your operation to Canada?”  I ask.

“No, because they won’t let prostitutes solicit on the streets,” says Avonia.  “They can only do it from inside the brothel. I like working outside.”

“Which apparently is the safest place for a prostitute to work, according to the judge on the case,” I say.  “And I agree with that.  I mean, I don’t even eat food that’s sold outside.  I will make an exception if it’s sold under a tent, though. That counts as inside.”

“I’m kinda of surprised this happened in Ontario,”  says Avonia.  “I mean, it was the hookers in Vancouver, in British Columbia, who were putting together a cooperative brothel for the Olympics.”

“I can’t be surprised because I don’t know the political leanings of Canadian provinces,” says Avonia.  “Except for Alberta.  I heard that’s just Canadian Texas.”

“All of the crazy and cowboy boots, but with fewer guns,” I say.  “They could use some brothels up there.”

“I like that sex work is finally being spoken about in terms of health and safety,”  says Avonia.

“I look forward to the day where a whorehouse has one of them OSHA displays,” I say.  “Or a whore that comes with her own Material Safety Data Sheet.”

“If my job involved more regulatory paperwork instead of backhanding people, I’d be a happier pimp,” says Avonia.  “Not to say I’d like all of the backhanding taken out of my line of work, but a marked decrease would be greatly appreciated.”

I don’t know if pimps pimp-smack people in Canada. I suspect they hockey punch them.


Winter is coming, look ridiculous

February 9, 2012

“I think I figured out why we’ve been seeing all this lazy shit like Snuggies and Forever Lazies recently,”  I say.

“Because people just can’t be buggered to put on real clothes anymore?”  says Psycho Dave.

“Somewhat, but no,”  I say.  “It’s because our worldwide financial situation is so fucked that people are going to have to forgo paying their heating bills in the winter.”

“Hmm… you may be on to something here,” says Psycho Dave.  “I see those commercials and they all yell about how cold it is and I’m like ‘well turn up the fucking heat then.’  These people seem to be in well-off homes, just nudge the thermostat up a little.  But I guess now that they’re upside down on their mortgages they have to give up heat.”

“You’d better be seeing your breath to even consider walking around your home in an adult-sized onesie,” I say.  “And your home had better be an ice fishing shack on a frozen lake.”

“So what’s the awful outfit you have to wear when they shut off the electricity to your home?”  says Psycho Dave.  “Some sort of Devo hat that has a little solar-powered angler fish light hanging from the front of it?”

“It’s not a promising sign that we’re dealing with our financial problems with hideous adult versions of children pajamas,” I say.  “What other forms of regression will be foisted upon a population of dwindling financial means? Sippy cups for your box wine?”

“That’s actually a pretty good idea,” says Psycho Dave.  “Sippy cups for your alcohol.  Get sloppy drunk without spilling your liquor of choice.  They should sell them in bars.  You can’t break a sippy cup over someone’s head, unless you got retard strength.”

“No, drink spilling is a built-in fail-safe to stop you from drinking yourself to death,”  I say.  “If you can’t keep your liquor in the glass, you can’t get it in your mouth.  And even that’s less embarrassing than wearing a fucking adult feetie pajamas.”

“Fucking feetie pajamas…”  Psycho Dave muses.  “What if you put a crotch flap on the feetie pajamas, that way you could fuck someone while still being toasty warm?”

“That’s just your Tuggie idea,”  I say.  “Your Snuggie with a dickflap invention.  Is that your grand innovation for everything?  Put a dickflap on it?”

“Yeah it is,”  says Psycho Dave.  “There should be dickflaps on everything.  Even if it’s for women because if a dick’s not coming out, one can certainly be going in.”

I’m not sure what an increase of dickflaps would be indicative of, but I find them less objectionable than the Hoodie Footie.


Side effects may include whipping it out for dudes and being horrible at blackjack

February 3, 2011

Illness and laziness and general life crap have kept me from my blogging duties.  After Saturday’s birthday of improv and beer, (where I rocked the house at my improv show and then celebrated afterward with pint after pint of Guinness) my body has been rebelling with coughing fits that I can feel in my back and a lack of appetite that has drained me to the point where I am actually getting the requisite eight hours of sleep a night that doctors are always recommending.  Since then I’ve been self-medicating with DayQuil, NyQuil, and Vicks Formula 44 cough syrup because I know full well the doctor can’t give me anything stronger or better for what ails me, just things that are more expensive.

You never know with pills… like with that guy from France who is suing GlaxoSmithKline because his Parkinson’s meds allegedly transformed him from a loving father and husband into a “gay sex addict” with a gambling addiction.

Didier Jambart, a married father-of-two who says he has attempted suicide three times, claims he became addicted to Internet gambling, losing the family’s savings and stealing to feed his habit.

He also became a compulsive gay sex addict and began exposing himself on the Internet and cross-dressing. His risky sexual encounters led to him being raped, his lawyers said.

The behaviour stopped when he stopped taking the drugs in 2005 but by then he had been demoted in his defence ministry job and was suffering from psychological trauma resulting from his addictions, his lawyers said.

“What was the name of this wonder drug?”  says Tina the Lesbian, aka T. Lesbian.  “GayBetItAll?   I think I’d rather take Ambien.  I’ll take sleep-eating over exposing myself on the Internet any day.”

“So what does this pill do to gay hedonist gambling addicts?”  says Mikka.  “Does it turn them into agoraphobic heterosexuals who think Monopoly is sinful?”

“I’m glad Michael J. Fox didn’t get into this stuff,”  says Anonymous Doug.  “We need him to fight the good fight for stem cell research so I can grow a new liver because the one I got keeps begging me to let it die.”

“There’s already a drug that makes you bad at poker and gets you to take off your clothes at inopportune times,” says Ninja Vicki.  “It’s called tequila and it makes me a wonderful dancer.”

“The guy’s only asking for $610,000 in damages,”  says Bernie the Half-Cyborg Cat.  “Obviously he didn’t lose that much money or self-respect during those lost years of random homo sex and shitty online poker playing.”

“I’m glad he got to keep his job at the defence ministry after being a gay whore gambling addict for so long,”  says Samurai Cathy.  “I once lost a job because I had a case of pneumonia.  This guy’s exposing himself on the Internet and being a security risk and he only gets demoted.  Viva La France for their workers’ rights laws!”

“I’ve gotten loopy off percasets before but not to the point where I’m trolling for illicit encounters and blowing all my money at the craps table,”  says Avonia the Wiccan Pimp.  “I think the worst thing I did on pain pills was let a bitch slide for not having my money.  The goddess surely was smiling on that wayward whore the day after my wisdom teeth were pulled.”

We’ve kept this information about the gay gambler pill from The Wheatleys because we don’t want them to be afraid of medicine.  Sean and Lucia are dumber than sputum, but at least they’ll go to the doctor when sick.  We don’t want them becoming one of those Christian Science couples because if they say something so stupid that it causes me to have a stroke, I want them calling 911, not trying to pray away the sudden hemorrhage in my brain.

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