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Bad Money

  Friday, March 26, 2004


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).


posted by Harvey at 7:58:55 PM  permalink    Crappy Broken Radio Comments (do not use) [] trackback []  HOME

  Thursday, March 18, 2004


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…


posted by Harvey at 7:53:28 PM  permalink    Crappy Broken Radio Comments (do not use) [] trackback []  HOME

  Friday, March 12, 2004


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:


posted by Harvey at 8:24:29 PM  permalink    Crappy Broken Radio Comments (do not use) [] trackback []  HOME

  Thursday, March 11, 2004


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)

posted by Harvey at 7:01:35 PM  permalink    Crappy Broken Radio Comments (do not use) [] trackback []  HOME

  Friday, March 05, 2004


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

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.


posted by Harvey at 8:28:39 PM  permalink    Crappy Broken Radio Comments (do not use) [] trackback []  HOME

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