United Nations

Ladies and Gentlemen, I give to you the United Nations Motto, as spoken by Kofi himself:

"We're United." [pause] "We're Nations."

"Four legs good, two legs bad?" [pause] "All animals are equal, but some are more equal than others?"

[Looks bewildered - turns until he spots a League of Liberals member. Prepares to read from the teleprompter. Coughs.]

"We're not the United Way."

[Microphone Screeches. Tear forms in Kofi's eye.]

"We're the United Nations. Yeah, that's the motto. 'We're the United Nations.'"

[Music Swells. Lights fade.]

hln

Ode To Glenn Reynolds

What, you want ME to write a poem, Alliance. Well, okay! (Obnoxiousness and bad poetry warning.)

Ode To Glenn Reynolds

If only I
could summon nimble
words to pluck away thyne pups
before you siphon vitals from their wares.

A listless sigh escapes its
sound. It queries not a dogged
paw - a fading yelp.

Clouded sky erupts!
A lightning bolt askew
might frighten off a gnu
and separate your pup from you
(and leave you shaking sad and blue)
So true. So...true.

Still now. The blender whirs its final sound.
A rapture grasp'd in canine breath.
Escapes his sure intended death.

The blender now holds crystal meth?

Nay, a false alarm most fit to
stop a fiendish scam - exposed
this lawyer as a man whose penguins
were his biggest fan. Who
blends your puppies 'cause he can.

So on this chosen solemn date let
InstaPundit's newest fate be
Something dressed in utter hate (for
Father Time is drawing late). Such wrath'd
befall a solemn state whose blighted
fortress shared its fate and
Richard Simmons watched his weight
(For surely you must not berate the
kindred folks who guard your gate)

WHO LET THE DOGS OUT! WOOF! WOOF! WOOF! WOOF!.

Uh, I think I'm done.

hln hln

Origin of the Puppy Blender

I was talking on the phone with my mother yesterday, and she told me that her father, who was born in 1901, told her stories of the Igorots at the St. Louis World's Fair in 1904.

"Igorots?" said I. "I've never heard of them."

She proceeded to tell me that a tribe from the Phillipenes ATE DOGS at the World's Fair. Furthermore, the Dogtown neighborhood is aptly named BECAUSE OF THIS EVENT. Truly, I was shocked.

And then I made the connection. Glenn Reynolds and his family must be from St. Louis. The idea was born HERE!

Why else would I keep running into him? It's been a while now - almost a month - since our paths crossed. I need to hang out in Dogtown to find him.

At any rate, here's a bit more information, possibly more than you ever wanted to know.

The head-hunting, dog-eating Igorots were the greatest attraction at the Philippine Exhibit, not only because of their novelty, the scanty dressing of the males and their daily dancing to the tom-tom beats, but also because of their appetite for dog meat which is a normal part of their diet.

The city of St. Louis provided them a supply of dogs at the agreed amount of 20 dogs a week, but this did not appear to be sufficient, as they had also encouraged local people to bring them dogs which they bought to supplement their daily needs.

The poaching of dogs became so common in the area near the Igorot Village such that the neighborhood was warned to watch for their dogs; even then, many dogs were disappearing in this neighborhood, angering and upsetting many people.

There were obviously many people who objected to the supplying of dogs to the Igorots, particularly the St. Louis Women's Humane Society, but there were also many people, perhaps much more, who sympathized the Igorot's need for dog meat.

As one Missourian, who had been to the Philippines and realized the difficulty of not being able to eat the food that one is used to, noted, "Every dog has his day, and every man his meat." He donated 200 fat Missouri dogs to the Igorots!

And there's MORE!

I have no doubt that the name "hot dog" was picked as a label for the sausage-on-a-bun to attract the attention of potential customers at the Fair by riding on the popularity of the eating of dogs by the Igorots, which had inspired the creation of the name.

hln

Ode to the Puppy Blender (A limerick for Michele)

Michele of A Small Victory is having a limerick contest. I entered with this:

Glenn Reynolds, that mad Puppy Blender
Insisted his food dogs be tender.
Two slices of bread,
"Thanks, PETA," he said,
And, smiling, he hat-tipped the vendor.

hln

Filthy Lie #5

Brian and I arose at 4:30 this morning to be at the gym by 5:00 a.m. We arrived on time, and though it was dark, I quickly recognized the small child's bike propped against the outside wall.

I said to Brian, "Glenn Reynolds." Brian frowned, "Really? He hasn't left me fan mail in a while." I scoffed, and we parted ways to work on different body parts.

I spotted the bike's "owner" hanging from the gym's Roman Chair. His left bicep sported a bright new tattoo. I stepped closer out of curiosity but still hoping not to interrupt the Puppy Blender's obvious concentration.

I squinted. Yes, that's right. It was a tattoo of PETA's LOGO!

I gasped and pointed, but I was so aghast that all I could say was "PETA!" Glenn finally noticed me and chuckled.

"Yes, PETA," said he. "They let me do an article for Slate and promised me free puppies if I give it a positive spin and sport this nifty tattoo."

Speechless. I was speechless. I dropped the 10 pound plate I was holding, narrowly missing my foot.

Glenn continued, "I think I have an in with the ELF, and that's good because I've been itching to try a mink julep."

What does one say to that? In my previous encounters with this man, I've been more eloquent, but, for now, the choice was clear. I must leave his company. I did an about face, kicked the fallen weight, exclaimed "YOW," and stormed off to find Brian.

This man is an enemy. He's an enemy of the people, and most certainly now we know he is an enemy of ALL animals.

Take heed and prepare.

hln

Filthy Lie #4

This is disgusting, disheartening, and wrong. I caught Glenn Reynolds going through my TRASH out back.

No, really, I did. I was suspicious when I heard a familiar bell, and I looked out my back window in my kitchen toward the patio, and there he was! The small child's bike was parked against my fence. Glenn had set the bags of used cat litter (yes, Mom, I edited that for you) aside and was sifting through my garbage, separating the chicken bones from the paper. He had a DOG with him; said pooch was tied to the fence by the bike.

"WHATEVER ARE YOU DOING?!?" shouted I. Glenn looked up at me, miffed. "Why, I'm looking for all of your private information so that I can assume your identity." Shocked, appalled, and mildly frightened, I grabbed a Cutco kitchen knife, stormed out the screen door, and waved the weapon at Reynolds. "Out, and away!" I shouted. "And leave the dog if you know what's good for you." He did not budge. At the top of my lungs, I began to sing Copacabana, by Barry Manilow.

Reynolds screeched and pedalled away, his pockets full of paper. He was afraid of my skill with a chopping knife, perhaps. Doubtful, I think it was the word "Lola." Good thing to know. Oh, and luckily, I shred all of my paper, so my identity is safe.

When Brian arrived home, I told him of the day's drama. He frowned, and, in typical Brianesque fashion, became immediately concerned. "Heather," he said. "They can reconstruct those documents even if they've been shredded." All was quiet for a moment. I mentioned then that all that should be in the garbage for this week are a bunch of cash receipts for the grocery. All was well, except I felt I'd better tell him about the dog...

A week later, after perfecting his plotted science, Brian brought this proposal to me and to the world, after first testing it on himself and our animals. You see, Alliance Members, we can keep our secrets from the evil one.

Let a lesson be learned. Destroy your vital secrets, and use your body (and those of others) as weapons.

Down at the Copa, Copacabaaaaaaaaana...

hln

Filthy Lie #3

Glenn Reynolds' doesn't have a favorite song. But he's transfixed by the song meme Lola. Here's why.

Remember the movie Telefon, starring the late Charles Bronson? People were "sleepers," activated by the text of Robert Frost's "Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening." Glenn, Evil Glenn, is activated by any song about a woman named Lola (he's safe from Clapton's Layla - it's been tried). This song meme was chosen because of deep psychological ties to Lola; our agents are unsure why. You hear Barry Manilow tell her tale. She also appears in many songs for the Kinks.

Reynolds is the only person alive who can listen to Barry Manilow's Copacabana more than twice in a row. It is a weakness that mere mortals such as you and I have - we cannot withstand the Barry Manilow torture. But Glenn's been programmed by the Lola Coalition, and Copacabana is one of those songs that sets him into entranced action.

Copacabana (truncated)

Her name was Lola, she was a showgirl
With yellow feathers in her hair and a dress cut down to there
She would merengue and do the cha-cha
And while she tried to be a star, Tony always tended bar
Across a crowded floor, they worked from 8 till 4
They were young and they had each other
Who could ask for more?

Etc.

And - Destroyer, by the Kinks.

Met a girl called Lola and I took her back to my place
feelin' guilty, feelin' scared, hidden cameras everywhere
Stop! hold on. stay in control

Girl, I want, you here with me
but i'm really not as cool as i'd like to be
'cause there's a red, under my bed
and there's a little yellow man in my head
and there's a true, blue, inside of me
that keeps stoppin' me, touchin' ya, watchin' ya, lovin' ya

Paranoia, deep destroyer. Paranoia, deep destroyer.

Etc.

And, of course, the Kinks' more well known song entitled Lola.

I met her in a club down in old Soho
where you drink champagne and it tastes just like Cherry Cola
C-O-L-A Cola.
She walked up to me and she asked me to dance.
I asked her her name and in a dark brown voice she said, "Lola"
L-O-L-A Lola, lo lo lo Lola

Well, I'm not the world's most physical guy,
but when she squeezed me tight she nearly broke my spine
Oh my Lola, lo lo lo Lola, lo lo lo Lola

And then there's that Ricky Martin song, *shudder*.

I digress, and you get the point.

When Glenn hears the word "Lola" accompanied by music, his brain switches modes. He becomes a servant for the puppy blending nation. He steals bicycles, batters hobos, blends puppies, and entrances Richard Simmons into doing his will. (Refer to this "evidence" from our files).

Very scary, folks. And now Glenn Reynolds has joined the Alliance. He's looking to infiltrate and, perhaps, blend us one by one. Or he's fighting his terrible fate and we must help.

<suspensefulMusic>You decide.</suspensefulMusic>

hln

Filthy Lie™ #2

Filthy Lie™ #2

As I was walking up to the local GNC, I noticed a familiar child's bike parked against the exterior, near the door. There were three other autos in the parking lot - not very busy for a Tuesday evening. Thinking little of it beyond that, I entered the store and commenced shopping for edible supplies for this week's upcoming MS 150.

The counter clerk was thoroughly engrossed in a dance demonstration given by this man with crazy hair who looked a lot like Richard Simmons from the distance of the entrance. Richard seemed to be demonstrating some wildly energetic dance for this clerk. He had a small posse of the Simmons dance troupe with him, too!

What would Richard Simmons be doing in the Maryland Heights GNC? Why this creepy and frenetic dance? As the man turned away from the clerk, though, I could see he was only similar to Richard Simmons. The clerk dismissed him with a "Thanks, Mr. Simmons...and ladies. We'll restock the shelves with your product." Puzzled, I took a closer look. Two others were in the store with me, and though they appeared to be perusing shark cartilage and Vitamin B Complex jars respectively, I could see that they were both intrigued. Each held a miniature secret camera, too.

The aerobic dance leader was none other than Glenn Reynolds sporting a Richard Simmons wig! I gasped. "What are YOU doing here, bike stealer," I steamed. "Oh," he stated, "I'm marketing my new exercise video, "Puppy Shakes!"

He held up the cover, which was a bright purple, and, indeed, in a font resembling lightning, the words "Puppy Shakes!" graced the cover and overlaid the picture of a young, feisty golden retriever pup in mid motion.

"He was one of the originals for, you know, the prototype," sneered Glenn.

The dance troupe filched some Luna bars, exited the building, and hopped into a lime green Volkswagen bus. They sped away.

"You cannot do this," I spat. "Oh, but I can," said he. "The video, alongside my uh, protein-filled supplement shake should provide diet participants with an amazing amount of energy and the appropriate, uh, blend of all major nutrients. And those who drink from this particular fountain of youth will become my mindless instaminions," he scoffed maniacally. "You saw my troupe."

I decided to garner as much information as possible. "I see you got a new bell for your bike." "Oh, that old thing," dismissed Professor Reynolds.

That tack was obviously not working, so I asked the obvious, "Where is the REAL Richard Simmons?"

"Hmm? Oh, Richard Simmons. He's had one too many puppies to drink, I fear. He's working on a deal with Slim Fast to help reformulate their shakes. That should help us reach the rest of the population."

I was quiet for too long. Simmons/Reynolds, apparently sensing this was the time to leave, and knowing no one would believe me when I shared this ghastly tale, screeched past me through the door, hopped on his bike, sounded the bell twice, and was gone.

And so, folks, be wary. The plan is far greater and all encompassing than we had originally feared. But the Alliance will prevail. If you see Richard Simmons in public, pull off his wig. If it doesn't move, run away in a hasty fashion. If you succeed in removing it, though, expose the Instapundit.

My fellow GNC attendees gave me PHOTOSHOPIC (er, photographic) evidence! I had to pay them, though, to corroborate my story, er, Filthy Lie™.

hln

Filthy Lie™

Filthy Lie™

I'm late in posting my Filthy Lie™, but, as it didn't occur until today, how could I have posted it sooner?

I was riding my bicycle along the Annie's Frozen Custard route, when, at about the 25 mile point, this scary, bespectacled man leapt out from behind a road sign, and frightened the group of seven or eight people about a block in front of me. A small boy, probably about ten years old, shrieked and fell off his bike. The offender cackled, seized the boy's small bike, mounted it, and rode furiously away from the scene, cackling loudly and producing noises akin to what one would expect from the Green Goblin. Several people who did not know the boy laughed, for the offender's knees nearly touched his face while he pedaled.

The poor boy, stunned, began to cry.

"How odd!" thought I. The boy's parents dialed their cell phones - searching for any authority who could restore peace and justice to this small Illinois community and the wronged parties riding through it.

At the Custard rest stop about 10 miles later, the fast-pedaling bicycle thief sat licking a small custard cone. I immediately recognized the perpetrator as the one, the only, the Man Formerly Known as the Puppy Blender. Shocked (and appalled), I yelled "Hey! You! Glenn Reynolds! You stole that boy's bike. Return it immediately."

White Glenn sneered and consumed the remainder of his cone with a noisy CHOMP. "I am Instapundit" said he. "I fear no mortal woman." He turned to his filched bike and made preparations to leave.

I shouted more protests (eloquent, of course, though those around us were so engrossed in their custard frenzy they failed to notice either the irate woman or the funny-pedalling rider). "Insignificant!" he shouted. (I believe in retrospect that he meant that as a noun of direct address). "No Boggle for you!"

And that, my friends, is your Filthy Lie™. How rude!

hln