(A FILTHY LIE)

Seeking to avoid door-answering duty (and the accompanying hordes of sticky-fingered brats in plastic masks), I slipped down to Madfish Willie's Cyber Saloon for a cold one on Halloween.

Harv: Hey Bartender!

Bartender: F*** you.

Harv: Yes, I *would* like a Guinness, thank you. Say, I like your costume.

Bartender: Costume?

Harv: Yeah... dress, earrings, lipstick, wig...

Bartender: It's not for Halloween

Harv: So you're NOT Tom Hanks from the Bosom Buddies days?

Bartender: All I'm saying is NEVER bet on the Cardinals.

Harv: Point taken. Ya know, I... OO! Candy corn! [stuffs handful into mouth] GAH! *spitooie!* Oh my GOD! Evil Glenn's trying to sabotage the nation's candy supply, just like he did last Easter! We've got stop him! Quick! To the Dru...

Bartender: BWAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

Harv: What's so funny?

Bartender: YOU, dumbass! Halloween is for tricks & treats. That was the trick. That wasn't candy corn, those were painted rabbit turds! WHOOOO-HAHAHAHA! You shoulda seen your face!

Harv: DAMMIT, Bartender! You really shouldn't joke around about Evil Glenn. It's NOT a laughing matter. He's the number one threat to the blogosphere.

Bartender: I thought the number one threat was comment porn-spam?

Harv: Actually, that's number three. You forgot about... [insert dramatic music]... evil monkeys.

Bartender: Heh. You like spanking your evil monkey!

Harv: Which is not germane to the task at hand, i.e. stopping Evil Glenn's nefarious plot to substitute painted rabbit turds for candy corn.

Bartender: Stupid fartknocker! I just told you that was MY idea!

Harv: So he's a plagiarist, too? This is worse than I thought! Quickly! To the Dru...

Bartender: Look, ya retarded little buttlizard, I'm not going ANYWHERE with you! There's no Evil Glenn plot to foil, and...

Harv: I'll pay my bar tab.

Bartender: ... TO THE DRUNKMOBILE!

...We drove quickly through the night toward the Forbidden City of Memphis and the Black Repository of Evil known as Castle Glenn, pausing only to pass out "candy corn" at a Kerry rally in boxes marked "Taste Kerry's Presidency". After laughing ourselves silly over the sight of filthy hippies projectile-vomiting on each other, we soon arrived at our destination...

[*ERRRRRTTTT!* CRASH!]

Harv: Damn, Bartender. I think you just disenfranchised Glenn's mailbox. Where the hell did you learn to park?

Bartender: Used to be a valet in a Japanese shopping mall.

Harv: Have I ever told you you're a complete psycho?

Bartender: Less talking, more foiling Glenn. Let's go.

... We walked up Evil Glenn's oddly bottle-strewn sidewalk and I rang his doorbell...

Intercom Voice: Look! I told you... NO TRICK OR TREATERS! Now fall into my dungeon and leave me alone! [trap door opens in the sidewalk to our right]

Harv: Mr. Reynolds?

Evil Glenn: ... Um... could you please take a step to your right?

Bartender: No.

Evil Glenn: CRAP!... All right... come in...

... We pushed open the door and walked into the vast chamber, which was filled from floor to ceiling with boxes covered in Arabic writing...

Evil Glenn [coming down the stairs]: Now what the hell do you want with me? I said I was... Hey! Tom Hanks!

Harv: Never mind that. We're here to foil your evil plot!

Evil Glenn: Right... Which one?

Harv: The one where you paint rabbit turds to look like candy corn.

Bartender: Stupid assgremlin! I told you that was MY idea!

Evil Glenn: OO! Me likey! [jotting notes] candy... corn...

Harv: Plagiarist!

Evil Glenn: Hey! I'm just "borrowing". It's not like I'm John Kerry or something.

Bartender: So what's up with all these boxes?

Evil Glenn: Oh. THAT evil plot! I've been experimenting with new methods of murdering hobos for Satan. My latest idea is just brilliant! First, I leave some some half-empty bottles laying around to attract any tragically sober homeless, then...

Bartender: That would explain the bottles on the sidewalk... and all these boxes! You must have at least 380 tons of explosives here.

Harv: So THAT'S what happened to it all! How did you get it all out of Iraq?

Evil Glenn: Iraq? What are you talking about?

Bartender: Aren't these the missing Al Qaqaa explosives?

Evil Glenn: Nope. Twinkies.

Harv: Bullshit! Where would you get 380 tons of Twinkies?

... Meanwhile in Detroit...

Michael Moore: My TWINKIES! What the F*** happened to my week's supply of Twinkies?

... Meanwhile, back in Memphis...

Evil Glenn: I... have my sources. Anyway, my plan is to capture the hobos, put them in cages, and feed them nothing but Twinkies until they die of an artery blockage. MUAHAHAHAHA!

Bartender: Um... won't that take about 20 years?

Evil Glenn: I didn't say my plot was perfected!

Harv: Damn! Guess there's nothing here for us to foil, then. C'mon, Bartender, let's blow this dump!

Bartender: Yes, let's.

Evil Glenn: So you're just leaving, then?

Harv: No, I mean blow this dump as in "blow it up" [throws lit match at nearest box of Twinkies] RUN!

... Making good our escape, the Bartender & I quickly jumped into the Drunkmobile and sped off into the night...

Bartender: You stupid f***! Those were TWINKIES, not explosives!

Harv: Apparently you're not familiar with the data from the Twinkie Rapid Oxidation Test. Check it out... [calling up the web page & handing Bartender my laptop]

Bartender: Oh. My. God.

... An explosion rocked the night as a 500-foot fireball rose above Castle Glenn...

... Meanwhile in Detroit...

Michael Moore: I feel a great disturbance in the Force, as if millions of voices suddenly cried out in terror, and were suddenly silenced... DAMN YOU GLENN REYNOLDS! INSTAPUNDO DELENDA EST!

Posted by: Harvey at 09:27 PM | Comments (4) | Add Comment
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