Friday, May 07, 2004
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,
....Reconnection noise of
"Heh! Not enough people on this internet-thing to
....Reconnection noise of
"Gives me time to work on my typing speed and look at www.penguinporn.com
flightless aquatic arctic waterfowl tastefully posed."
....Reconnection noise of
"Damn my ISP and Dial
....Reconnection noise of
"I am now a FULLY FLEDGED megalomaniac! Sorry,
LAWYER. If only I didn't feel so lethargic!"
....Blender noises and
WWWWHHHIIIIIRRRRRRRR..... YIP YIP YIP
"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
...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!
posted by Harvey at 9:18:26 PM permalink HOME
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
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
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.
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: 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"?
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]
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!
posted by Harvey at 8:09:35 PM permalink HOME
Wednesday, May 05, 2004
Friday, April 30, 2004
(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
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!
posted by Harvey at 7:38:06 PM permalink HOME
Wednesday, April 28, 2004
Friday, April 23, 2004
(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!
posted by Harvey at 8:37:13 PM permalink HOME
Wednesday, April 21, 2004
THE 9/11 COMMISSION EXPLAINED
(A PRECISION GUIDED HUMOR ASSIGNMENT)
Although it may resemble a free-for-all of partisan finger-pointing, the
9/11 Commission is actually a well-organized group of partisan
finger-pointers, who are tasked with investigating several specific areas of inquiry.
I quote these topics directly from the 9/11 Commission web site, and include their
preliminary recommendation for each area, which I obtained
by pulling it out
of my ass via secret sources:
Al Qaeda and the Organization of the 9-11 Attack:
Recommendation: Pass a law requiring that, when terrorists stop at a titty bar for
their now-traditional last night of debauchery before carrying out
their plans, they be served only cyanide margaritas. These may be, but are
not required to be, 2-for-1 specials.
Intelligence Collection, Analysis, and Management (including oversight and resource allocation):
The FBI and CIA must work together as a team. No more messing with each
other's letterheads to make them read "Fat Bloated Idiots" or "Childish
International Counterterrorism Policy, including states that harbor or
harbored terrorists, or offer or offered terrorists safe havens:
The old policy of "give them money & hope they leave us alone" has
failed. Hopefully the new policy of "Nuke first, ask the glowing
wasteland questions later" will have better results.
No more "zero down, no payments for 90 days" crap. From now on, all
terrorists are strictly "cash and carry". With all carrying being done
by stuffing their gooey remains in a 5-gallon bucket.
Border Security and Foreign Visitors:
America no longer has the luxury of allowing suspicious people to cross
its borders with impunity. For maximum surveillance efficiency, all
borders will be continuously manned by bored, gossipy, small-town
housewives known as the Gladys Kravitz Brigade.
Law Enforcement and Intelligence Collection inside the United States:
So that no detail is missed, all law enforcement and intelligence
information will be retained in a single centralized database.
Cyberdyne Systems expects SkyNet and its army of friendly, helpful
Hunter-Killer cyborgs to be on line before the end of the year.
Commercial Aviation and Transportation Security, including an Investigation into the Circumstances of the Four Hijackings:
Before any passenger is allowed to board a plane, he will be asked the
foolproof terrorist-revealing question: "If you were a terrorist and I
asked you whether you were a terrorist, would you say "yes"?". If he
answers either "yes" or "no" then he's a terrorist and should be beaten
to a bloody pulp on the spot, since a normal American would respond
"What kind of stupid ass question is that? Get the f*** out of my way
before I miss my flight!"
The Immediate Response to the Attacks at the National, State, and Local levels, including issues of Continuity of Government:
Nuke the moon... or at least the crescent moons on top of
mosques occupied by gun-wielding terrorists. Lather. Radiate. Repeat.
SIC SEMPER TYRANNIS!
posted by Harvey at 8:20:14 PM permalink HOME
Monday, April 19, 2004
© Copyright 2005 Harvey Olson.
Last update: 6/24/2005; 6:15:02 PM.