Evil Glenn's favorite Web site
Frank J. may be hanging it up - but that doesn't mean the war is over...just that major combat operations have ended, mheh. :-D
The Alliance has decreed that I shall come up with a Filthy Lie™ about the Puppy Blender - specifically, his favorite Web site.
So I dispatched Merlin to ascertain this information via stealth and intrigue.
I'll let him tell the rest of the story...
MERLIN: Well, there I was at his front door...surrounded by the tips of puppy tails (as you know, he snips them before blending the puppies). I knew that I could not gain access in my normal state, so I had to come up with something. I had to determine what form I could take that would not arouse his suspicion.
I cast an invisibility cloak around myself so I could ponder in peace. This, of course, did not stop his gryffons from seeing right through the cloak and baying at me...but since they howl at such everyday occurences as Michael Moore shitting his pants, I knew Evil Glenn would pay no mind.
I stood there on his porch, pondering for about 10 minutes, when inspiration struck.
Quickly I cast off my invisibility cloak and set to work.
"Size...of a moth!"
POOF!!!
I floated there, wings buzzing furiously. I dove for the crack at the bottom of Glenn's front door. Barely enough room to squeeze through, although I lost one antennae coming out the other side. (My ear replacement surgery is set for Thursday.)
I had hoped to sneak close enough to the screen to be able to read where he was, without being irresistibly drawn by the bright light to the static electricity that had built up on the screen. And I was encouraged by the fact that Glenn doesn't dust his monitor on a regular basis, so I was afforded at least some protection there.
However, he spotted me on my approach.
'Ah! How are you, my tasty little morsel???", he exclaimed. 'You will go quite nicely in my next Puppy Blizzard!!! Indeed.'
The jig now up, I had to act fast. I shot straight up and pasted myself to the ceiling, narrowly evading his mason jar. He reached for his flyswatter and I lit out for his kitchen. Evil Glenn plodded after me, swearing, the moth-basher a quivering wand in his hand.
Desperately trying to keep from being overwhelmed by the stench of Dead Puppies™, and trying to stay one millimeter ahead of Glenn's flyswatter, I dove low behind the refrigerator and settled in to wait. I was banking on the hope that the fridge would be too heavy for Glenn to move, and that its cover would allow me to wait him out.
I did not have to wait long. Glenn set out to tear his kitchen apart looking for me. Well, more apart than normal - his kitchen's a mess, ew. But after about twenty minutes, he grew fatigued. With sweat dripping from his brow, he opened the refrigerator door. and took out a gallon jug. He poured out a glass of a thick, milky substance (puppy shake, perhaps?), downed it in one gulp and went in search of his bathroom. At last - my opening.
Flying at what seemed like warp speed, I dashed around the corner to Glenn's computer desk, and set down in front of his dusty monitor.
Straining my eyes, I looked up at the Address bar on Nutscrape (remember, he prefers it to IE) and read, 'www...pimpinhobosainteasy...biz'.
'Ohmigosh', I thought, 'you don't mean to tell me he pimps them before he kills them...?!?!?!
My train of thought was very rudely interrupted by the sound of a mason jar slamming down all around me.
'Gotcha!!!', shouted Evil Glenn. 'Heh.' He plopped back down in his chair and went back to his surfing, obviously pleased with himself.
I was trapped, and destined to become Puppy Blizzard if I didn't think of something fast. I figured that, if I could push the mason jar off the computer desk by flying hard and fast into the jar wall, I might be able to escape. But how would I knock myself off the table?
The mason jar was too large and heavy to move in my current state, so I had to scramble. What was small enough to fit inside the jar, but large enough to possibly move it? A bee? No, too small. A bird? No, too large - I needed a running start if I was going to pull this off.
Another inspiration struck. 'Size', I buzzed, 'of a mantis!'
In any other Realm, this would turn me into a locust-like creature, just the perfect size. My Lord Spatula, though, has a very odd sense of humor.
The transformation commenced. The mason jar shattered into a dozen pieces, piercing skin along the way. The corner of the computer desk snapped off as if it were cardboard.
I stood there, towering over Evil Glenn. My head was bumping the ceiling...and none too lightly, either.
I was...Shawn Bradley. WTF???
'EEP!!!', screeched Evil Glenn, scrambling to his feet, pushing me out of the way and running for his life.
I tripped over my feet and landed in a heap, arms and legs flailing. I came to rest at the feet of an NBA referee who had materialized from out of nowhere.
'Forty-four, Dallas, blocking foul!!!', he cried.
'Aw, man!!!', I retorted.
'And a technical!!!', he added.
Coach Nelson was immediately at my side. 'Shawn, go have a seat', Nellie said quietly.
Mumbling to myself about the parental lineage of the ref, I left the premises, transformed back, and returned to make my report to Spats. (SMACK!!!) Er, um...Lord Spatula.
I just hope that our HMO covers the ear replacement surgery...
No worries, Merlin. But next time...establish your defensive position first, mkay?
INSTAPUNDO DELENDA EST!!!
set about 1024x768 with your Favorites window
activated on the left.
if you so desire - but why in blazes would you want
to
use a browser from a company that had to hide behind Janet
El Reño's
skirt to be successful?