Posts Tagged ‘women’


Jane Austen couldn’t write a fight scene to save her life

February 22, 2013

It seems like I’ve had a constant cold for the past month or so, where just as one cold was ending the next one was beginning.  And as I’m in the downswing of my current bout with the cold virus, I’ve noticed I’ve let a few things get past me during this time.  One was the prediction my friend made after the Presidential election (briefly mentioned in this post) when she got mad at all her Obama-aligned Facebook colleagues who were celebrating:

By the end of December, the stock market will suffer a major crash as people pull their money out to beat the new taxes taking effect in 2013. Businesses who cannot afford to cover their employees with health insurance will immediately begin either cutting jobs entirely or dropping most of their employees down to part-time to avoid the heavy fines that will levied against them otherwise. Gas prices will spike back up above $4 a gallon, heading up to $5. Be prepared for this to happen – and I don’t expect to hear any complaints from those who are celebrating this evening.

Even spotting her an extra month, none of this happened. The Dow Jones, NASDAQ and S&P500 are all up over 6 percent since the election. Job numbers for December and January are up.  Gas still isn’t 4 bucks but the idea that oil companies would raise prices just because they have a sad that Obama got reelected is a golden idea, in that it pisses over the image of capitalists as rugged captains of industry and makes them look more like the awful human beings featured on MTV’s My Super Sweet Sixteen.  So let’s all remember this lesson: don’t make predictions when you’re angry.

We’re also behind on doing the blog award stuff for our friend Kate, who awarded us the Liebster Award that had been passed on to her.  Hopefully we’ll get to that this weekend, considering we’ve blown off pretty much every other one of these blog award things over the years.

What else got past us… oh, it was Valentine’s Day, which I spent coming down with flu-like symptoms and I tried fighting them with a steady stream of rum and cokes to unsatisfactory effects.  Usually we have something bitter for Valentine’s Day, so let’s make up for it with something dumb we saw over at regarding love: “Four Things Jane Austen Teaches Us About Love:”

1. Play hard to get. Don’t be so aggressive. When women make themselves so available to men, the thrill of the chase is gone. The harder you are to “catch,” the more interesting you become.

“I don’t want to chase your dumb ass,”  says Anonymous Doug.  “I ain’t got time for that shit. You know who’s interesting? A bitch that doesn’t play bullshit games like this.  Thrill of the chase is lie. Ever see a high-speed police chase? Yeah, that shit is thrilling until ends, then that shirtless meth-head gets dragged out of his overturned pick-up truck and beaten retarded by six pissed-off cops.  Fuck the chase – give it up early or don’t give it up at all. Save all of us some time and misery.”

“Seeing the picture of the woman who wrote this article, her definition of interesting probably consists of what popped up on her Dilbert calendar that day,” says Tina the Lesbian.  “And considering her previous article written for was titled “To Be Happy, We Must Admit That Women and Men Aren’t ‘Equal,” I’m pretty sure she doesn’t mind making less money than her male counterparts for writing dreck just as long as every now and then one of her male bosses pats her on the head and tells her she’s a good patriarchal tool.”

2. Wait for sex. I know it’s chic to think of yourself as a sex goddess. And maybe you are. But the truth is, if you present yourself this way to a man—in the way you dress and behave—he’ll respond in kind. If you want to be the one he brings home to mom, make him earn your love. And your body.

“If you’re truly a sex goddess, he will respond by worshiping your sensual form,” says Avonia the Wiccan Pimp.  “She makes the phrase ‘earn your love’ sound like it’s something you do on a game show rather than through getting to know your partner in whatever ways you consent.”

“Why wouldn’t mom want you to bring home a sex goddess?” says Bernie the Half-Cyborg Cat.  “Maybe mom wants to see her son happy with a decent looking woman rather than some dour frump who will suck the life out of him until he inevitably cheats on her with his secretary or puts a bullet in his brain to end the misery.”

3. Make your guy feel important. Sure, you’re self-sufficient. And he is, too. But everybody wants to feel valued. Men in particular. What’s wrong with letting him take care of things every once and a while? After all, why would he keep coming around if you give him the impression he has nothing to offer?

“Yeah, the male psyche can be fragile, but it can be easily repaired,” says Mikka.  “But you’re already trying to take sex out of the game, which is like playing hockey constantly shorthanded.  Yeah, you can do it, but you’d do so much better with a full complement of players on the ice.  Fuck him, feed him, let him watch the game, dress up like She-Ra ever now and again… it’s not hard to make a guy feel important.”

4. Put down your sword. Despite what you’ve heard, men don’t love b*tches. They like nice women. Strong and confident women, yes. But nice. They can go hand in hand. Really.

“Fuck you, my sword is awesome!”  says Ninja Vicki.  “Men love women with swords.  If you’re a woman and you can’t think of an accessory to pull your outfit together, pick up a sword and be a bad-ass.  Don’t see that in any dusty-vag Jane Austen novel, do ya?”

“I’m very nice, and my sword makes sure everything stays nice,” says Samurai Cathy.  “And though it pains me to echo the sentiments of my blood enemy – fuck you, my sword is awesome too!”

I believe one time I tried an online dating site and it asked me what kind of woman I was looking for, so I typed in “BITCHES WITH SWORDS!”  Surprisingly they wouldn’t let me keep that, but I fully stand by the sentiment: bitches with swords – those are the ladies I’m giving my attention to.  Oh, you studied Romantic Literature and crochet things on Etsy?  How nice.  See that woman over there?  She’s ready to fight the Kurgan from Highlander.  Enjoy your mojito. Swords are like boots, in that they can up a girl on the 10-point hotness meter by at least two points.  It’s worked for years on the covers of fantasy novels – I’m just bringing it out of Narnia and into the singles bar.

Jane Austen novels would have been a lot more readable if they had more bitches with swords in them.  I know I got halfway through Pride, Prejudice and Zombies before getting bored with it, which is a lot more than I was able to stomach of the original Pride & Prejudice in high school.

BITCHES WITH SWORDS!  That’s what 2013 should be the year of.

cathy smallnote


Letters from my vagina

March 15, 2012

“What’cha doing?”  I say to Tina the Lesbian.

“I’m writing a letter to my congressman,”  says Tina the Lesbian.

“What about?”  I say.

“I’m giving him a detailed description of what’s going on in my vagina,”  says Tina the Lesbian.

*blink* *blink*

“Tina, our congressman is a crock pot full of blood,”  I say. “He’s not going to find descriptions of your lady parts erotic.  And I’m also assuming he’s male… so what’s the deal?”

“Well, every other day some fuckhead in a political office comes up with an idea to involve themselves in the workings of vaginas and uteri and ovaries and such,”  says Tina the Lesbian.  “And even worse, that fuckhead’s got thirty other friends in the same chamber of government ready to back him on legislating government interest in my lady parts, whether it’s about contraception or shoving an ultrasound wand up my cooch.”

“Yeah, it does seem like there’s been a flood of politicians lately wanting to pass tougher regulations on vaginas than on banking or oil drilling,”  I say. “I mean, fuck, it’s easier to own a gun than a vagina these days.”

“So my thought is that if politicians are so interested in my vagina, I should tell them all about it,”  says Tina the Lesbian.  “On a daily basis.  In the form of written correspondence.  And in graphic detail.”

“Sounds like something Tag Larkin’s done before,”  I say.  And indeed he has.  Tag Larkin used to send the governor letters about his cock.  What his cock was doing. Where his cock had been.  What his cock had slapped that day.  And that’s why Tag Larkin is no longer allowed to use the mail.

“Well, I’d like to think I’m a better writer than Tag Larkin,”  says Tina the Lesbian.  “At least I can use first-person pronouns when referring to myself.  And I’m not doing this alone either.  Avonia the Wiccan Pimp is helping.”

“She’s got wonderful calligraphy,”  I say.  “Reading a letter about what’s going on with her snatch must be reading a Shakespearean sonnet.”

“She’s not writing,” says Tina the Lesbian.  “She’s calling our Senator’s office every day to talk to him about her infertility issues.  Well, she tries to talk to the Senator, but usually she just ends up talking to whatever political aide answers the phone.  Just chattering away about why she and husband can’t have children… about her ovary problems… and her malformed cervix…”

“Do you think these graphic letters and phone calls will do anything?”  I say.

“Probably not, but it does feel good to tell someone else about my recent problems with vaginal dryness,” says Tina the Lesbian.  “I don’t know if the foreplay’s not working or I’m stressed out or what, but I do know that KY is our world’s most precious resource.”

I’m hoping it at least gets people talking frankly and candidly about vaginas.  And perhaps a talk show on TV called Pussy Talk.  I would watch that.  Every night.


The tears of bottomless sadness and disintegrating sexual desire

January 9, 2011

We recently came across this article and felt it needed a closer look solely on its title: “Stop the Waterworks; Crying Chicks Aren’t Sexy.”

Brian Alexander writes:As any man with the slightest experience knows, a woman’s tears are powerful tools, eliciting abject apologies, unexpected confessions and urgent begging of “Honey, stop, please.” But one thing they are not, is sexy.

Now a team of Israeli neuroscientists think they know why. Emotional tears shut down male desire.

Apparently emotional tears from women (tears that they’re shedding because they’re upset, not because they were chopping onions or spraying themselves in the face with pepper spray )have a hormone in them that drops testosterone levels in men, lessening sexual arousal.  Interesting news, so I wanted to double-check it with my expert who’s been around crying women a lot.

“I happen to disagree with that,” says Anonymous Doug, who knows women even if they don’t remember him. “When that chick in Silence of the Lambs is crying at the bottom of that well when Buffalo Bill tells her to put the lotion on its skin, I thought that was hot.”

I inform Anonymous Doug that the test involved being in front of the crying woman, not watching her cry on a TV screen from a movie made almost 20 years ago. And that crying was more out of mortal fear than sadness.

“Well, it’s still not true because as that Bloodhound Gang song goes, ‘The Lap Dance is Always Better When the Stripper is Crying,'”  rebuts Anonymous Doug.  “And they’re right.  Those have been the best lap dances I’ve ever gotten and it didn’t ruin my sexual desire one bit.”

I inform Anonymous Doug that perhaps the hormones in women’s emotional tears may get blocked by the smells of spilled beer, sweat, and desperation that permeates the atmosphere of most strip clubs.

“All right, so all you have to do is create a sensory barrier to counteract the hormones in women’s tears and you can stay horny,”  says Anonymous Doug.  “Like have a bottle of Sexual Febreze nearby and spray the crying bitch down so she doesn’t ruin your good horny mood.  I would definitely use it the next time some chick drags me to some chick-flick where she gets all weepy over it.  Why does my night have to be ruined because her stupid tears are the hormonal equivalent of pouring a bucket of ice straight into my crotch, right?  Sexual Febreze could have saved many a date for me back in the day.”

If any of our readers are chemists, could you start work on Sexual Febreze for us right away.  We’ll cut you in on the profits once we sell it to Proctor and Gamble for billions.


Birth Control and the Inability to Write Cogently

May 11, 2010

Yesterday saw the 50th anniversary of the FDA’s approval of the birth control pill, accompanied by a lot of discussion over the effect the pill has had on women and society.  Some of it insightful, others not so much.

A friend of ours passed this opinion piece by Raquel Welch our way.  For our younger readers, Raquel Welch is who our dads wanked it to way before you were born.  And probably still do too, as she’s held up extremely well over the years.

Anyway, Raquel has some concerns about what the Pill hath wrought upon poor society.  Concerns that the women of Renal Failure intend to address with ruthless precision.  Their focus is on the last half of the article, as it has the most meat to skewer.

One significant, and enduring, effect of The Pill on female sexual attitudes during the 60’s, was: “Now we can have sex anytime we want, without the consequences. Hallelujah, let’s party!”

“Yes, because before 1960 no one had sex outside the confines of marriage and the purpose of procreation,” says Ninja Vicki, rolling her eyes.

“And while women cheered, men lamented all the increased sex they would be having that wouldn’t result in unwanted pregnancies and shotgun weddings,”  Tina the Lesbian says.  “But damned if the males of America didn’t rise to the task with stiff resolve.”

“I’m not sure Ms. Welch is aware that condoms existed way before the pill,”  says Avonia the Wiccan Pimp.  “But then again, it wouldn’t fit into her narrative that giving women autonomy over their reproductive organs has turned society into a sex-hungry Caligula-Land.”

“I would think she wouldn’t want to call the miracle of pregnancy and birthing a child a ‘consequence,'”  says Samurai Cathy.  “When someone shows you a family photo, they never say ‘Here’s my husband and our three little consequences.’  I’ve never been invited to the christening of a consequence.  And I sure as hell never saw any ‘Missing Consequence’ pictures on my milk carton.”

These days, nobody seems able to “keep it in their pants” or honor a commitment! Raising the question: Is marriage still a viable option? I’m ashamed to admit that I myself have been married four times, and yet I still feel that it is the cornerstone of civilization, an essential institution that stabilizes society, provides a sanctuary for children and saves us from anarchy. In stark contrast, a lack of sexual inhibitions, or as some call it, “sexual freedom,” has taken the caution and discernment out of choosing a sexual partner, which used to be the equivalent of choosing a life partner. Without a commitment, the trust and loyalty between couples of childbearing age is missing, and obviously leads to incidents of infidelity. No one seems immune.

“Yes, because when you believe marriage is sacred and vital to society you’ll want to do it multiple times,”  says Tina the Lesbian.  “Maybe I would applaud her defense of marriage if I knew which one she was defending.”

“Is she blaming the pill for those divorces?”  says Samurai Cathy.  “It looks to me like she made those poor choices about the men she married on her own.”

“She’s talking like a child that thinks nothing was invented until she was born,”  says Ninja Vicki.  “Infidelity, bad taste in men, and horniness are as old as civilization itself.  Tiger Woods didn’t invent cheating, hon.  And the pill ain’t to blame because you chose to marry a horndog douchebag who bangs stewardesses and waitresses behind your back.”

“It might not be that she thinks these things were invented with the advent of the pill, but that she only became of aware of them at a time that coincided with the pill’s approval by the FDA,”  says Avonia the Wiccan Pimp.  “Sort of like when Live Aid happened in the 80’s and people were like ‘Oh my goodness, I just heard that there are people starving in Africa!’  Yeah, that wasn’t exactly breaking news to a lot of people, especially the ones in Ethiopia.”

As a result of the example set by their elders, by the 1990s teenage sexual promiscuity — or hooking up — with multiple partners had become a common occurrence. Many of my friends who were parents of teenagers sat in stunned silence several years ago when it came to light that oral sex had become a popular practice among adolescent girls in middle schools across the country.

The 13-year-old daughter of one such friend freely admitted to performing fellatio on several boys at school on a regular basis. “Aw come on, Mom. It’s no big deal. Everyone is doing it,” she said. Apparently, since it’s not the act of intercourse, kids don’t count it as sex. Can any sane person fail to make a judgment call about that?

“So the pill, which prevents pregnancy from sexual intercourse, is now to blame for teenagers engaging in rampant oral sex, which you don’t need the pill for because oral sex doesn’t get you preggers?”  says Tina the Lesbian.  “I think I just sprained my brain jumping through those hoops.”

“See, the pill let men and women in the 60’s and 70’s  screw around with multiple people without getting pregnant,”  says Samurai Cathy, attempting to unweave Ms. Welch’s argument.  “And then those people eventually stopped screwing around and had kids, and those kids figured it was okay to screw around because their parents did it because they had the pill, but now they just do oral, which doesn’t require the pill.  Therefore… oh hell, I think trying to follow this illogic train made my brain hit the Blue Screen of Death.  I need to lay down.”

“Hey, if it doesn’t cross the goal line, it’s not a goal,”  says Ninja Vicki.  “Nothing moral about that.  Anyway, I thought the end-all be-all test for virginity was the intactness of the hymen.  Or did the popularity of horseback riding and bicycling finally kill that as a reliable purity indicator?”

“I would think the problem of 13-year olds doing oral has more to do with how the marketing to kids of that age is over-sexualized,” says Avonia the Wiccan Pimp.  “It’s like companies figured out that girls of varying pubescent stages want to be like their older sisters and they struck gold fulfilling that desire to apparently disastrous effect.”

Seriously, folks, if an aging sex symbol like me starts waving the red flag of caution over how low moral standards have plummeted, you know it’s gotta be pretty bad. In fact, it’s precisely because of the sexy image I’ve had that it’s important for me to speak up and say: Come on girls! Time to pull up our socks! We’re capable of so much better.

“Look, I don’t need the pill, but I’m glad it’s there,”  says Tina the Lesbian.  “It’s given women the ability to control their lives and have the successful careers they always wanted.  Careers that aren’t dependent on looking really sexy like Raquel Welch.”

“My whole business plan is based around my hookers not getting pregnant,”  says Avonia the Wiccan Pimp.  “Every night they’re not working the street, that’s money out of my pocket.”

“I’m already a ninja, how much better can I get?”  says Ninja Vicki.  “And I’m able to be a ninja because of the pill.  You think I could jump through trees with the awful cramps and heavy flow I used to get before I went on birth control?  Shit, it was like my cooter was committing hara-kiri on me.”

“Mikka likes it when I keep my socks on during the act of love,”  says Samurai Cathy.   “Is that weird?  Not that I mind.   I am missing a toe.”

I am all for girls pulling their socks up, because knee-high socks are essential to any naughty school girl outfit.

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