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

Posted by: hln at 07:00 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
Post contains 379 words, total size 3 kb.

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

Posted by: hln at 11:35 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
Post contains 511 words, total size 4 kb.

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™.

Posted by: hln at 06:52 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
Post contains 595 words, total size 4 kb.