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"The frightening power of Harvey's filthy lies makes me tremble like a Frenchman. I frequently wet myself in terror and... Oops... damn." - Glenn Reynolds

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	Thursday, January 15, 2004

BEDTIME FOR GLENZO (A FILTHY LIE) It's not always easy being an Alliance agent, but a little hard work and/or criminal activity is a small price to pay for helping to defeat the Puppy Blender. I figured some scandal would ruin his popularity among the delicate-sensibilitied soccer-mom contingent, so, with lock picks in hand, I made my way to his house, intent on plumbing the dark secrets of Evil Glenn's foul sleeping chamber. Turns out I didn't need the tools. The door was still in pieces from my last expedition. Stealthily, I crept inside, making my way toward his bedroom, where I gently shoved the door open to reveal... Impenetrable darkness. Hmmm... Ah! Light switch! [click] Empty. There wasn't a single damn thing in the room. "What the hell?" I mumbled to myself. Evil Glenn: Something wrong, Currency Freak? Harv: GAH! Don't sneak up on me like that! Evil Glenn: Before I dial 911 to report your violation of my home's sanctity, may I inquire as to what you're doing here? Harv: I was just, uh... selling Girl Scout cookies... uh... Thin Mint? Evil Glenn: No sash, no beret, no green dress... I call bullshit...  I'm also calling the cops... Harv: All right! All right! I'm here trying to dig up dirt on your bizarre sexual proclivities by finding out what's in your bedroom. I have to free the blogosphere from your oppression... Alliance of Free Blogs... Instapundo Delenda Est... yada yada yada. Evil Glenn: Oh. Another stupid Alliance assignment that nobody but you cares about. Heh. Like I give a shit. Well, feel free to look around. As you can see, there's nothing here for me to be ashamed of. Harv: I... I don't understand. What happened to all the stuff that was in here? Evil Glenn: What "stuff" would that be? Harv: Well, Phelps said... Evil Glenn: DAMN THAT EVERLASTING PHELPS! Because of his hacking of my Robo-maid, the INS found out she was here illegally, and she got deported back to Robo-Mexico. Phelps will DIE! DIE! DIE! Harv: That threat was more convincing when it was written in puce crayon. Evil Glenn: Regardless, I had to "clean house", as it were, and get rid of all those shameful items he mentioned. Harv: So they're all gone? Evil Glenn: Yup. Sold 'em on eBay. Made quite the tidy sum. Harv: So the copy of "Are You There Allah? It's Me, Osama"?... Evil Glenn: Saddam picked that up. I guess he was tired of reading the 10-year-old issues of Ladies Home Journal that make up the bulk of the prison library. Harv: The Ronco Inside the Skin Puppy Scrambler? Evil Glenn: David Letterman. Harv: Letterman? Evil Glenn: Why are you so surprised? A high-powered late night talk-show host like him needs a good energy drink to keep him going. Did you think that was COFFEE he keeps sipping out of that mug? Harv: The autographed nude photo of Fidel Castro? Evil Glenn: Heh. You wouldn't believe how much Michael Moore ended up paying for that one. Harv: Tinfoil fedora? Wait... let me guess... Dennis Kucinich needed it to ward off the mind-controlling space lasers? Evil Glenn: Got it in one. Harv: How about the manuscript of "How To Take Over The World With A Website"? Evil Glenn: Frank J. bought it. Harv: Frank J!?! Evil Glenn: Yup. Maybe you should start keeping an eye on your Fearless Leader. Harv: Hmmm... anyway, what happened to the rest of the crap? Evil Glenn: I donated it to the Salvation Army for the tax write-off. Harv: You lie! Do you expect me to believe the IRS would give you credit for donating monkey toes? Evil Glenn: They let Bill Clinton write off his used underwear. Harv: Touché... So... there's nothing in this room you'd be embarrassed to have people find out about? Evil Glenn: I'm a little angel. Harv: Then what about the contents of... THIS CLOSET! [sliding open the door to reveal 800 pairs of knee-high white socks and 800 pairs of sandals] Evil Glenn: So what? I'm a lawyer, not freakin' Stacy London! Whaddya gonna do? Call the fashion police on me? MUAHAHAHAHA! Harv: I guess... I guess I've failed. There's no hope left for the Alliance. Evil Glenn: Heh. I could've told you that back in August. You might as well start bowing down before me now, because you're doomed to become my mindless servant. Doomed. DOOOMED, I SAY! Harv: Yes, master. I will now murder hobos for your Satanic needs, and... Say,... what's behind this curtain? Evil Glenn: NOOOOOOO! Don't touch that! No one must see my darkest secret! Harv [pulling back the curtain]: Oh... Dear... GOD! Evil Glenn: Uh... I can explain... Harv: That's the most revolting... Evil Glenn: Look. I'm willing to negotiate... If you keep quiet about this, I'll give you an Instalanche. Harv: I don't know... Evil Glenn: Come on. I won't even say "Indeed". Harv: Well... Evil Glenn: That's the spirit. Now just run along on home and don't breathe a word of this. Check your referrer logs later. I believe you'll be pleasantly surprised. What can I say? I was weak. The temptation of more hits in one day than I've gotten in my whole blog-life was just too much to resist. So I left. I suppose you're wondering why I posted all this, then... Is it because I'm dishonest? Unreliable? Untrustworthy? No. It's because THAT SON OF A BITCH GAVE MY INSTALANCHE TO MATTY O'BLACKFIVE! So here's Evil Glenn's deepest, darkest secret. (Do I have to mention that it's not work-safe?) Rot in hell, you lying bastard. INSTAPUNDO DELENDA EST! posted by Harvey at 10:25:30 PM  permalink    Crappy Broken Radio Comments (do not use) [] trackback []  HOME

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