Harvey Olson: Filthy Lies

Sat, 08 May 2004 02:18:26 GMT

BLOGLESS SALLY'S FILTHY LIE

One of the Alliance's blogless Sympathetic Civilians (Sally) asked me to post her filthy lie for her. Since it's a good first effort, I see no reason not to:

(Glenn Reynolds, Harvard, circa 1991 sitting on his beanbag of the blackest ice still awaiting his throne)

...Tap... tap... tap...

"Ahhh the trusty old BBC Micro. Muwahahaha! Bow... down... before... the... Evil... Internet... Overlord!!!! Heh, indee......"

....CLICK....

....Reconnection noise of modem....

"Heh! Not enough people on this internet-thing to dominate yet."

....CLICK....

....Reconnection noise of modem....

....Busy tone....

"Gives me time to work on my typing speed and look at www.penguinporn.com though... Mmmmm flightless aquatic arctic waterfowl tastefully posed."

....Reconnection noise of modem....

"Damn my ISP and Dial Up!!!"

....CLICK....

....Reconnection noise of modem....

....Busy tone....

Fast Forward 7 years, many typing monkeys and several thousand blended puppies/murdered hobos later....

"I am now a FULLY FLEDGED megalomaniac! Sorry, LAWYER. If only I didn't feel so lethargic!"

....Blender noises and slurping....

WWWWHHHIIIIIRRRRRRRR..... YIP YIP YIP Squelch

"Mmmmm. Springer spaniel puppy. Gives me a nice spring in my step. Now where was I?? Heh. Ignore my first post. I am now secure in Castle Glenn. The bones of hobos and puppies litter the great hall. I have several hundred pairs of socks to go with my sandals. I own 10 of the finest Italian mopeds with their 1 forward and 10 reverse gears. Black Mass is held thrice daily and due to my high energy diet (the Alsation diet - high in carbs and collars so forget Atkins! ) I have even managed to punch bloggers in my specialist French Schoolgirl form of martial art. What time is it? Really? I still have time to make 3999 more posts in the next hour then!"

...Tap... tap... tap... heh... tap... tap... tap... link... tap... tap... tap... indeed...

If you liked this, please leave some encouragement in the comments, and we'll see if we can get Sally's courage up to start a little something at Blogspot, and perhaps move on from there.

INSTAPUNDO DELENDA EST!

Sat, 08 May 2004 01:09:35 GMT

EVIL GLENNS FIRST POST
(A FILTHY LIE ASSIGNMENT)

I wandered into Madfish Willie's Cyber Saloon the other night, mostly to check out the damage from the comment party. Looked like the clean up was coming along fine, although the guys in the HazMat suits were a little creepy. Anyway, I figured a Guinness and some of Matty O'Blackfive's war stories would do me good.

But Matty wasn't there.

So I inquired politely of the Bartender...

Harv: Hey Bartender! Where the f*** is Matty? He was supposed to meet me here.

Bartender: How the f*** should I know, asshole? Do I look like his f***** mother?

Harv: Only by way of the hairy back. This is just weird. He's always here.

Bartender: Now that I think about it, he did call and leave a message. Something about he wasn't coming tonight because he was going to spend the evening playing "bats" with Little Blackfive.

Harv: "Bats"? What the hell is "bats"?

... Meanwhile at a filthy hippy protest rally in Chicago...

Filthy Hippy Dude: Iraq is Bush's Vietnam! Uh... something... something... something... bomb!

Matty: Ok, Little Blackfive, do it just like I taught you.

Little Blackfive: Ok, dad.

Filthy Hippy Dude: Condi Rice sure lies a lot! Condi Rice sure is a... Oh, hey little midget dude! Wait... you're not a midget, you're a child. That means... [thinking really hard for a hippy]... You're one of THE CHILDREN (tm)! There's nothing I wouldn't do for THE CHILDREN (tm)!

Little Blackfive: Good. Then stand still, f***face. [swinging Louiville Slugger] *CRACK!*

Filthy Hippy Dude: OH GOD! My kneecaps! I'll never walk again!

Little Blackfive: Or reproduce [laying a Barry Bonds on Filthy Hippy Dude's gonads] *WHACK!*

Filthy Hippy Dude: AIEEEEEE!

Little Blackfive: How was that, Dad?

Matty [tousling his hair]: That's my boy!

...

Bartender: You're right. That doesn't make any sense. Maybe he said "catch". Anyway, what's your poison?

Harv: Guinness. Cold. And a CLEAN glass, if you don't mind.

Bartender: Persnickety bitch. At least my glasses are cleaner than your skid-marked underwear.

Harv: I prefer to think of them as "performance art".

Bartender: Whatever. You gonna pay for that, or just stand there twiddling your dick?

Harv: Both [flipping paper onto the bar]

Bartender: What the f*** is that? That's not money, that's just a piece of paper with some scribbling on it. Is that a love note or somethin'?

Harv: No, Love Notes are for my wife.

Bartender: You think I'm your wife?

Harv: Nah, my wife at least bathes on occasion. You're just my bitch. Now what the hell does that thing say?

Bartender "Lie assignment - Glenn's first post". You want to ride Glenn's post? Sick bastard!

Harv: AW SHIT! I knew I forgot something. I have to find out about Evil Glenn's first post so I have a Filthy Lie for the round-up on Friday, and I haven't even started.

Bartender: Not that it matters. Your crap is about as funny as a porcupine enema anyway.

Harv: Beats your dumb-ass cow jokes, though. Damn. I gotta get outta here & do some research.

Bartender: Screw that. Why don't you just have your blogless brother hack into Glenn's computer & do some pokin' around?

Harv: Nah. That's GEBIV'S schtick.

Bartender: Who?

Harv: Nevermind. Look, why don't you come with me & help me dig up the dirt?

Bartender: Because you're a retarded monkey humper.

Harv: Besides that.

Bartender: Eh. No reason. Nobody's in here anyway. I'll kick the HazMat guys out & close early.

Harv: Great! To the Drunkmobile!

Bartender: Nope.

Harv: What?

Bartender: Can't do that. I let Eric borrow it for the night.

Harv: Eric? That souse? You think that was a good idea?

Bartender: He's a responsible former Marine. What could happen?

... Meanwhile at a nearby demolition derby...

Eric: YEEEEEE-HAWWW! *CRASH* WHOO-HOO! *crumple* Yippee-ki-yay mother- *SMASH*

...

Harv: I guess you're right. Come on. We'll take my Yugo.

We drove through the night, narrowly avoiding being caught in a toxic monkey-dung spill, and soon arrived at Evil Glenn's sinister compound...

Bartender: I can't believe you drove to Tennessee from Texas via Milwaukee. Why the f*** didn't you stop to ask directions?

Harv: Because I have a penis. Duh! All men are genetically incapable of admitting they're lost.

Bartender: I know that. I just thought that a mutant freak like yourself would be exempt.

Harv: You're just jealous because my size 12 shoes prove the old wive's tale. What size Nike's are YOU sporting?

Bartender [blushing & looking away]: Size 5... boys.

Harv: You've got short, stubby fingers, too.

Bartender: F*** you! Let's just get this over with. I've got a date later.

Harv: She can wait. Inflatable Katie's a patient gal.

Bartender: Hey! She may be a blow-up doll, but at least... uh... anyway, can we get on with this?

We snuck up to the main building, pausing only to kick a few of his killer attack rabbits out of the way (no offense, Roxette).

Harv: I didn't know bunnies could scream like that.

Bartender: Still sounds better than homicidalManiak's singin'

Harv: I don't think it's a good idea to make fun of a woman who wields a hatchet-saw.

Bartender: Oh f*** her. She can take a joke. So, how do we get in, Einstein?

Harv: Maybe ring the doorbell... [ding dong]

Jen [answering door in black leather catsuit]: Yes? May I help you?

Harv: Greetings, oh erotically clad minion of the dark puppy-blending overlord of the blogosphere. We are weary travellers who have sojourned many leagues, seeking knowledge of...

Jen: Let me re-phrase that. What the f*** do you want?

Bartender: Let me handle this, Wordsworth. We need access to Evil Glenn's computer database for a Filthy Lie assignment.

Jen: Sure. Come on in.

Harv: What? Just like that? I thought you were Evil Glenn's loyal minion and/or spicy sex toy?

Jen: Technically, yes, but I haven't been paid in over a month. Seems Mr. Important has been squandering the payroll on penguin porn and ivory-handled hobo-filleting knives. I'm game for a little payback.

Harv: Sweet! Lead on. And, uh... walk slowly. We'll fantasize... er, fondle… FOLLOW you.

Jen led us to a small office containing an ancient TRS-80....

Jen: That was Glenn's first computer. It should have what you're looking for.

Harv: Great! What's the password?

Jen: Shut up! I'm trying to do my nails.

Harv: Fine. Let's see... DRINKPUP... Hey! Got it in one. Now we just look for the earliest date, and... Oh my...

Bartender: Naked Helen Thomas?

Harv: No... it's... geez, I knew Glenn was a pathetic geek loser, but...

Bartender: Well? Either tell us or move your pointy head so I can read it.

Harv: Unbelievable... it says:

It's time to end this ridiculous debate once and for all. With my devastating intellectual brilliance, I will prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that Kirk was by far the superior Starship Captain, and that Picard was a total loser. The following 100 pieces of evidence are indisputable:

100. Kirk is a leader, not a follower.
99. Kirk never really got into that kinky "Jumpsuit" look.
98. Kirk has sex more than once a season.
97. One Word: Hair.
96. Another Word: Pretty-good-looking-can't-see-the-weave-WIG.
95. Kirk can beat up a Klingon bare-handed.
94. Picard is a French man with an English accent.
93. Kirk would date Beverly Crusher -- and damn the consequences!!
92. Kirk never drinks tea. Ever.
91. Diplomacy for Kirk is a phaser and a smirk.

...

Harv: He actually listed 100 different reasons.

Bartender: What a dweeb. What's that one comment to the post say?

Harv: "U R dum. Picard roolz cuz:"

101. Two Words: better voice.
100. Picard's ship's counselor traded in her miniskirt for that great low-cut neckline.
99. Kirk fought over women. Picard had women fight over him.
98. Picard fires both photon torpedoes AND phasers at the same time when in battle.
97. Picard's ship is better than Kirk's -- better, faster, stronger.
96. Picard hates children -- Kirk once rescued a bunch of patricidal little maniacs, tried to console them, and almost lost his ship and crew in the process.
95. Picard was responsible for Beverly Crusher's husband dying, berated her son constantly in her presence, yet still manged to make her fall for him.
94. Though admittedly he's seldom a patron, Picard's ship actually has a BAR.
93. Kirk fought others himself, Picard has others do his fighting for him.
92. When nurse Chapel re-appeared as Troi's mother, she fell for Picard.
91. In seven years, Picard never developed a gut like Kirk's.

...

Harv: This one has 101. Guess that solves THAT argument once and for all. And it's signed... Frank J.

Bartender: You mean Frank might have misled us as to the real reason for his declaring war on Glenn?

Harv: Frank lied

Bartender: But puppies died!

Harv: Such a moral quandry.

Jen: Would you guys shut up? I'm trying to watch my tape of the last episode of Friends.

Harv: What for? They kiss, happy ending, blah, blah, blah..

Jen: You BASTARD! I'll strangle you dead!

Bartender: Come on Harv, time to go.

We ran back to the Yugo, pausing only to turn around occasionally to enjoy the sight of Jen's leather-clad jiggling as she pursued us. Fortunately, her six-inch stilletto heels slowed her down enough to allow us to make good our escape. After another short detour through Wisconsin, where we were almost run off the road by the state's thoroughly hammered Attorney General, we arrived safely back at Madfish Willie's...

Bartender: Well, Harv, are you going to tell the truth about what you discovered, even though it may destroy Frank's credibility?

Harv: The truth must be told, otherwise the Alliance will lose the moral high ground in our battle against evil.

Bartender: But I thought the Alliance was based on Filthy Lies?

Harv: Aw shit. Another moral quandry. Maybe I'll just lie about it being the truth, in which case the truth will be a filthy lie and because I lied about the truth being a lie, it'll still be a filthy lie.

Bartender: Sorta like "Bowling for Columbine"?

Harv: Exactly.

Bartender: Do whatever ya want, dipshit, this is my stop. I gotta go back in the bar & tidy up a few things.

Harv: You mean pull Inflatable Katie of that shelf in the closet.

Bartender: Pretty much.

Harv: Tell her I said "Hi"… say… who's that standing in front of the bar?

homicidalManiak [casually twirling hatchet-saw]: So… Bartender… don't like my singing?

Bartender: …oh …crap … Uh… Hey! Look over there! Is that a bowl of lime Jello?

hM: Soul food? Where?

Bartender: Sucker! [FWING!]

hM: [jumping into my car]: Quick! Get this Yugo into gear & run him down!

Harv: Did you just use the words "quick" and "Yugo" in the same sentence?

hM: I did, didn't I?… *giggle*… Nevermind.

Harv: Say... how'd you know what the Bartender said about you, anyway?

hM: I'm LDS, remember? The Mormon Temple is part of the Illuminati, so I can find out pretty much anything.

Harv: You mean you could have found out about Evil Glenn's first post for me?

hM: What, that stupid Star Trek thing? I thought everybody knew about that! I've even got the T-shirt, see? [opening jacket to reveal "Glenn's First Post" T-shirt, with Kirk's reasons on the front and Picard's reasons on the back]

Harv: Oh.

hM: Did I say something wrong?

Harv: No… no… come on, I'll take ya home. Maybe you can sing me a song with that pretty voice of yours while I drive?

hM: Sure. Anything in particular?

Harv: Some Warren Zevon would be nice. I think you know the one [putting the car in gear and getting up to speed].

HM: Sure do. *AHEM*

I started as an alter boy, working at the church
Learning all my holy moves, doing some research
Which led me to a cash box, labeled "Children's Fund"
I'd leave the change, and tuck the bills inside my cummerbund

Harv: Oh yeah!

INSTAPUNDO DELENDA EST!

Sat, 01 May 2004 00:38:06 GMT

CAPTIONING GLENN
(A FILTHY LIE)

When you see a picture like that, how can you help but caption it like this?:

Glenn is stoned
and high on drugs
he should learn
to give more hugs
Thorazine

It's just kinda creepy that Glenn only has 3 fingers on each hand like some kind of cartoon character

His gaze fixated on his canine quarry, Glenn SLOOOOOOWLY reached for his Pocket Blend-o-Matic

Every year, Glenn moved his eyebrows further down his forehead. In 2006, he would finally achieve his dream of having the world's bushiest eyelashes. The Maybelline contract would be his. Yes it would.

Glenn "Shorty" Reynolds proves the old wives' tale about what you can tell about a man from the length of his fingers.

They didn't sell any T-shirts, but sales of Road Kill Possum brand toupees went through the roof.

I... gotta... go... so.. BAD!

Proceeds from the sales of this T-shirt will be donated to the "Buy Glenn a Belt So He Doesn't Have To Hold Up His Pants With His Hands" fund.

"I see dead people"

As the car bore down on him, Glenn just stood in the middle of the road, staring at the pretty headlights.

Glenn Reynolds' entry in the Mr. American Hottie contest, while bringing the gift of laughter to millions, still wound up finishing behind Urkel in a thong.

Glenn says, "Buy this T-shirt and you'll always remember which side is "left".

18 reasons why Glenn, while still a ruthless, puppy-blending, hobo-murdering megalomaniac, isn't ALL bad.

Chekhov called - he wants his hair back.

Having lost most of his fingers in a tragic blogging accident, Glenn sank to T-shirt modeling on his path to rock bottom, finally ending up as a boy toy in a Bangkok brothel.

INSTAPUNDO DELENDA EST!

Sat, 24 Apr 2004 01:37:13 GMT

WHAT'S MISSING?
(A FILTHY LIE)

There are a lot of things to see at Instapundit.com, a spiffy little logo, millions of posts, a 500-yard-long blogroll and the corpses of blended puppies. But there are some things that are notably lacking. For instance, he has no comments. Since Glenn Reynolds is swaggering, overbearing, tin-plated dictator with delusions of godhood, it's not surprising that he has no interest in the opinions of the millions of "little people" who read him daily. The other thing he doesn't have is a quality "about me" post. Sure, he's got a tiny blurb about "I wrote this & that wonderfully boring piece of tripe, gaze upon my works ye mighty and despair", but he really needs something more personal. So I'm offering this list of "Fun Facts About Glenn Reynolds" for him to copy & paste into his sidebar. (Yes, I know "Fun Facts" is Frank J's schtick, but since he never reads me anyway, he'll never know I stole it.)

FUN FACTS ABOUT GLENN REYNOLDS

Glenn got to be the top blogger in the Ecosystem through a series of carefully targeted assassinations, which explains why you never hear about JimmyHoffa.com anymore.

Glenn invented reusable toilet paper, which, for some reason, never really caught on.

Except in France.

Before he types them up, Glenn composes all his posts longhand using a penguin-quill pen dipped in puppy blood, and writes on hobo-skin parchment.

Glenn's owns an '88 Yugo with license plate PPBLNDR

Glenn's incredibly thick geek-glasses were originally a gift from a fat kid who used them to start campfires while stranded on an island with a group of feral boys.

Glenn's day job is with the law firm of Dewey, Cheatham, and Howe.

Glenn's first web page was actually a Judy Garland fan site.

It was later sold to Andrew Sullivan for an undisclosed sum.

According to Glenn, baby seals "taste just like chicken"

Glenn owns 7 shirts, 7 ties, 7 pairs of pants, 7 pairs of socks, 7 pairs of underwear, 7 sports coats, and 7 pairs of shoes, all exactly the same. It saves him the trouble of having to decide what to wear on any given day.

Unfortunately, he keeps grabbing the same set of clothes, much to the dismay of those who have to work with him on Fridays.

Somewhere a portrait of Glenn is magically growing increasingly old and ugly.

Glenn owns a very popular chain of fast food joints in Tennessee called "EvilBurger"

People say the burgers "taste just like chicken."

INSTAPUNDO DELENDA EST!

Tue, 20 Apr 2004 04:04:22 GMT

IN MEMORIAL

We all know that Glenn Reynolds (Instapundit) puts puppies in blenders and then drinks them to absorb their life force, thus enabling him to post 750 times a day. No one disputes this fact.

Now, an obscure Japanese web site has honored the victims of Glenn's depradations in pictures.

Go. Look. Remember their little faces. And know why the Alliance of Free Blogs continues it's struggle.

INSTAPUNDO DELENDA EST!

[special thanks to Lynn and Michelle]

Tue, 13 Apr 2004 03:31:51 GMT

FILTHY LIE NEWS FLASH

Just got a report from Blogless Brother Tom. Apparently when Tom stuffed a Mac in Evil Glenn's PC case as an April Fools' Day prank, he also made himself a copy of a few files.

Of special interest to those keeping score on Glenn's nefarious deeds were two pictures from the folder marked "Hobo Kill'n Pictures I Took With My Head-Mounted Wireless Web Cam".

One labeled "before".

One labeled "after".

Gives me the willies, it does.

Oh, and any resemblance between these pictures and screen captures from "Postal 2" is purely coincidental.

Fri, 09 Apr 2004 23:07:25 GMT

EVIL GLENN'S EASTER
(A FILTHY LIE)

So I went to Madfish Willie's Cyber Saloon on Good Friday night to soak up a little atmosphere at the comment party. Carefully drying the unmentionable fluids from a nearby chair, I plunked down next to Matty O'Blackfive.

Harv: Hey Matty. Staying sober tonight?

Matty: Don't blaspheme. And I don't know what you're talking about. I've already put away two cases.

Harv: Then how come the table's not covered with beer bottles?

Matty: Oh… that... Tiffany & LeeAnn took 'em into the Champagne Room. They're having a bottle-stacking contest with some of the other Corner of the Bar Babes.

Harv: Hmmm... No hands?

Matty: Naturally.

Harv: Spy-cam & VCR running?

Matty: Of course.

Harv: Brilliant!

Matty: Brilliant!

[pause]

Harv: That was Mike the Marine's cue to shout "Brilliant!" Where the hell is he?

Matty: He's in Iraq doing a little mopping up around Fallujah.

Harv: I hope he's ok.

Matty: I think he can handle himself...

...Meanwhile in Iraq...

Mad Mohammed [swinging a scimitar around in fearsome circles]: ululululululululululu!

Mike the Marine [rolling eyes & drawing Desert Eagle]: Geez! Hasn't ANYONE in this stupid country seen "Raiders of the Lost Ark"? *BLAM! BLAM! BLAM!*

Mad Mohammed [gazing with surprise at the empty hole previously occupied by his midsection]: URK! *WHUMP!*

...

Harv: Yeah, I suppose you're right. So... what are you doing for Easter?

Matty: I'm taking Little Blackfive to his first Easter Egg hunt.

Harv: So you brought him here to get a little practice?

Matty: Sure. Wouldn't want him to get shown up by those little hippy brats in day care.

Harv: True, but do you think it was a good idea to let Goldie help with the training?

Goldie: Hey Little Blackfive, I've got 3 Easter eggs hidden in a secret place. Wanna try to find 'em?

Matty: Maybe he IS a little young for that. Come here Little Blackfive!

Little Blackfive: But DADDYYYYY! The nice lady was going to show me her "special Easter basket"!

Matty: Yeah, *ahem* well, why don't you come here anyway. I've got some jelly beans for ya.

Little Blackfive: Yay! Jelly Beans!

Harv: Maybe you should've left him alone. He's got to learn about "Easter baskets" somewhere, and Goldie's a mighty fine place to start...

Matty: What? Are you nuts? Mrs. Blackfive would kill me! I already had to promise her two hours of alphabet time just to get her to let me bring the boy with me tonight. If I brought him home with an "education", she'd probably make me wear the French Maid costume, too!

Harv: You do look quite fetching in that...

Matty: Shut up!

Little Blackfive: Daddy, these jelly beans taste like poo-poo!

Matty: Little Blackfive! Such horrible language! What did daddy teach you to say?

Little Blackfive: Sorry. These jellybeans taste like fresh shit out of a mangy dog's ass.

Matty: That's my little Drill Sergeant! Hmmm... let me try one... *chew, chew*... *spitooie!* GAH! It's like a combination of brussel sprouts & vomit! Try one.

Harv: *chew, chew*... *spitooie!* YEESH! Actually it was more like a Budweiser flavor, but still... BLECCH!

Matty: Let me see that jelly bean bag... AHA! Just as I thought! Radio tower with lighting bolts emblem and "a product of Evil Glenn Industries". Looks like that bastard Reynolds is out to ruin yet another holiday. Damn, and I still haven't recovered from that St. Patrick's Day adventure.

Harv: Maybe because you've been drinking continuously between then and now?

Matty: That's beside the point. Now... we're gonna need some help.

Harv: Yeah. I wish Mike were here. He's got a talent for tricky assignments.

... Meanwhile in Iraq...

Annoying Ahmed: Filthy Yankee pig dog! There is but a single pistol equidistant from both of us. Whoever gets it will kill the other.

Mike: Tell ya what, camel-humper, I'll roshambo you for it.

Annoying Ahmed: What's that?

Mike: Well, first I kick you in the nuts as hard as I can, then you kick me in the nuts as hard as you can. And we keep going back and forth until somebody falls. The last one standing gets the gun.

Annoying Ahmed: Well... ok.

Mike: [KICK!]

Annoying Ahmed: AIEEEEEE! *WHUMP!*

Mike [rolling eyes and picking up Desert Eagle]: Geez! Hasn't ANYONE in this stupid country seen South Park? *BLAM!*

...

Harv: Anyway, how about Dana?

Matty: Nah, she's a little too pregnant for this one.

Harv: Yeah, but she's got really perky nipples.

Matty: Hmmm… yeah… uh, No! Too dangerous. How about Susie?

Harv: She's kinda busy rounding up that new popcorn popper for the theater...

...Meanwhile in Indiana...

Susie [on the phone]: Ok, I'll give you $200 and "the Reddi-Wip experience", but NO spanking!

...

Matty: What about Heather? She's good muscle.

Harv: Nope, she's still doing that photo-shoot for the Car & Driver "Bent Over Babes" issue.

Matty: Hmmm… Goldie?

Harv: Goldie.

Goldie: Did someone call me?

Harv: Yeah, we need you to help us with a mission.

Goldie: Great! I love that position!

Matty: That's not what he meant!

Harv: Actually...

Matty: No time for that now. Goldie, just come with us.

Goldie: Maybe even before & after, too *giggle*

Harv: Maybe. To the Drunkmobile!

Matty: To the Drunkmobile!

Goldie: To drunks in high heels!

Matty: ...Are you sure about this, Harv?

Harv: Trust me.

Matty: Ok... wait... Who's going to watch Little Blackfive.

Harv: Oh, I think the Bartender can handle it...

Bartender: Why did the horse cross the road?

Little Blackfive: Because the chicken needed a day off.

Bartender: Good! Now say "Harvey is a Shpxurnq!!1!"

... We sped through the night, quickly arriving at our destination...

Matty: The Evil Glenn Industries Jelly Bean Factory. You'll never find a more wretched hive of scum and villainy.

Harv: Can you please quote something from this century?

Matty: ... Wazzzzzuuuuup?

Harv: Nevermind. Goldie, come with us.

Goldie: Yes I have. Mmmm.... You military guys really know how to stand and salute!

Matty: Paratroopers always dive right in.

Harv: And sailors like to ride anything wet. Let's get moving...

...We strolled relatively unimpeded through the poorly guarded factory, pausing only for Goldie to make suggestive remarks about any object that was even vaguely phallic. Since this basically included everything that was taller than it was wide, it made for slow going. Nevertheless, we soon arrived at a door marked "Evil Glenn's Private Secret Inner Sanctum and Puppy Blending Emporium" which Matty kicked in enthusiastically.

Matty: All right, Evil Glenn, the jig is up!

Harv: Surrender or die!

Goldie: I want to have sex with you!

Matty & Harv [turning to stare at Goldie]: Wha?

Goldie [blushing]: Sorry, force of habit *giggle*

Evil Glenn: Whatever. You're too late to stop me. I've already made Al Franken a talk radio star! MUAHAHAHA!

Matty: Um... Actually, we were here about the jelly beans?

Evil Glenn: Oh... that... yes... well... you're too late for that, too. Now leave me alone. I've got a Shi-tzu coagulating in the Oster.

Matty: Look, my kid almost died from eating one of your crappy jelly beans. We're here to put a stop to your vile activities.

Harv: Yeah! What he said! And what the hell did you put in those jelly beans, anyway? I haven't had such a bad taste in my mouth since that time I accidentally grabbed a Miller Light while reaching for my Guinness. I had to chug the spittoon to clear my palate after that one.

Evil Glenn: Haggis.

Harv: EWWWWW! But why?

Evil Glenn: All part of my latest sinister plot to destroy a precious national holiday. You see I've recently come across the concept of Earth Dinner. A vile project promoted by filthy hippies to get people to eat dirt and weeds while spreading lies about global warming and acid rain. Those atrocious jelly beans will make people hate Easter, so they'll start celebrating the next closest holiday, which is Dirt Day.

Matty: Earth Day.

Evil Glenn: Whatever. Anyway, Evil Glenn Industries has already purchased huge soy and tofu production facilities to take advantage of the soon-to-be-increasing demand. I'll make MILLIONS!

Matty: No you won't, because we're going to stop you!

Harv: Ummm… hold that thought, Matty… Did you say… millions?

Evil Glenn: Yup.

Harv: ...and this Evil Glenn Industries… looking for investors, by any chance?

Evil Glenn: Ground floor possibilities exist, yes.

Matty: Dammit, Harv! Snap out of it! He's EVIL!

Harv [dreamily]: … millions of dollars…

Matty: Harv, he's out to destroy an entire national holiday. Think about the children!

Harv: YOU think about the children. I'm thinking about the rubbing piles of ill-gotten greenbacks all over my sweaty, naked body. Besides I hate children.

Matty: Harv, I know, and that's what I'm talking about. If Glenn destroys Easter, think about the children… the whiny, irritable, children who want candy but can't get it. Everywhere you go, hordes of bitchy little crumb-crunchers, going "WAAH! WAAH! I want candy! I want candy! Gimme candy! WAAH! WAAH! WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!"

Harv: Good point. All right, Evil Glenn, prepare to be thwarted!

Evil Glenn: So you guys remembered to bring a gun this time?

Matty: DAMN!

Harv: CRAP!

Evil Glenn: Hmmm. Heh. Indeed. Now run along, little incompetents, I have cruelty to inflict.

Matty: Harv, I thought YOU brought the gun?

Harv: Well, I set it on the table when I came into the bar, but it wasn't there when we left, so I thought YOU grabbed it.

… Meanwhile at Madfish Willie's…

*BLAM* [crshh!] *BLAM* [crshh!] *BLAM* [crshh!]

Little Blackfive: Whee! That was fun Mr. Bartender! More! More!

Bartender: Heh. Sure, ya little scamp. You're almost as good at "shotglass skeet" as your old man.

…

Matty: I guess we're doomed.

Harv: Since we're doomed anyway, maybe we should buy a few shares of…

Matty: SHUT! UP!

Goldie: Oh YOOOO-HOOOO! Mr. Reyyyy-nolds!

… We turned to look and saw Goldie dressed in a provocative skin-tight spandex penguin costume…

Evil Glenn: *drool* mmm… live action penguin porn…

Goldie [whispering]: Wait for me in the Drunkmobile. I'll handle this…

Harv: Can we watch?

Matty: *WHACK!* C'mon. Let the girl work.

Harv: OW! Maybe we could videotape...

Matty: MOVE!

… 10 minutes later, Goldie joined us in the car.

Goldie: Here, Harv. Catch [throwing remote-contol-like object]

Harv: What's this?

Goldie [coyly]: Push the button & find out.

Harv: Ok [*push*]

KER-BLAM!!!

Matty: Huh. Remote control self-destruct for the jelly bean factory. How convenient.

Harv: Standard Evil Overlord stuff. But still, the hang-time for the debris is pretty impressive.

Matty: So, Goldie, what happened in there?

Goldie: A little teasing, a little bondage, a little leaving him handcuffed to the bed screaming in terror as I walked off with the remote.

Harv: You mean you didn't take advantage of him first?

Goldie: EWWW! He's a LAWYER! I don't mate outside my species!

Matty: So… looks like this is the end of Evil Glenn. There's no way he escaped that blast. Let's get back to the bar…

EPILOGUE 1:

Evil Glenn [crawling out from under a pile of rubble]: I am SO in love with that woman!

EPILOGUE 2:

Matty: Dammit, Little Blackfive! You untie the Bartender from that ceiling fan right this instant!

Little Blackfive: But DADDYYYYY!…

INSTAPUNDO DELENDA EST!

Sat, 03 Apr 2004 01:26:20 GMT

GLENN'S APRIL FOOLS' DAY
(A FILTHY LIE)

So I was trying to get my blogging done last night when the phone rang...

Harv: Hello?

Voice: Hello. I'm calling from the hospital to tell you that your wife was killed in a horrible mangling car accident. We found her nose and ears, but the rest…

Harv: Oh. Hi, Glenn

Evil Glenn: April Foo... Wait... how did you know it was me?

Harv: You just called me 30 seconds ago with the same line.

Evil Glenn: Oh... must've hit redial by mistake. Well, since I've got you on the line, there IS something I wanted to talk to you about…

Harv: Yes?

Evil Glenn: The Blog War is really wearing me down. I want to surrender to the Alliance.

Harv: That's very French of you, but we've been down this road before and you didn't keep up your end of the bargain that time, so I know you can't be trusted. Besides, it's still April Fools' Day and I'm not letting you get me twice.

Evil Glenn: No, no, I assure you. I'm completely serious. No tricks.

Harv: How come you're not surrendering to Frank J.? He's the Fearless Leader of this cabal.

Evil Glenn: I tried, but he's not available. Remember when he posted that "In My World" where Chomps got killed?

Harv: Yeah...

Evil Glenn: Well apparently some people didn't appreciate his April Fools' Day gag. A bunch of his disgruntled fans stormed his house in protest. He's in the hospital now and the doctors are still trying to de-rectify the katana sheath.

Harv: Ow! That's gotta be uncomfy!

Evil Glenn: Heh. Indeed. But besides that, it's quite obvious that you're the REAL driving force in this organization. You've told more lies than Al Franken, Janeane Garafalo, and Michael Moore combined. You're like a blogospheric Air America.

Harv [grinning]: Yeah, I'm pretty despicable, ain't I?

Evil Glenn: A man after my own black heart. You're like a son to me.

Harv: Awwww…

Evil Glenn: A son of a bitch, but still…

Harv: Hey! Now just a minute!…

Evil Glenn: Another reason I can't hand Instapundit.com over Frank is that the changeover would be too obvious. I mean, look at IMAO: all that coffee-up-the-nose hilarity combined with witty insightfulness… The brain-dead zombies that read my crap would have seizures. Can you imagine going from "Indeed" to "If there's one thing I learned from history, it's that people from a long time ago were really, really stupid"? Exploding heads everywhere!

Harv: Hmmm… I see your point. And since everyone reads Instapundit, everyone would be dead, leaving me with one less reader.

Evil Glenn: Exactly. But with YOUR talentless hackery at the helm – transparent transition.

Harv: Brilliant!… Wait… Hey!

Evil Glenn: No time to waste. I need to you assume command of my dark kingdom.

Harv: I don't know… I don't think I'm evil enough. I only had ONE year of law school…

Evil Glenn: Feh. The only difference between a law school graduate and a law school dropout is the number of slutty co-eds they coaxed into bed with the line "I'm going to be a lawyer."

Harv: 37

Evil Glenn: 111. See?

Harv: Ok, so I'm marginally evil… but running an empire?…

Evil Glenn: I have faith in you, Harv. I think if you put your mind to it, you have the potential to be an Evil Blogospheric Overlord. Let's try something… Pretend you're the new Instapundit… imagine yourself sitting on a throne of blackest ice, your filthy talons caressing a keyboard…

Harv: Mmmm… pure evil…

Evil Glenn: Ok, now, tell me the truth… could you blend a puppy?

Harv: No! That's disgusting!

Evil Glenn: Not even a Yorkie?

Harv: … maybe a small one.

Evil Glenn: Good. Can you murder a hobo?

Harv: … is he French?

Evil Glenn: Well… he smells like it.

Harv: Consider him slitted neck to navel.

Evil Glenn: Worship Satan?

Harv: I DO admire Bill Gates…

Evil Glenn: It's a start. Robot Dancing?

Harv: I did The Hustle once in third grade.

Evil Glenn: Hmmm… maybe you're TOO evil… Anyway, praising commies?

Harv: NEVER!

Evil Glenn: Democrats?

Harv: Nope.

Evil Glenn: Hippies?

Harv: Well, I do have a lava lamp…

Evil Glenn: Perfect! Have you ever punched a blogger?

Harv: Kinda. When I was doing The Hustle, I tripped over my own feet and ended up jamming my elbow into some guy's eye socket, which made him scream "BLAAAAGH!"

Evil Glenn: Close enough. How do you feel about penguin porn?

Harv: Sorry. Strictly hetero. I mean, have you SEEN my wife?

Evil Glenn: Hmmm… not bad. Put a few feathers on her and…

Harv: Watch it…

Evil Glenn: Come on, there's gotta be something?

Harv: Let's see… penguins eat fish… fish are the symbol for the astrological sign Pisces… Taurus is an astrological sign… symbolized by a bull… and I DO know of one bull that's quite attractive…

Evil Glenn: That's a bit of a stretch, but I'll give it to you. So… there ya go. You're evil enough to be the new Instapundit. Now, just click on over to my site and I'll give you the keys to the kingdom.

Harv: Oh goody! I can't wait to start to oppressing the blogosphere! Hah. Hrmmm. Indubitably.

Evil Glenn: Now just type in the password as I give it to you.

Harv: Ah, the POWER!

Evil Glenn: A… P… R… I… L…

Harv: Ok, go on.

Evil Glenn: F… O… O… L

Harv: Ok… I hit enter, but nothing happened.

Evil Glenn: Uh… let me spell that to you again… A… P… R… I… L… F… O… O… L

Harv: Nope, still nothing.

Evil Glenn: You idiot! April Fool!

Harv: You're the idiot! That password doesn't work!

Evil Glenn: You… never mind. Look, you just keep working on it. I'm gonna go pop a Schnauzer in the Waring. Call me back once you figure it out… Dumbass.

[click]

So as soon as I get this password to work, Instapundit.com will FINALLY be under Alliance control. I'll let you know as soon as I crack his site.

A…P… R…

I… N… S… T… A… P… U… N… D… O… D… E… L… E… N… D… A… E… S… T… !

Sat, 27 Mar 2004 00:58:55 GMT

GLENN'S DAYS OFF
(A FILTHY LIE)

Instapundit (Evil Glenn), oppressor of small blogs
Sat upon his icy throne, blending puppy dogs.
Blogging like a man possessed, dead hobos by his toes.
"Hmmm. Heh. Indeed." he typed, hit post, and then he stretched and rose.

"This doesn't satisfy," he thought, "I need a little break."
"Some time away from blogging - a vacation I will take."
"But where to go and what to do? Some fun place I would think"
"A place with lonely women, where I can score and drink"

He went out to the disco, to prance around the floors
His Robot Dancing better for the spiders in his drawers.
With socks and sandals on his feet, he cut a mighty rug.
His venom-swollen johnson making BVD's fit snug.

He met a pretty girl there by the name of Fatty Sue.
A fine, sweet piece of woman (though she weighed a ton or two).
They both went back to her place, he kissed her at the door.
She took his hand and dragged him in, they smooched a little more.

Kitchen counter, heavy petting, things got really hot.
He reached between her chunky thighs, she said "YES! That's the spot!"
She dragged him to her boudoir and she threw him on the bed.
He lost control and threw a fist that landed on her head.

She stopped, she glared, "Glenn! What the f***? Why did you hit me so?"
"It's true I like it really rough, but that shit's gotta go!"
I punch ALL bloggers violently," said Reynolds with a grin.
"It's what I do, it's who I am, don't tell me it's a sin."

"Well I don't blog," said Fatty Sue, "and wouldn't if I could."
"Control yourself, you naughty boy, and fill me with your wood."
Glenn shrugged and sighed and gave his all in 15 seconds flat.
Then rolled right off and fell asleep. Said Fatty, "What was THAT?"

"That's all I've got," Glenn Reynolds moaned, "there isn't any more."
He closed his eyes, fell fast asleep, and then began to snore.
"I'll fix him up," thought Fatty Sue, "'cuz I know just the trick."
She grabbed her poodle, Fluffy, and she blended him up quick.

She poured the goo down Reynolds's throat, and much to her delight
His eyes flew open quickly and his manhood stood upright.
She climbed aboard his now-firm pole, and rode that pony hard
Her massive rolls a-bouncing 'round her ass of solid lard.

But in her eagerness to quell her raw compelling lust
She didn't hear his bones go "CRACK!" and crumble into dust.
Yet still she humped his broken form, did not let up at all
Until the "big O" took her and she gushed a waterfall.

She climbed off Glenn and said "Hot DAMN! You're really great in bed!"
Glenn just laid unmoving. "Oh my God! I think he's dead!"
"Not dead," said Glenn, "just slightly crushed, and if you'll help me up"
"I'll go another round or two, if you've another pup."

They went on through the night that way, bang - drink puppy - bang.
Her flabby body crushing his 'til dawn, when she said, "Dang!"
"You're really very virile for a geeky blogger guy."
"I'm sorry 'bout those broken bones... you up for one more try?"

But by this time sobriety had Reynolds in its grasp.
He got a look at what he'd laid, and sucked a frightened gasp.
Evil Glenn stared stunned and shocked, now seeing Fatty's trick.
For Fatty Sue was Fatty STAN, complete with Fatty Dick.

Glenn ran screaming out the door, and even left his pants.
"I'll never drink again," he vowed, "or even Robot Dance!"
And that's the tale of Glenn's days off, by now you've guessed the rest.
I'd set him up (I'm such a prick).

INSTAPUNDO DELENDA EST!

Fri, 19 Mar 2004 00:53:28 GMT

EVIL GLENNS ST PATRICKS DAY
(A FILTHY LIE)

The best way to celebrate America's drinkin'est national holiday is by spending the evening at the drinkin'est dive in cyberspace, which, of course, is Madfish Willie's Cyber Saloon. The Bartender was still trying to clean up the mess from the comment party, while the revelers were still feverishly breaking things and de-felting the pool tables, thus leaving it an open question as to whether repair or destruction would win out.

As I walked in, Matty O'Blackfive (looking resplendent in his "Kiss me, I'm a tater-tot" T-shirt), was just settling in next to Mike the Marine, who was sporting a green plastic bowler, and had apparently just arrived, himself...

Mike: 'Bout time you lazy turds got here.

Harv: You be nice, Jarhead, or I'll make some calls to my Navy buds & fix it so you'll have to WALK to your next overseas deployment.

Mike: At least we'd get there faster that way. Those f'd up Navy garbage scows are slower than a doped-up hippie tryin' to choose an ice cream flavor at Baskin Robbins.

Harv: Yeah, well, if you weighed 90,000 tons, you wouldn't move very fast, either.

Mike: Funny, your wife seems to get around pretty good.

Matty: Uh... Mike... [pointing over Mike's shoulder with a worried look on his face]

Beloved Wife [standing behind Mike, one eyebrow raised, flexing one steely bicep]: *ahem*

Mike: Uh... heh... I was just... uh... joking, and... um... well, I... please don't hurt me...

Beloved Wife: Hmph! [walks away triumphantly]

Matty: Damn, Harv. You've been married to her almost five years and yet you've always avoided being snapped in half like a twig. How'd you manage to keep your spine intact so long?

Harv: A simple three-part formula: Love notes...

Matty & Mike: mmm...

Harv: ...Kevlar...

Matty & Mike: Ahhhh....

Harv: ...and licking the alphabet.

Matty & Mike [hastily scribbling on napkins]: Heyyyyy....

Mike: That near-death-experience has made me thirsty. I'm going up to the bar for a beer.

Matty [smirking knowingly]: Just a plain old BEER? On this, the most sacred drinking night of 2004?

Mike: Oh, not just any beer. The darkest, Irishest, most precioussssss beer of them all...

Harv: Budweiser?

Matty: [WHACK!] Blasphemer!

Harv: OW! What? Michelob?

Mike: Matty, kill him slowly

Matty: Right.

Harv: Geez, put down the pig-sticker, Matty! Guinness! Guinness!

Matty: Hey look! Harv just figured out how to keep from acquiring a third nostril!

Mike: Brilliant!

Matty: Brilliant!

Harv: Who you two morons stop quoting that stupid commercial? And get me one while you're
up there.

Matty: 6 for me please.

Mike: Gee, Matty, I thought you'd be drinking a little heavier on St. Patty's day [shrugs, walks to the bar]

Harv: Really, Matt. Only 6? I figured you'd be doing 12's for the holiday...

Matty: Later. Right now I need one hand free to count off the reasons that John Kerry's a f'n asshat. One... changes his mind more often than Michael Moore at a Burger King. Two... Talks to more imaginary foreign potentates than Mr. Rogers in the Neighborhood of Make Believe. Three…

We we interrupted by the crash of breaking glass and a scream of violated outrage coming from the direction of the bar...

Mike: What the f*** is this shit? I ordered a f****** Guinness!

Bartender: Piss off, ya dumb ass shave-tail! That WAS a Guinness!

Mike: Ah BULLSHIT! Looked like water ta me, ya swindling bastard!

Harv [approaching the bar]: Right! What's all this then?

Mike: That 2-bit hooch-slinger tried to pass off a glass of Canada Dry as Guinness. Get me a rope. This bastard's gonna die...

Bartender: You can take that rope & shove it up yer mudhole! I told you I gave you a Guinness!

Harv: Barkeep... far be it from me to ever take up the cause of a man foolish enough to join a branch of the Armed Services that has to hitch a ride with the Navy any time they want to kill foreigners...

Mike: Hey!

Harv: Quiet, Mike, I'm stickin' up for ya... anyway, Barkeep, the man has a point. Guinness ain't exactly a 10 on the transparency scale.

Bartender: Maybe not the OLD Guinness, but this is new Guinness Clear. Only one-third the carbs, with no extra additives, like flavor or alcohol. Plus, Currency Freak, it's as see-thru as your wife's blouse when she's out turning tricks.

Beloved Wife [flexing]: I HEARD THAT!

Bartender: Uh... I said "when you're beating Harv with sticks."

Beloved Wife [smiling]: Heh. Yeah. He likes that...

Bartender: PHEW!... Anyway, it's all I've got to drink in this joint, so deal with it!

Matty [running up to the bar in a panic]: Guys! The TV!

CNN Announcer: ... And repeating our top story... the streets of America are filled with hordes of distraught Irishmen, who find themselves tragically sober on the one night of the year when they're not considered social pariahs for being pugilistic drunkards. Somehow, someone has replaced the nation's entire supply of Guinness with a watery, flavorless beverage that may or may not be Miller Light. I haven't seen this sort of chaos since the frozen beer riots of a few months ago. Even as we speak, you can see distraught crowds of potato-chomping shillelagh-swingers milling about in anguish, searching desperately for something to replace the precious alcohol that gives meaning to their otherwise empty lives...

Matty: Oh crap. See that helicopter in the background with EGI on the side?

Mike: Evil Glenn Industries? Oh God. Not again...

Harv: Buck up, boys, there's no time to lose. We have to save Saint Patty's Day from Evil Glenn's... uh... evil...

Matty: Lose your inner thesaurus, there, Harv?

Harv: Oh shut up! There's no time to waste bitching about my vocabulary...

Matty, Harv & Mike: TO THE DRUNKMOBILE!

In a flash, we drove up to the dark and brooding compound wherein lurked the ev... uh... really naughty Glenn Reynolds...

Matty: Ok, Harvey, what's the plan?

Harv: We just go in, and ask Glenn politely to please, in the spirit of international cooperation, return the nation's supply of real Guinness and not do mean things to the poor, besotted Irish anymore. And to pretty please be nice from now on.

Matty: I said "Harvey", not "Kerry"!

Harv: Oh. Sorry. Go in, kick Glenn's ass, and rescue the Guinness with extreme prejudice.

Mike: OOOO! Me likey!

So, in we went, with Mike screaming OOO-RAH!, Matty persistantly jumping off random pieces of furniture yelling, "Look! I'm a paratrooper!" and me shouting the occasional "Brilliant!" just to keep them interested in the mission.

Soon we arrived at the inner sanctum and burst through the door to find...

Evil Glenn sitting calmly in his chair, staring expectantly at the door...

Matty: Give us...

Mike: Guinness...

Harv: Or die...

Evil Glenn: Of course. As you can see, I've already poured 4 glasses of that delectable stout. I've been expecting you.

Matty: Uh...

Mike: Er...

Harv: Wha?...

Evil Glenn: Even though there are tremendous benefits to being the omnipotent Dark Overlord of the Blogosphere, it's very lonely at the top. On this, the dinkin'est night of the year, I just wanted some company, so I devised a scheme to get the three of you to join me for a drink.

Mike: So there's no Guinness Clear?

Evil Glenn: Pfffft! NO! I bribed the Bartender to mess with your heads. That watered down crap was just plain old Busch Light.

Matty: Wait a minute... what about the CNN news report?

Evil Glenn: Let's just say there are certain... secrets... that Ted Turner didn't want revealed... [dropping several candid snapshots on the table]

Harv: Wow! I had no idea Ted was that... flexible...

Mike: He looks rather pretty in that pink leather catsuit...[noticing stares from Matt & Harv]...uh... I mean for a guy... uh... Nevermind. Look, what about the hordes or belligerent, destructive Irishmen?

Evil Glenn: Heh. They weren't really Irish. I just told the League of Liberals that Halliburton was invading Venezuela. Those idiots were out tearing up the streets in five seconds flat. But enough about me. Let's get drunk.

Harv: We can't drink with you! You're a puppy-blending, hobo-murdering, Satan worshipper!

Evil Glenn: It's Guinness.

Matty: Good point

Mike: Can't see any holes in THAT argument.

Harv: But he's EVIL!

Matty: So's being sober on St. Patrick's Day

Mike: Or ever.

Harv: Wellllllll... my inner sailor is a bit parched...

Evil Glenn: Besides, I'm sure we'll tangle again soon enough. Earth Day's just around the corner... So anyway, I'm thinking of adding a fourth word to my blogging repertoire. What do you guys think of "nifty"?

Matty: Kinda gay. How about "swell"

Mike: Nah, too Beaver Cleaver. Go with "groovy"

Harv: That is SOOOOO Brady Bunch. I'm thinkin' "supercalifragilisticexpialidocious". Just watch out for those Disney lawsuits…

So we chatted & drank into the night, and come the dawn, went our separate ways with no backstabbing truce violations as one might expect from one as depraved as Evil Glenn. We will, no doubt meet again as enemies, but for a single night, there was a brief, alcohol-fueled truce in the Great Blog War. A night without tricks or treachery.

Well… except for the fact that I stole Glenn's wallet…

INSTAPUNDO DELENDA EST!

Sat, 13 Mar 2004 01:24:29 GMT

EVIL GLENNS EVIL GUIDE TO EVIL TIME MANAGEMENT
(A FILTHY LIE)

Hi folks. Evil Glenn here. I've hijacked the Currency Freak's blog in an effort to test out my new blog-hijacking software. If you're reading this, then the test has been successful and you're all doomed! MUAHAHAHAHAHA!

But to show that life under the crushing dominion of my virtual bootheel won't be ALL bad, I'm going to give you some time management tips. These handy hints are a condensation of years of experience and have allowed me to reach the pinnacle of Ecospheric success to which all bloggers aspire, but which none of you will ever reach, since I will soon crush you like empty pop cans!

Like most people, I used to let idle moments go to waste. If I had a spare 15 minutes, I'd sit around pleasuring myself to penguin porn instead of using them productively. But if you put these little tricks into practice, soon you'll have the blogosphere by the throat, just like me!

Except that I'll kill you before you become a threat to my evil powers.

Yes, thanks to these time-saving techniques, I can cram an entire day's worth of evil into a mere 15 minutes. Just do what I do:

When blending puppies, always use the "liquefy" setting. Sure, you miss out on the agonized yipping that "chop" delivers, but sometimes quantity is more important than quality

Now you've got that yummy glass of warm sticky puppy goo in hand, but who has time for endless repititions of sip-swallow-belch? Not me, that's for sure! That's why I've had a 4-inch diameter PVC pipe surgically installed in my chest leading directly to my stomach. Just pour in the puppy and you're instantaneously bursting with energy!

All those Satanic prayers don't need to eat up your schedule anymore. Forget all that "chant, chant, light a candle, chant, chant, draw a pentagram, chant, chant, disembowel a virgin, chant, chant" garbage. Just remember - Instant Messaging is your friend. They don't call it AOHell for nothing. 9.0 is your direct line to the Prince of Darkness. Don't hesitate to use it. Come on, baby, don't fear the reaper.

Can't find a hobo to murder? That cookie-pimping girl scout who won't stop leaning on your doorbell screams just as satisfyingly when you slip the blade between her ribs.

Even if you type 80 wpm, those long commie-praising screeds can be quite a chore. You can show your love of collectivist oppression more efficiently by joining the League of Liberals. Being on their blogroll is every bit as good as a hearty "Yay Mao!"

No matter how fleet of foot you are, a Robot Dance can waste more time than an NFL instant replay review. Screw that. One cycle of The Macarena gives you just as much sinister shimmy in 15 seconds.

Punching Frank J. sometimes seems like it takes an eternity. But it's worth it. Don't skimp on the all-important pummeling of bony little girly-armed humor-bloggers.

Now, I know what you're going to ask next. "Glenn, I love your time-saving ideas, but what about the penguin porn?" Ah, yes, I know what you mean. I, too, love to savor that slo-mo, frame-by-frame, avian money shot. But with all the foul deeds that need perpetrating, I just don't have time to sit naked in front of the 72" projection screen HDTV with a box of Kleenex & a bottle of Jergens. I've always hated having to choose between the twin joys of self-pleasuring and brutally torturing innocents, but I've finally found a solution. With Eyetop brand Video Glasses and a portable DVD player, you can have one hand free to punch, stab, blend, or dance, and still be able to *ahem* "take care of business" with the other. It's win-win!

And there you have it. The Evil Glenn Patented 15-minute Workout O'Evil. Practice it daily, and soon the blogosphere will be yours to command!

Except that I'll have to kill you if you ever make the mistake of saying:

INSTAPUNDO DELENDA EST!

Fri, 12 Mar 2004 00:01:35 GMT

DAMN YOU GLENN REYNOLDS!

Ya know, it's one thing to be a disgusting freak who puts puppies in blenders, but this... THIS...

All I'm saying is that there are certain lines that should never be crossed, and this is WAYYYYY on the wrong side of one of them.

(hat tip to Little Tiny Lies for pointing out the pic)

Sat, 06 Mar 2004 01:28:39 GMT

GLENN'S LOGO
(A FILTHY LIE)

There are two things Glenn needs to do: get a firewall, and stop making phone calls via the internet. Why? Because it makes it WAY too easy for unscroupulous people like me to listen in. Recently, Evil Glenn got a call from Bob, who runs his ISP...

Bob: Hi Glenn, it's Bob, from EvilBloggers.com.

Evil Glenn: Just a second, Bob... *WHIRRRRR!* *yip! yip! yip!* *gurgle*... *SLURRRRPP!* Heh. Schnauzer shake. Indeed. What can I do for ya Bob?

Bob: I REALLY wish you wouldn't do that when I call. It's a little disturbing.

Evil Glenn: Gotta keep my energy up. I've gotta post 3000 more entries by noon, and... ACK! *spitooie!*... Ugh. Toenail.

Bob: Yeah, well, I'll get right to the point. Ever since Janet dropped her mudflap at the Superbowl, the FCC has been going nuts. They're going after anything even remotely obscene. Did you know they fined the Oscars $50,000 for showing a picture of Michael Moore?

Evil Glenn: Well, I can understand that. Showing a boob is one thing, but images of a gaping asshole IS really over the top.

Bob: Agreed. So around here we're really concerned that the Feds are going to get overzealous and attempt internet censorship. I don't know if they can do it, but I'm not waiting around to find out, so I'm making sure we're not hosting anything objectionable on our server. Since your site, and specifically your logo, is at the top of our list of complaints, I figured maybe you could clean it up a bit

Evil Glenn: Thousands of people are complaining about my logo?

Bob: Well, just one, actually. He says that your logo looks like a very pointy boob with a round nipple on top, and claims that those white things represent part of a Jacksonesque nipple-shield.

Evil Glenn: That's INSANE! What kind of sick, twisted pervert would even imagine such a thing?

Bob: Well, it was signed Frank J., if that means anything.

Evil Glenn: Hmmm. That would explain it. Indeed… But that's only ONE lousy complaint. How can that put me at the top of your naughty blogger list?

Bob: Glenn, it's the only complaint we got, so it makes you stick out like a hooker in a convent. I'm not taking the heat for this one. Change the logo.

Evil Glenn: All right, all right, don't get your skivvies in a clove hitch. Let me poke around the C drive & see if I can scare something up… hmmm… Ok, Bob, check your e-mail quick & tell me if this one's suitable.

Bob: GOOD GOD! How could you POSSIBLY think that a picture of a man having sex with an inflatable penguin would be acceptable? This thing wouldn't even be safe for work if you were Helen Thomas's gynecologist!

Evil Glenn: WHAT? [checking attachment] Whoops! Heh. Wrong file. Try this one…

Bob: GAH! What. Is. That. THING?

Evil Glenn: Portrait of the author.

Bob: I think you got the wrong picture again. This looks like some kind of Martian vampire version of Riff-Raff from the Rocky Horror Picture Show.

Evil Glenn: I think it's about time people saw my true appearance.

Bob: Look, just stay coiled up inside the human suit for a little while longer. NOBODY'S ready for this. What else ya got?

Evil Glenn: Geez! You are SUCH a cowering little gerbil! Fine! You want inoffensive? You GOT it!…

Bob: Nope.

Evil Glenn: WHAT? It's a freakin' FLOWER!

Bob: Sorry, it's just gonna raise more nipple-shield issues. Try again.

Evil Glenn: I give up. I'm just going to select a .jpg at random… there…

Bob: Interspecies mating?

Evil Glenn: Whoops! Heh. Forgot to exclude the "Personal" folder from the search. One more time…

Bob: and… this would be the result of said interspecies mating?

Evil Glenn: Well, I kinda felt responsible for his creation, so I adopted him. Isn't he adorable?

Bob: In a sick and wrong sort of way, yes. Don't you have ANYTHING that good and decent people will find unobjectionable?

Evil Glenn: How the hell should I know what good & decent people want? I'm a lawyer!

Bob: Good point. In that case, pick something YOU would find objectionable.

Evil Glenn: Hey! That's a GREAT idea! Let me pop open my "icky" folder… EWWW! Here's one of a beautiful woman celebrating her first place finish in a golf tournament. The joy, the sunshine, the sweet smell of an honestly earned victory… I'll have to kill a dozen hobos to get the foul taste out of my mouth…

Bob: PERFECT! No one could POSSIBLY find this the least bit suggestive or objectionable. I think we have a winner. Thanks for all your help, Glenn.

Evil Glenn: Don't mention it.

All I can say is that if he goes with that last one, I might have to blogroll him.

INSTAPUNDO DELENDA EST!

Thu, 26 Feb 2004 23:12:39 GMT

EVIL GLENN'S AWARDS
(A FILTHY LIE)

Google as I might, I couldn't find any information on awards that the Puppy Blender might have won, so I decided to call him and ask him directly. I cleverly disguised my true identity...

[ring... ring]

Evil Glenn: You are puny and weak! You will die a horrible bloody death at the hands of my foul minions! I will destroy all that you love! Bow down before your new master! MUAHAHAHAHA! This is Glenn, may I help you?

Harv: Yes, I'm from Evil Overlords Illustrated, and...

Evil Glenn: Wow! EOI! Hey, I LOVED your last swimsuit issue! How did you ever get Saddam Hussein into a Wicked Weasel Bikini? Talk about not safe for work!

Harv: Yes, well, shoehorns & a tub of Parkay can work miracles, but the reason I'm calling, Mr. Reynolds is that I'd like to interview you for our next issue. We're doing piece called "Cute Animals: America's Pestilence", and since your work with puppies is legendary, I wanted to get some quotes. You know - how their death-screams are like a Mozart concerto or some poetic crap like that.

Evil Glenn: More like Bach, but I take your meaning. Ask me anything, Mr... what did you say your name was?

Harv [reminding myself to give a fake name]: Harvey... DOH! Damn! Now my cover's blown!

Evil Glenn: I'm sorry, I was mixing up some Poodleberry punch. What was that?

Harv [thinking a little faster this time]: Uh, ORVEY! [ok, not MUCH faster]... and I said "oh man, this cover's your own". You won't have to share this issue's cover with anyone.

Evil Glenn: Orvey, huh?... That a Russian name?

Harv: Uh... Da.

Evil Glenn: Well, Orv, here's my story. I was born a poor black child...

Harv: Mr Reynolds...

Evil Glenn: WHAT?

Harv: This is for your fellow defilers of all that is good and pure, not some stupid Alliance Filthy Lie assignment. Save the BS for the Kerry sexual harrassment deposition.

Evil Glenn: Sorry. Force of habit. Lawyer, you know.

Harv: All too aware. Now let's get a little background on your past accomplishments, and...

Evil Glenn: When I was 12, I stuffed a French mime into a flaming trash barrel. Found out Marcel Marceau could talk after all. Or at least scream.

Harv: Mr. Reynolds...

Evil Glenn: WHAT? It's true!

Harv: Yes, but hardly evil. You got a Congressional Medal of Honor for that one, as I recall. Look, if you're not going to cooperate, I can get someone else. Castro's been bugging the crap out of me for weeks, just begging for some ink. Keeps going on and on about this great kitten salsa recipe he's worked up, and...

Evil Glenn: Not Castro! He's the worst!

Harv: I thought you liked commies?

Evil Glenn: I do, but I'm more of a Mao man. Castro's such a tit by comparison. Little pussy's barely even got a dozen nukes, and... oops - wasn't supposed to mention that. This is off the record, right?

Harv: Totally. Anyway, let's get back on track here. What sort of evil awards have you won?

Evil Glenn: Well, there was that award from the Girl Scouts for selling the most cookies...

Harv: I said EVIL!

Evil Glenn: Ricin Mints & Ebola Delites.

Harv: Oh, you were with Hillary's troop. I stand corrected. What else?

Evil Glenn: Blackwell's Worst Dressed - Socks & Sandals Division. Birkenstocks & knee-high whites. You know the kind I mean? The ones with the frilly dingles hanging off the top?

Harv: My inner queer eye has never felt so violated. Go on.

Evil Glenn: There was that award I got for helping the homeless...

Harv: Gladys, get me Castro on line 2...

Evil Glenn: No! Wait! Let me finish! I got it for helping the homeless into the next life! Slice & Dice magazine even did a huge piece on my filleting technique!

Harv: Never mind, Gladys… Yeah, I remember that one. Heh. Those hobos looked like Picasso paintings. What a splatterfest! Intestines everywhere… and that "third eye" thing was a nice touch. Keep going.

Evil Glenn: The Trial Lawyers' Association Shyster of the Year Award for 12 years running.

Harv: Gladys, call Castro back…

Evil Glenn: WHAT? The TLA is the epitome of evil!

Harv: Yes, but there are certain limits to even our readership's depravity. I think we'd best not mention this one.

Evil Glenn: Ok, skip it. Can I at least mention that I won the Second Annual Montgomery Burns Award for Outstanding Achievement in the Field of Excellence?

Harv: Hmmm… and you received that for…?

Evil Glenn: Chernobyl didn't melt itself down, you know.

Harv: Ex-cellent.

Evil Glenn: Indeed. And there was my work at Jerry Lewis's last Muscular Dystrophy Association Telethon.

Harv: Thanks, Gladys. Hello?… Fidel?…

Evil Glenn: Geez, Orvey! You have the patience of an espressoed ferret! Look… one of my lesser-known hobbies is steamrollering cripples in parking lots just to hear the sound of the their wheelchair spokes breaking. Talk about MUSIC! If puppy screams are Bach, then that PING! PING! PING! is lovely, lovely Ludwig Van.

Harv: Ah, sweet Ultra-Violence. Anything else?

Evil Glenn: Yeah. My "Most Annoying Right-of-Center Blog of 2003" Award.

Harv: Ok, Glenn, that does it. I'm hanging up.

Evil Glenn: But WHY?

Harv: I'm sick of you trying to bullshit me like I'm some sort of OJ juror! EVERYONE knows that Misha got that award!

Evil Glenn: He STOLE that award! Do you have ANY idea how F****** annoying I am? With my "Hmmm" this, and my "Heh" that, and my "Indeed" every-damn-other-thing? I'm so irritating people break out in hives at the mere sight of my stupid sparking-antenna logo! It's not MY fault that my readers are too illiterate to read more than the three words I use! Hell, half of 'em send me hate mail for using a word with a second syllable! You should see my inbox! If I had a nickel for every "BIG WORD HARD MAKE BRAIN HURT" subject line, I'd be Bill freakin' Gates! DAMN that insolent puppy and his brilliantly intelligent readership! Damn him all to HELL! I should've blended him YEARS ago!

Harv: So… no award, then?

Evil Glenn: YOU SHUT UP! I'LL MURDER YOU DEAD!

Harv: Glenn, two things…

Evil Glenn: DEAD! DEAD! DEAD!

Harv: First, we're having a phone conversation, and I'm a thousand miles away from you, thus just beyond arm's reach.

Evil Glenn: …dead?

Harv: Second… I LIED! I'm NOT Orvey of Evil Overlords Illustrated. I'm Harvey of Bad Money, and this IS a Filthy Lie assignment. BWAHAHAHAHAHA!

Evil Glenn: NOOOOO! MURDER! DEATH! KILL! TORTURE! MAYHEM! SLAUGHTER! DIE! DIE! D… wait a minute… does this mean I'm not going to make the cover of EOI?

Harv: Not as such, no.

Evil Glenn: … but Castro won't be on it either, right?

Harv: Well, no.

Evil Glenn: Eh. Ok. No problem, then. See you in hell, Currency Freak. [click]

Harv: What a cocky, pompous, overbearing asshole.

[ring]

Harv: Hello?

Evil Glenn: LAWYER! MUAHAHAHAHA! [click]

Oh, you'll pay for that one, Glenn. You. Will. Pay.

INSTAPUNDO DELENDA EST!