The League of Extraordinary Bloggers: The Replacement
This is part six of a continuing series about the famous Bloggers who fight for truth, justice, and American Exceptionalism.–the Author
In a Secret Location, a Meeting of Diabolical Minds takes place. It is the League of Extraordinary Bloggers, each a hero (or a heroine or a Coulter) in his (or hers, or Coulter’s) own sphere. They are:
Col. Glenn Reynolds—famous defender of guns, wherever they are needed to fight the Brown Menace.
Michelle Malkin—a creature of the night, with an insatiable thirst for blood under her modest, cheerleader-clad façade.
Jonah Goldberg—A barefoot man-boy with cheek, famous for being so lazy he got his research assistant to paint his fence.
Megan McArdle–a woman of mystery, of disguise, of charm, which hides an unscrupulous and greedy heart.
Ann Althouse—A respectable professor who digs deep into the evil aspects of her psyche when she drink an experimental potion know as “Merlot.”
Part VI: The Replacement
Reynolds: Okay, bloggers, pull yourselves together. Ann, stop playing with your lei. Goldberg, stop touching the waitress’s skirt.
Goldberg: I’d mow her grass anytime.
Reynolds: Don’t piss me off, Goldberg. Malkin, sit down. When I said fly to Hawaii, I meant take a plane.
Malkin: I have a lot of expenses, Glenn. Fresh blood isn’t cheap. God, are my arms tired. Why did we have to meet in here?
Reynolds: McArdle’s here on her honeymoon and I was under strict orders to include her in the meeting.
Althouse: We have a new leader! What a relief! Karl’s been gone so long and I don’t like that black man at all. He’s so vague and grandiose and socialist. Who’s giving us instructions now, Glenn?
Reynolds: I can’t tell you. (Reynolds giggles but pulls himself together.) Karl wants you to meet his replacement at the Big Island restaurant at 8 p.m.
Reynolds: Goldberg, you haven’t touched your drink. Leave her alone. What’s keeping McArdle?
Goldberg: Duh. She’s on her honeymoon. She’s watching cartoons and drinking everything in the mini-bar.
Malkin: Remind me to send Jessica a condolence card. You’re awfully nervous, Glenn.
Reynolds: No I’m not. I’m sitting her very casually, waiting for the new boss to arrive. Where the hell is McArdle, dammit?
McArdle: Is somebody talking about me?
Reynolds: Hurry up and get over here before the big boss arrives. I want to make a good impression. Oh, and congratulations.
McArdle: Thank you, Glenn. It’s nice to see somebody cares about my Big Event. It’s not like my wedding party did. They spent the entire wedding Twittering each other instead of looking at me.
McArdle: This is my day, not theirs. I didn’t pay the caterer $100 a head so they could have twitter-fights and throw dinner rolls from one table to another. Plus I had to sneak away from my beloved husband who I miss so much.
Reynolds: Shut up! She’s here! I can’t believe it!
Reynolds giggles and squirms in his seat but quickly recovers. He smooths down his hair and brushes a speck of dirt off his browncoat. A woman slips through the crowded bar and into a seat next to Reynolds. She takes off her wig and glasses and tosses them to the floor. It is Sarah Palin!
Reynolds: Oh, Miss Palin, this is such an honor! We can’t wait to follow your every command. I promise we are well trained and know how to please a woman. A boss woman. A woman who is our boss, and a woman. And a boss.
Althouse: Mrs. Palin, I’m Ann Althouse. I’m a law professor.
Palin: Can you practice law in Alaska? I can always use a good lawyer.
Althouse: Uh, no. I teach.
Palin: Hate teachers. Teachers have unions and want to destroy young minds and call the police on young people who are just high-spirited and didn’t mean to do so much damage. Alleged damage. (To Malkin) Waitress!
Malkin: Mrs. Palin, I’m–
Palin: That’s nice honey. You can get my autograph some other time. Now run over to that bar and get me a little drinkie.
Malkin:—Michelle Malkin, Extraordinary Blogger and Fox News contributor, and not your waitress. And it seems you’ve already had a few drinks.
Goldberg: She has heightened senses. It’s so cool. I’m Jonah Goldberg. I wrote a New York Times best-selling book that was nominated for a Pulitzer.
Palin: Books are for sissies. Col. Reynolds, your orders are to use the British Petroleum oil spill to prove Barack Hussein Obama is a loser. Reynolds, you have the hardest job. I need you to take out one of Obama’s goons. Do you have a gun?
Reynolds: I have many guns, Mrs. Palin and I’m honored to shoot someone for you. I could use my big gun or my really big gun or my special Sunday gun with the mother-of-pearl stock. I have knives too if you want me to kill the Brown Menace with a knife. Also, my boot is very heavy and if you want I can–
Palin: Just shoot him, okey-dokey? Here’s his picture.
Reynolds and Malkin look at the picture.
Malkin: The Brown Menace looks exactly like that guy who moved in next door to you, the writer, what’s his name?
Reynolds: Shut up, Malkin. He’s a dead man, Mrs. Palin, you can count on me.
McArdle: Since Glenn has totally forgotten his manners, let me introduce myself. I am Mrs. Peter Suderman and I write for the famous magazine The Atlantic on economic issues. I’m on my honeymoon but we Extraordinary Bloggers are always ready to serve in a time of need.
Palin: Your honeymoon? That sure as shootin’ brings back memories. And congratulations about the baby. Better late than never, huh?
McArdle: (huffily) I’m not pregnant. What kind of person do you think I am?
Palin: Now, don’t get up on your high horse, missy. It’s no shame for people like us.
McArdle: I am not pregnant! I’m an economics blogger!
Palin: Great, than you can examine these BP spreadsheets and fill out this paperwork. It’s research for our mission. Mail it to this address by the end of the day. (She hands an envelope to McArdle.)
McArdle: Very well. Wait a second. This isn’t figures from British Petroleum. Travel and clothing expenses, W4 forms–these are your taxes!
Palin: Nonsense. Get crackin’, honey, those forms aren’t going to fill themselves out. And make sure you postmark it by midnight.
McArdle: Now just a damn minute. I’m on my honeymoon!
Palin: We all have to make sacrifice for our country. Do you think it was easy quitting my governor job? Where’s your patriotism? Your stick-to-it-tiveness? Your country needs you!
Malkin: Mrs. Palin–
Palin: You still here? Lord, these little Hawaiian people give me the creeps. Hardly a white face from one part of the country to another. Okay, hon, you can write our press release on Obama’s socialist plot to take over BP and redistribute its money to the poor.
Malkin: Fine, just give me the outline. (Malkin scans it quickly and then looks up at Palin.)
Malkin: You want me to update your Facebook page? I don’t ghost-write other people’s work. Doesn’t your husband do this for you?
Palin: Don’t be silly, native girl, schoolbook learnin’ is for children and my Todd is a real man, the kind that loves to hunt and fish and carry out orders to remove your enemies.
Malin: Then why don’t you have him take out—
Palin: Drinkie, sweetie. The day ain’t getting any younger. Fetch.
Malkin bares her fangs and starts to growl.
Reynolds: (hastily) Malkin, you can go now.
Malkin: I bet she tastes like bear grease and failed ambition anyway. (Malkin stalks away.)
Palin: Okay, Grandma, it’s your turn.
The bloggers look around the restaurant. Palin points a long, red fingernail at Althouse.
Althouse: Me? I don’t mind getting you a drink, Mrs. Palin. I know a very special concoction that will make your toes tingle.
Palin: No drinks for you-you’re going to need your wits about you, Grandma. Since Obama’s kids are helping him in his socialist take-over of BP, we have a couple of our own little kiddies to fight back. Your job is to assist them.
Althouse: You want me to introduce them to audiences? Write their little speeches?
Palin: Yeah, yeah. Here’s their pictures.
Althouse: Um, Mrs. Palin, I don’t have any experience with special needs children. Surely his mother would rather be with him if he’s going to be surrounded by strangers?
Palin: Some mothers are busy, alright? They have responsibilities. And their stupid mothers have to take a cruise just because her doctor said she’s exhausted and needs some rest, instead of helpin’ her children like Jesus commanded.
Goldberg: Isn’t that your kid?
Althouse: This is Trigg and Track?
Reynolds: You mean Trogg and Trigg.
Goldberg: I think they’re Trip and Trap.
Althouse: What about Bristol?
Palin: Teen abstinance lecture. That poor girl pays and pays and pays for her sin. Oh, that reminds me–I haven’t taken my cut yet. Take a note, Honeymoon Girl. Now, which one of you is the Jew?
Reynolds: (points to Goldberg) He is, Mrs. Palin, but I’d be glad to convert if you want. I wouldn’t have to cut anything off, would I?
Palin: (to Goldberg) I have a very special relationship with your people. The only flag in my office is an Israeli flag. I just can’t wait until Jesus returns and wipes you all off the map so Christians can be Raptured. Your assignment is to read all about the history of BP and fill out this research material.
Goldberg: This is a bunch of questions about the history of Alaska. And it has “Piper Palin” written on the name line. And it was due yesterday.
Palin: Your people are so smart, I’m sure you can do it in no time. You have an hour. Piper’s ballet lesson’ll be over then.
Goldberg: I can’t. My research assistant is busy working on my book about cliches.
Palin: Do you want to serve your country or not?
Goldberg: Not if I have to do your daughter’s homework. I have to run, anyway. I have to go to the movies and write a review. For my job. And I have to interview some dancers in the women’s dressing room. I hear some of them belong to a union and I need to talk to them about freedom and the free market. And then I need to take my daughter to the new Harry Potter theme park. For my job.
Reynolds pulls his gun from its holster and points in in Goldberg’s face.
Goldberg: (hastily) I’ll pull my assistant off the book right away.
Reynolds: Good. Anything else, Mrs. Palin?
Palin: Yeah. What the hell is that?
Palin points to a small woman in a nun’s habit and veil making her way to the table.
Reynolds: Oh, Jesus. Quick, eveyone, under the table!
The League and Palin duck under the tablecloth.
Palin: You wanna explain yourself, Col.?
“Nun’s” voice: Glennie, is that you?
Palin: That nun is lookin’ for you Glenn. Stop hidin’ and act like a man.
Reynolds’ face turns red and he comes out from under the table. The rest of the League stays where they are.
Reynolds: K-Lo. What are you doing here and why are dressed up like a penguin?
K-Lo: Hi, Glenn! I thought that since Megan was on her honeymoon I could take her place in The League of Extraordinary Bloggers’ latest adventure. I’m in disguise so nobody knows my real identity.
Palin appears from under the table. K-Lo stiffens with shock. Her eyes widen and her mouth slowly opens. She sinks to her knees.
Palin: What’s that, honey?
Palin: You got a stutter, honey?
K-Lo makes the sign of the cross and rises.
K-Lo: Oh, Mrs. Palin! God has answered my prayers at last! Well, one of my prayers, but that’s one more prayer than he’s ever answered before!
K-Lo bends over and kisses Palin’s wedding ring.
Palin: Take it easy, girlie, you’re getting spit on my diamond.
K-Lo shudders in esctasy.
K-Lo: Oh, Mrs. Palin! Can I do anything for you, Mrs. Palin? Would you like a drink? A massage? A kidney, one that’s never tasted the demon rum? Is your chair comfortable? Do you need a pillow? I can be a footrest if you want. See, I’ll just bend over and—.
Palin: Col., I don’t think you and your Bloggers will be needed after all. Come with me, little nun. I think we’re going to be very good friends.
Palin hands her wig, sunglasses, purse, and sweater to K-Lo and departs. K-Lo caresses the sweater furtively and follows.
Reynolds: She’s gone.
The other bloggers sit back in their seats.
Reynolds: She’s gone, and I don’t know if she’s ever coming back.
Goldberg: They’re both gone, hopefully for good. I never thought I’d see the day when K-Lo found her true calllng. I was sure she’d end up in the loony bin.
Reynolds: Enough chit-chat. Mrs. Palin needs us. Let’s get crackin’, bloggers.
Goldberg: Sure thing, Glenn. Right after lunch.