BTW, plenty is happening at the Alliance Headquarters, including a way to watch our traffic overtake Instapundit.

It's time now to retire some of my rotating polls.

It's official, people hate monkeys.
What is your opinion of monkeys?
I hate monkeys. - 175 votes (82%)
I am a Communist. - 38 votes (18%)

I say the introduction of caseless round firearms could solve this problem... it could solve a number of these problems.
What is the biggest problem facing our nation?
Ninjas - 18 votes (7%)
Ammo is too expensive - 108 votes (40%)
Dearth of sexy dames who want go out with me - 72 votes (27%)
Too many squirrels - 72 votes (27%)

But my neighbor's dog is just a little chiuaua. I blame Whitey.
Who is to blame?
The Jews - 30 votes (13%)
Minorities - 36 votes (16%)
White people - 38 votes (17%)
My neighbor's dog - 123 votes (54%)

I thought this one was pretty obvious if Ironman had to wear his helmet.
Who would win in a pie eating contest between the Green Lantern and Ironman?
The Green Lantern - 86 votes (52%)
Ironman - 61 votes (37%)
It's a tie - 19 votes (11%)

I don't know how people were voting on this. I would have said Mothra, because what the hell could it do?
If you had to choose which monster would attack your city, which one would it be?
Godzilla - 55 votes (28%)
King Kong - 29 votes (15%)
Mothra - 33 votes (17%)
Michael Moore - 81 votes (41%)

Okay; I'm so f--king sorry for asking.
What is your opinion on swearing?
I don't give a f--k. - 85 votes (37%)
Only dumb f--ks swear. - 54 votes (23%)
Who the f--k are you to be asking this? - 92 votes (40%)

Wow, almost completely even split between all the answers, which adds up to 3 to 1 that the Dell interns should die.
What should be done to the Dell interns from the Dell commercials?
They should be executed by firing squad. - 58 votes (25%)
They should be thrown into a vat of boiling oil. - 55 votes (24%)
They should be drawn and quartered. - 58 votes (25%)
I like the amusing antics of the Dell interns. - 58 votes (25%)

Fine. Jesus kicks my ass.
What is your opinion of IMAO?
It's better than Jesus. - 30 votes (16%)
It's on par with Jesus. - 25 votes (13%)
I bet Jesus could write better satire. - 135 votes (71%)

Good. I'd rather be ruled by robots.
What do you think is the more likely future scenario?
Civilization is overthrown by robots (ala Terminator) - 105 votes (61%)
Civilization is overthrown by monkeys (ala Planet of the Apes) - 66 votes (39%)

Godbless the 28 people who said I'm the sexiest man alive... and you better have been women. I'm not a metrosexual.
What best describes Frank J.?
The sexiest man alive - 28 votes (13%)
The smartest man alive - 58 votes (28%)
Dumb as a mule and twice as ugly - 122 votes (59%)

How ironic.
How often do you vote in internet polls?
All the time. I love internet polls! - 52 votes (26%)
Occasionally, and only when the subject interests me. - 55 votes (28%)
I never vote in internet polls. - 93 votes (47%)

And here is the last poll I'm retiring today:

What do you have to say about Glenn Reynolds of Instapundit.com?
Damnable puppy blender! - 62 votes (25%)
He should link to IMAO more. - 32 votes (13%)
I stopped reading him after he got all "political". - 17 votes (7%)
Indeed. - 135 votes (55%)

Indeed.

I'll think up some more polls because I care about your opinions.

Israel just can't seem to get a compromise between their desire to not be blown up and the Palestinians' desire to blow them up. Thus, I sent my crack research staff to find out as much as they can about one of the main players: Hamas.

FUN FACTS ABOUT HAMAS

* Hamas was founded in 1987 according to some site I found with Google. I was eight years old then and wanted to be a fireman or an astronaut. Blowing up Jews had not crossed my mind.

* Hamas is Arabic for "dumb f--ks with explosives".

* Contrary to popular belief, Hamas has nothing to do with ham. Actually, if you throw hams at them, they'll get angry.

* I don't like to loosely throw around charges of anti-Semitism, but I don't think Hamas members like Jews.

* One of the reasons that they keep attacking is that none of the Hamas members knows what "ceasefire" means and are too embarrassed to ask.

* Suicide bombings started when parents found out how much money they would save if their kids just blew themselves up instead of going to college.

* If you see a Hamas member, shout, "Hey! Look! It's a Jew!" Maybe he'll set himself off early. Dumbass.

* If a Hamas member says he wants peace, it's a trick! Shoot him the head.

* If a Hamas member says he wants to borrow the sports section from your newspaper, it's a trick! Shoot him in the head.

* Be careful; Hamas members are quite wily, ranking up there in intelligence with squirrels.

* Hamas members smell. It's not nice to say, but it's true.

* Hamas has a wing that’s devoted to charities. They need to make sure that all Palestinians children are healthy and grow up to be big and strong so they can blow themselves up.

* The French, enemies of all that is good and just in this world, are considering having some of their charities join those of Hamas. Expect more attacks from Hamas in the future that involves smelly cheese.

* Hamas members don't like contact with pigs, so I think it would be funny to feed them to pigs like in the movie Hannibal.

* That was really gross when Hannibal had Ray Liotta eat his own brain.

* I've strayed off topic.

* We should trick Hamas members into eating their own brains.

* If you're in a cafe in Israel, and someone runs in there and indiscriminately starts shooting people, he could be a member of Hamas, so be careful.

* Hamas is a big part of the "cycle of violence". They blow up innocent men, women, and children, and then Israel is like, "Hey, don't do that." And thus the cycle of violence continues.

* The cycle of violence will continue until the Palestinians stop being such a bunch of numbnuts... or if Israel finally gets fed up and nukes them all.

* Even though members of Hamas are out gunned and out smarted by Israel, they think they can defeat Israel because Allah is on their side. Isn't that cute.

* Hamas members think they go the Heaven when they commit a suicide bombing where they get 72 virgins, but instead they go to hell where they get jabbed in the ass with a pitchfork ad infinitum.

* Actually, I'm Catholic; I think everyone is going to hell. Hey you, reading this: you're going to hell. Seriously.

* In a fight between Hamas and Aquaman, Aquaman would like totally kick their asses. His fish friends would be like, "Hey, let us have a piece of them!" but Aquaman would say, "No! They’re mine!" And then one Hamas member would be like, "Please, have mercy, Aquaman!" and Aquaman would be like, "No!" and punch the guy through the chest and rip out his heart. Aquaman is a badass!

* Hamas tends to yell and complain a lot when Israel targets and kills their leaders. Someone should tell them to stop being such a bunch of babies.

* Sometimes Hamas members blow themselves up in their own apartments when they try making bombs. That makes me giggle. Hee hee.

* My grandfather was a member of Hamas.

* No, wait, he was in the IRA. They just blew up the British people who deserved it because... ah, I don't actually know anything about that conflict. I think it involves the color orange.

* I've gone off topic again.

* Maybe Isarelis and Hamas could all get along if they just hugged.

* No! Don't hug the Hamas members; it's a trick! They're just going to blow up!

* You know, Hamas could just plant bombs without blowing themselves up... or at least that's what I'd do if I were a subhuman, murderous Jew-hater.

* Hamas won't rest until the Jews are pushed out into the sea. That will significantly improve the GDP of the sea.

* If you make a Mexican laugh, and he wants an encore, he'd say, "Ha! Mas!"

* I think that means I'm about out of fun facts.

* The best way to handle Hamas is to be really patient. I'm sure Arafat will deal with them... eventually. Oh, and monkeys might fly out of my butt.

Seattle worships Cyber-Lenin!

Norwegian Blogger is back! He was gone you ask? Anyway, I haven't linked to someone in Norway in a while so here's a story of his.

Spoons takes down some silly British bint (neat word; I hope it's not vulgar) who pretends to not like guns.

I've been following a bit behind on blogging, e-mails, and blog warring. I'll have to do some catching up this weekend. Now what to post about tomorrow...

You remember the previous caption contest where a kitten was held up at gunpoint? Well this time he's back, and he's mad.

Come up with the best caption and you win a prize! What prize, you ask? I dunno yet. It will be a surprise for us both!

White Glenn used the celebration of another year of evil to attack the fearless leader of the Blogger Alliance (though ordering the Third Season of the Simpson through the banner on my sidebar is a good idea). We cannot stand for this. Alliance members orders of attack are here. Plus, Blackfive is set up to start recording each Alliance member's specialty. Plus, check out the headquarters for more on White Glenn evil, a history of the blog war, and a photo of the Axis of Naughty at their meeting.

And keep chanting our new meaningless protest slogan:

So now that you have your guns, where do you put them? You could just leave them lying all over your residence, but that's sloppy and might bother some visitors. Instead, more careful planning is needed.

For home, at minimum you need a shotgun in your closet. Do you have a shotgun in your closet? If not, what the hell are you doing sitting here when you don't even have a shotgun? Terrorists could jump through the windows at any moment and you're defenseless. Stop right now and go to Wal-Mart or something by yourself a damn shotgun. I think INS should be able to deport you if you don’t have a shotgun.

Other than that, you should have more strategic goals for your residence. Rachel Lucas was happy she got a house with as many rooms as she has guns, but one gun per room is minimum. Did you see the movie Spiderman? At the very end when Harry Osborn sees Spiderman drop off his dead father, POW! He pulls opens a drawer and has a gun in right in hand with hardly a thought. That's what your home should be like; always a gun in arms length, because you never known when you might get attacked by Spiderman, who could be as bad as J. Jonah Jameson says.

I have something I call the "Two-Step Rule". Anywhere in your house you should never be more than two-steps from a gun. Places where you remain stationary a lot, such as in front of your computer or couch in front of the T.V., a gun should be in arms length. In a worse case, "ninjas just broke in through all my entrances" you'll be immediately prepared. Drawers are always a good place to put a gun, and decorative, leather-bound books hollowed out can be quite stylish. In the kitchen, you can just use a box of cereal. Plus, that gives you a good kill'n line ("There’s a prize inside for you." Start shooting him again. "Collect them all!").

The problem is that some people worry about easy access to guns when they have kids. Well, I don't have kids, so I know you'll all like my objective opinion on them. Now, while a trigger lock will keep a gun safe from kids, it can also keeps it safe from criminals. When people are screaming, and bullets are flying everywhere, you don't want to be fumbling around with some combo or small key. Instead, you should just teach your children not to shoot his or her self. Hand the child a gun, and, if she points it at you or others, smack the child on the head and say, "No!" If you still think your child may take a gun and fire it, I'd think of getting rid of him or her. No reason to put your safety at risk because your kid is dumb. There are plenty of sites on the internet where you can sell your kid (and get another gun with the money). Just, when selling the kid, don't mention it's from gun stupidity; instead, say something like you're moving to place where they don't allow kids. Instead of kids, try a dog; it has less of a desire to mess with your guns though it does shed more.

Now that we covered guns in the home, what about on your person? There are many holsters to choose from, but, remember, the guns has to get to your hand to be fired; the holster can't fire it itself (note to self: make self firing holster). You may have to wear different clothing to carry a gun, shirts that are untucked to conceal your firearm. I've told everyone my choice, though, that seems to work well with any clothing choice. A former police officer told me the best holster is a special fanny pack meant for quick access to the gun. Those in the know (criminals) can tell that means you have a gun, and will probably leave you alone to attack the guy wear the Hanggun Control Inc. t-shirt. Those not in the know, though, will call you gay for having a fanny pack, and, in most states, you can't pull a gun on someone just for calling you gay (otherwise gay people could pull guns on everyone).

One idea of mine is a wallet gun. A guy mugs you, then, you pull out your wallet and shoot him with a .45 bullet concealed inside. Then the mugger will be like, "Woe is me; I've been shot by a .45." But even my friends at my college gun club thought that was a dumb idea.

I know what you're all thinking: "I want a holster like Robert DeNiro in Taxi Driver where the gun just pops into my hand." The problem is, that's just not practical because... hmm... well maybe if... no, it's not practical to have a gun up your sleeve... then again, if you had a coat with wide sleeves... no, the weight would be too much throughout the day... though, maybe you could get used to it... but what if you're shaking someone's hands and it just pops out? Well, I guess there could be some safeties to it.

On second thought, I'm going to look into making one of those holsters and see how it works out.

Anyway, the thing to remember about where or however you keep you firearms is KISS - Keep It Simple, Stupid. You want to be able to quickly get your gun in hand and operate it since at the time you may be very panicked or very mad.

Next week I'll end this series with a discussion of gun care. Happy shooting.

I just said I don't get much hate mail, but now I've got some more. First off, I got this e-mail:

Please dude tell me are you a leftie or a righty. Are you taking the piss out of Bush, or really, deeply stupid, I've just got to know.

So my choices are to either "take the piss" out of Bush or to be stupid. I inquired back to the writer whether he is stupid so I have a reference.

Then I made a gun nut angry (you don't want to make gun nuts angry). In the comments of my post of gun calibers, this comment was left (edited for bad words):

Who the f--k told this guy that guns were for killing? Are all arrows for killing? How about all darts or blowguns?

Whatever jackass thinks this article is worth a f--k needs to shove his opinion squarely where it came from. The last thing I need as a gun owner and advocate is some jackoff describing cartridges with adjectives like "kill'n activator".

Guns don't kill with bullets any more than people kill with instruments. This asshat should stfu, he's not helping educate anyone. I've got more problems defending my Title II ownership than I care to deal with, and I don't need the dregs of society equating what I do with "kill'n".

I'm anon because I'm not in the mood to answer illogical flames or trolls.

Oh, and .380 is a serious caliber 'eh? Idiot. I could illustrate this with a wet Navy overcoat, but I digress. This post is to address the jackass who feeds the liberal media more tripe to show the soccerm--s.

Wouldn't it be cool if the liberal media actually paid me any attention? And making fun of my poor .380 caliber just because it's too small to defend itself is pretty low.

Let me make this clear: Guns are for killing.

When the first gun was invented, Bob did not say, "Wow! This will be great for putting holes in paper!" He said, "Cool! Let's kill sumt'n!"

And, if I got a gun and it wasn't good at killing people, I'd march right back to the firearm store and say, "This gun is defective; it won't kill people. Could I exchange it for something more adept at the killing of man?"

Sure, there are target pistols, but the original point of those was to train yourself for better killing with other guns. Sure most people only use guns for target practice these days (well, and a lot of hunt'n which involves kill'n) but most guns are still made with kill'n in mind. They are not just a long distance version of a hole puncher. I ain't gonna deny reality so the liberals feel less threatened (I want them more threatened... more!).

Anyway, it seems there is some concern that dumb people will stumble onto my site and misinterpret things (and it has happened already). That was especially a concern of my White Glenn is a Nazi joke, that some idiots would stumble on to this and think, "Glenn Reynolds actually is a Nazi!". I’m thinking of putting a warning on each page that IMAO is about satire, but it is not always crystal clear on what is the parody, so this site is not meant for dumb people. Since dumb people deserve entertainment too, I could then link to an alternate site for them, something with blinking colors and dancing hamsters maybe.

Part I
Part II

"We hold this press conference to announce that the Democrats control the government," Hillary Clinton said as the Hell's Democrats biker gang drove around the White House lawn. "No one can stop us!"

"No one?" asked a reporter.

"No one!" Hillary responded.

"We, the elite media, hail the rise of the Democrats to power; should the stupid people in fly-over country do the same?" asked another reporter.

"That question is tough but fair," Hillary responded, "All who are against us are intolerant and will be placed in tolerance camps to learn the errors of their ways, such as supporting wars because of 'national security' or 'morals' instead of the only reason for wars, a poorly defined concept of multilateralism."

"Me likey Democrats!" shouted one reporter.

"Another intelligent question," Hillary answered, "You reporters sure are nice."

"Isn't the only reason you've come to power because of the Pure Commie Evil of Cyber-Lenin?" Fox News reporter Melinda Hawkish challenged, "And aren't your plans to turn America into a weakened, quasi-Europe."

"Blasphemer!" Hillary shouted along with the other reporters, all fingers pointed at Melinda. "Right wing bias! She must be silenced to restore order!"

"But I am fair and balanced!" Melinda protested, but a gorilla-like union thug grabbed her. "I'll kill you all!" she shouted before her mouth was covered up.

"Now that's it's just us professional, unbiased media types," Lefty Stevens of CNN said to Hillary, "I'd like to ask you how you plan to celebrate your seizure of power which experts I shall not name agree is a great thing."

"We've decided that the monuments on the Mall must go!" Hillary declared, "One celebrates the first Republican president, whom we declare evil! The other is an obvious phallic symbol and must be destroyed. Later today we will demolish them both and replace them with new monuments. One will be a monument to gun confiscations, and the joys of powerlessness. The other a monument to taxation, and how lovely it is for us smarter people in government to take your money at the point of the aforementioned confiscated guns. Another monument will be a celebration of hippies and all, poorly informed, nigh-retarded, political activists. Finally, there will be a shrine to the almighty abortion at which we can all bow and worship, praying for the end of the scourge of babies once and for all!"

The reporters all applauded while the union thug dragged Melinda away. As he neared an alleyway, someone blocked him.

"That ain't the way you treat a lady," Buck the Marine said angrily.

"Me like union. Me like Democrats. Me smash!" the union thug yelled.

"We'll see what my fists have to say about that," Buck said, knocking out the union thug with a swift punch. "Ooh-rah!" He then looked to Melinda. "Are you alright? You aren't one of those feminist chicks who don't like being saved, are ya?"

"No, thanks, Buck," Melinda said.

"There's big trouble about," Buck stated, "A crazy, flying robot Commie destroyed my weaponry."

"Weaponry or not, we have to stop Hillary Clinton and the Hell's Democrat's," Melinda responded, "They want to blow up the Washington Monument and the Lincoln Memorial."

Buck growled angrily. "Not in my America."

* * * *

"D.C. is a parasitic entity," Cyber-Lenin mused to himself as he flew over the landscape, "I need a place of real industry to corrupt with my Pure Commie Evil." He spied some factories near a port. "Perfect," he laughed evilly as he landed.

He charged up with Pure Commie Evil, ready to destroy, but suddenly a blast hit Cyber-Lenin, knocking him off his feet. He turned to see behind him Robo-Rumsfeld, armored in a suit of Uninhibited Capitalism that glowed red, white, and blue.

"Damn you, Rumsfeld Strangler!" Cyber-Lenin yelled, "Your effects of capitalism befoul me!"

"Then why don't you cry to your mommy, Commie?" Rumsfeld said as he threw a punch, knocking Cyber-Lenin through a nearby wall. Cyber-Lenin countered with a red blast of Pure Commie Evil, stunning Rumsfeld, and then charged Rumsfeld, knocking him down.

"You will soon discover that nothing - nothing! - is more powerful than Pure Commie Evil!" Cyber-Lenin shouted, preparing to blast Rumsfeld again.

Rumsfeld rolled out of the way and jumped to his feet. "Whatever, Mecha-Pinko." He then came at Cyber-Lenin with a series of capitalism-powered punches, knocking Cyber-Lenin backwards. Rumsfeld then let loose a red, white, and blue blast of Uninhibited Capitalism. Cyber-Lenin tried to block it with a shield of Pure Commie Evil, but it powered through and struck him to the ground.

"No! This can't be!" Cyber-Lenin shouted, "Nothing can defeat Pure Commie Evil! It's the most powerful thing known to man!"

"The most powerful thing known to man is a pissed-off American," Rumsfeld said, preparing to finish off his nemesis.

"We will finish this later!" Cyber-Lenin vowed, flying away over the ocean.

Suddenly a large tail came out of the water, and knocked Cyber-Lenin back to earth. "No escape for you!" said a booming voice. There, riding a whale, was a man with green pants and an orange shirt.

"Aquaman!" Rumsfeld exclaimed, "The homo crime fighter of the sea."

"I'm not gay!" Aquaman responded, "I just like flamboyant clothing."

Distracted, Rumsfeld was knocked down with blast of Pure Commie Evil. "If I can't escape," Cyber Lenin announced, "I will destroy us all." He took out a red glowing orb. "This is a Commie Bombie. It will destroy everything within a mile radius with its Pure Commie Evil." Cyber-Lenin moved to press the trigger, but suddenly he screamed in pain as something struck his hand. The Commie Bombie rolled harmlessly into the sea, while Cyber Lenin pulled a letter opener out of his hand.

"Someone call for a White House Press Secretary?" Scott McClellan said proudly, his floral pattern cape flapping in the wind.

"Could you have been any later?" Rumsfeld asked angrily as he got to his feet. He looked to Cyber-Lenin who stood up now too. "Time to cross you off my blacklist," Rumsfeld snarled. "You've made a lot of mistakes, Lenin. You fell for the evil of Communism, you killed millions with your Soviet Union, and you dared to stand against America. But your worst and last mistake was HURTING MY DOG! RARRRRRRR!" Rumsfeld rage fueled the capitalistic energy in his suit into a chaotic fury. It charged up about him, and then blasted forward at Cyber-Lenin, sending him flying into the air where he exploded into a display of fireworks. A little red beard then softly floated to earth.

"Let's see them preserve that body," Rumsfeld laughed.

"We fought him like real superheroes!" Scott exclaimed.

"Yeah," Rumsfeld answered, "and now we get to go to a bar where you'll treat me to a beer."

"Can I come too?" Aquaman asked.

"It's not that kind of bar," Rumsfeld answered, "Why don't you go sleep with the fishes."

* * * *

"Are you sure you know how to rewire explosives?" Melinda asked.

"If it involves killer'n, I knows it," Buck answered.

"Quick, the ceremony is about to start!" Melinda warned.

"And now, to destroy the evil monuments!" Hillary said, preparing to use the detonator as crowds of cheering hippies watched. When she hit the button, though, the crowds of hippies exploded instead. "What?" Hillary exclaimed as she and the Hell's Democrats looked on in shock.

"Decided it was time to put an end to your... uh... being Democrats," Buck said, stepping forward as the mist of red settled.

"Tom Smashle, stop him!" Hillary ordered. Senator Daschle charged Buck, but he responded with a slap to Daschle’s face which sent Daschle running back crying.

"I feel weak and whiny again," Daschle said.

"The Pure Commie Evil must have worn off," Hillary said, "That means Cyber-Lenin is dead! We have to escape."

She and the Hell's Democrats began to flee, but suddenly they heard the click-clack of claws against pavement. There before them stood a four-legged figure. Two blood shot eyes stared at them. A row of jagged teeth shined in the light. A growl emanated from the creature, and it's whole body shook with rage.

"That dog looks angry," Hillary said.

"Very angry," Daschle added.

* * * *

"George W. Bush has returned to power," the anchorwoman announced, "When asked how it felt to return, Bush beat the crap out of the reporter just for the hell of it and then yelled, ‘Yee-ha!’ while firing his guns in the air. Everything in the White House is now back to normal, except for one set of drapes that is reportedly missing.

"In other news, Sen. Hillary Clinton, Sen. Tom Daschle, Sen. John Kerry, Rep. Dick Gephardt, and Gov. Howard Dean are all missing and presumed mauled by a very angry dog."

"Also, in Maryland, police have found the remains of what they believe to be Lenin. They relate the homicide to the infamous D.C. serial murderer the Rumsfeld Strangler. At the scene was found a note reading, 'I'm Donald Rumsfeld. I blew up this guy.' Penciled in the corner of the note is, 'I'm Scott McClellan. I helped.' Police believe this means the Rumsfeld Strangler has an accomplice, someone they have dubbed 'Chokehold-lad'. He is believed to have a semi-sharp letter opener, and should be considered dangerous. While there are no witnesses of either of them, profilers say that the Rumsfeld Strangler is probably a overweight, seventeen-year-old Filipino girl with a wooden leg, while Chokehold-lad is most likely a pudgy white man in his mid-thirties with a thankless job in speaking."

Ernst Blofeld watched the T.V. quietly. Finally, the silence was broken.

"You know," Black Manta said, "If we only had defeated Aqua..."

"Don't even say it!" Blofeld shouted, "The Rumsfeld Strangler may have won this time, but we'll eventually do away with him and destroy America. Muh ha ha ha!"

"And Aquaman," Black Manta added, "Don't forget about Aquaman."

"Fine, and we'll defeat Aquaman too," Blofeld said and then turned to the rest of the Legion of Doom. "So who wants to go to T.G.I. Fridays?"

THE END

Jarred Nicholls of [Think About It] is going to be doing a four part series on the truth about Palestine (or, as many call it, "Palestine"). Here is the intro and here is part 1. Check it out and be informed.

Rachel Lucas responded to the Frank Answers™ question about her in the comments section, and then goes ballistic at the media's plans for September 11th (or lack of it).

MYONGWATCH! Myong wants you to vote for Democrats to help North Korea. Must... do... as... Myong... says...

John Hawkins has right-wingers picks for the worst figures of the 20th century. I actually forgot to include Lenin on my list. Actually, here were my picks:
Hitler
Mussolini
Stalin
Chairman Mao
Pol Pot
Margaret Sanger
Ho Chi Minh
Kim Il-sung
Rosenbergs
Castro
Goebbels
Josef Mengele
Ayatollah Khomeini
Jane Fonda
Bill Clinton
Jane Goodall

Michelllllllle is a Zionazi Jewpropgandist... or so says media from Indiana.

Also, for Alliance members, I have orders at the headquarters along with some new anti-Instapundit propaganda.

I hadn't gotten any good hate mail in a while, but suddenly I got this juicy one:

Your embarassing style of "look at me" loserhood, your political beliefs, your "I'm so into violence and bumper stickers, I wish I had the balls to put 88 and 14 words on my website" can all be analysed, broken down and directly attributed to the same cause.

Your father was a wimp.

Damn! Attacking my old man even. That ain't right.

Anyone confused about the reference to numbers, that has something to do with Neo-Nazi symbolism I believe (it was brought up once on Best of the Web). If anyone could enlighten us in the comments section, it would be appreciated.

Now, I've heard people call my father many things, but not a wimp. They guy is a Vietnam Vet, used to repossess cars in South Central L.A., and, even though he's getting up in the years, I bet he could still kick my ass. But, I'm assuming who wrote this probably ran into one thing on my site and isn't very familiar with what I write as a whole, so let's play pretend.

I'll set the scene: Along with humorous commentary on my blog, I also share stories about my dad's courageous battle with Parkinson's disease. So, when I get an e-mail calling my father a wimp, I assume the person had been reading my site and is making fun of my father's condition. Thus, I respond first with confusion and sadness followed by righteous anger.

Action!

I don't follow all you're talking about, but why in the world would you insult my father? I share stories of his fight against Parkinson's to give strength to others, not so some degenerate can insult him about it. I've never been so disgusted. -Frank

Short and simple. I'll tell you if she responds.

* Dude, they're like trying to take the 10 Commandments away. I know for a fact the founding fathers never meant religion to be the least protected speech, but that's what we keep acting like. People keep saying they don’t want other to be unduly influenced, but, come on, we all know Christianity is the true religion. I mean, would Jesus lie? We're going to make God angry with our behavior, and then we won't win all the time and he'll plague us with locusts and hippies.

* More trying to make God angry: they have a high school classes in Michigan that has kids reading anti-American tripe by people like that moral-gnome Chomsky. That's child abuse. Send those teachers to jail and then have the kids write essays on why America has the right to attack any country they damn well feel like.

* We keep hearing bad news from Iraq, and I hope we can turn things around there soon. Some people just want us to turn tail and run, but there is no way we're doing that again. We have to let terrorists and other mentally challenged people know that you if you piss us off, we won't rest until you are dead. Nemo Me Impune Lacessit! (that's Latin for "If you mess with me, I'll f--k you up.")

* And when are we finally going to attack Saudi Arabia? I'm tired of seeing those rat bastards walking around in sheets all unshot and everything. We have like a surprise attack planned, right? It's a lot of princes to kill, but, man, there is so much oil to steal. I hope we have enough equipment. Yeah, that's right, we take our oil, leave, and let Israel clean up the rest.

* Fox News dropped their lawsuit against Al Fraken. My legal opinion about this is that I hate Al Fraken. I wish someone would punch him. Is there a legal precedent for that?

* You hear about this? They're trying to do wind power in Cape Cod, but all the liberals like Ted Kennedy are opposed to it because it messes up their view. Wind power is like a wet dream for environmentalists, but I guess they only think poor people should have to deal with eyesores. Don't get me wrong - I still think wind power is gay - I just like pointing out the hypocrisy. Liberals are so full of it. You don't how many anti-gun-nuts out there actually own guns, have conceal carry permits, or have armed body guards. So they get protection, but no one else. Liberals just hate poor people and don't trust them; that's the only explanation for their behavior.

* That reminds me of what I call the Frank Gun Control Challenge™. I'm tired of dealing with the convoluted logic of anti-gun nuts, so I have this simple challenge to prove the fallacy of their arguments. In the challenge, they stand on one side and let loose their best arguments, while, I stand opposite of them and shoot at them with my .45. If any of their anti-gun tripe can stop my bullet, they win. Otherwise I win. Some may now say, "Hey! That doesn't prove anything!" To which I respond, "I still have more bullets in this gun." Many will continue to think (but no longer voice) that nothing was proven, but some may now say, "Ah ha!" and achieve enlightenment.

* While most of Hollywood are leftists, pretty much every time you see a celebrity run for office he or she is a Republican. Why? Because running for political office means getting challenged on your views, and Hollywood leftists are nigh retarded. Wouldn't you love to see Barbara Streisand get eviscerated in a political debate? Not gonna happen.

* Bill Clinton is going to give Gray Davis the kiss of death while Giuliani is going to campaign for Schwarzenegger - and Giuliani actually got Bloomberg elected. Things are looking up for Ah-nuld.

* Who wants to bet that Bill Clinton will one day be found dead in a cheap motel room by a prostitue, OD's on some designer drug. I just don't see him going out any other way.

* File this under "If I had more time" department: I think it would be cool to find a big pile of manure, put a baseball cap on top, take a picture of me standing next to it, and then post the picture on my webpage saying, "Hey, look! I met Michael Moore!" Only problem is that I don't know where to find a big pile of manure and I don't own any baseball caps. Oh well.

* I think I got a lead on the monkey that stole my stereo. Ends up he's been going town to town doing that. I also think he may be the chimp that shot me. I feel like such a fool for not recognizing him, but I'll hunt him down; this I swear.

* Speaking of monkeys, I don't like Democrats. They want to raise my taxes; I just know it. They're probably plotting about it right now. I saw this documentary about how a coyote will try to catch it's prey, and one method is to paint a tunnel onto a rock wall. We should do that and put of a sign pointing to the phony tunnel saying, "Angry, Dumb People This Way." Then the Democrats will be like, "Wow! Those people should vote for us!" So they'll drive their campaign buses right into the wall and my money will be saved from their thieving hands.

* I could also pray to God to smite the Democrats, but He hasn't been listening to me since I read that article on Buddhism. Hey, I was just curious, yo. And the guy with the fat belly makes me laugh.

Sorry, but some things came up and I won't have Links of the Day™ today. For Alliance members, I have an announcement at our headquarters including what non-blogger Alliance members can do.

Except some Bite-Sized Wisdom™ tomorrow about... well, I'll find out when I write it.

What? Could it be? Yes it is! It's Frank Answers™!

Jimbo who is hiding under a bed at an undisclosed location in California writes:
I accidentally slammed Rachel Lucas in the comment section of another blog. I recognized my mistake immediately (because I confused her with another female blogger with the same hair color). I immediately went back and corrected myself, but I am afraid that Rachel Lucas may have seen my original post but not read my later correction, and is now scouring Southern California with a large amount of firepower looking to end my life in a hideously gruesome manner. I think she would do it like the terminator in the first movie, when Arnold was killing everybody named Sarah Conner because he did not know who the “real one” was. As much as I would like to end the senseless slaughter of those sharing my name, I am really concerned about my own safety. Like the terminator was explained in the first movie: she cannot be bargained with, she can’t be dealt with, and will not stop until I am dead. That part bothers me a little, well, actually a lot. Is there anyway you can get word to her before she exterminates me and possibly my family in a ceaseless quest for blood? Tell her I will like buy a cup from her or something.

How do you accidentally slam Rachel Lucas? Were you drunk? That's like accidentally teasing the angry rottweiler who roams free on the streets. I would e-mail her post haste, apologize profusely, and buy all of her mugs left in stock. We're not talking about making fun of king dork White Glenn; Rachel will find you and she will hurt you. She get's hate mail every so often, but never more than once from the same person, if you know what I mean.

Mackynzie from Birmingham, AL
Recently, a guest of mine gave me a box of French soaps as a "housewarming gift." Obviously I was very disturbed by this. Everyone knows that the French, much like hippies, are deathly allergic to any type of cleansing product, and they may very well melt at the sight of soap. What is the explanation for the existence of such an oxymoronic product, and what are the proper means of disposing anything frog-affiliated?

French soap? Wow, that is a new one. Are you sure it's not just cheese that looks like soap? Whatever it is, I would not touch it. It is obviously some trick, possibly that of a terrorist. Treat it like a hazardous substance; get yourself some thick rubber gloves to handle it and place it in a sealed container. Then drive to Massachusetts and dump it somewhere there.

Edmund Burke from Dublin, Ireland writes:
I posted on Samizdata the perfectly reasonable question, what does the white Glenn think about monkeys (of any colour, including their bums) however we still do not know. What do you think?

Heh heh, you put a ‘u’ in “color”; that’s cute. Anyhoo, most people would ask this question as whether White Glenn would associate with monkeys, but I ask it as whether monkeys would associate with him. As vile as most monkeys are, they still can't stand to be around someone as puppy blending, Satan worshipping, and hobo-killer'n as the Enemy. Monkeys just want general havoc, while White Glenn wants more of a controlled evil. You'll probably only see him with the vilest of monkeys with oddest colored bums, such as the baboons.

* * * *

Please keep the questions coming, e-mailing me with the subject "Frank Answers" and include your name and town after the question and blog URL if you have one. Since I like the whole name and town dynamic, if you don't give me a place you're from, I'll randomly select one.

The lovely Susie has a great roundup of lies facts Alliance members have discovered about the evil, puppy blending White Glenn. If you have any she doesn't know about, make sure to tell her so we can get a list of them all. When I have more time, I'll read through them and tell you my favorites.

Part I

Cyber-Lenin's hands pulsed with red Commie power, and Rumsfeld braced for the deathblow. Somehow he knew he always knew he would go out this way - killed by a cybernetic Communist.

Suddenly he heard a voice. "I got your Big Mac Rumsfeld," Scott Mclellan called out, "So did you find Cyber-Lenin... oh, there he is."

Cyber-Lenin turned to look at Scott. "Quick, do something, Tubby!" Rumsfeld yelled.

"Er... uh...," Scott muttered as he looked at the McDonalds food in his hands. Finally, he threw a Coke at Cyber-Lenin.

"Arggh!" Cyber-Lenin screamed, "You're capitalist confection burns like acid!"

"Quick, let's get out of here!" Rumsfeld yelled as he ran over to pick up Chomps. Both he and Scott ran for the Buick as red beams of Pure Commie Evil flew at them. Rumsfeld put Chomps in the back of his Buick, and then quickly sped off as Scott jumped in.

"I think we lost him," Scott said, "Boy, it sure was lucky I was there in time to... ergh... ack..."

"That was my Coke!" Rumsfeld yelled as he strangled Scott with one hand and steered with the other.

"Geez; sorry! You can have my Sprite!" Scott answered.

"Bah!" Rumsfeld exclaimed, "How is Chomps doing?"

Chomps barely moved and whimpered weakly. "He don't look so well," Scott answered.

"We'll head to Condoleezza Rice's secret lab and have him looked at," Rumsfeld said, anger marking his face, "Then we'll send that Cyber-Commie into the ashbin of history."

"Yeah, we'll learn him good," Scott said, trying to sound tough, "So you still want your Big Mac?"

* * * *

Bush stayed in his office practicing with a katana. "Do you think if I train really hard, I can be like you one day?" Bush asked Zatoichi.

"No, you're an idiot," Ichi answered, "but keep bothering me and I'll gouge your eyes out."

Distracted, Bush accidentally cut the wall. "Ah, not again."

Laura Bush ran into the room. "George! Are you playing with your sword in the Oval office again?"

"No," Bush answered, and then realized he was still holding a katana. "I took this from Zatoichi who being bad and swinging his sword around. You can never trust the Yakuza."

"No katanas in the oval office," Laura said, taking away his sword. She looked at the windows. "Are one of my drapes missing?"

Suddenly they could hear the sounds of motorcycles. Outside the office was a biker gang driving around the White House. "It's the Hell's Democrats!" Bush exclaimed, "There's Big Fat Teddy K, the Dean, Dick the Knife, and By the Way I Served in Vietnam."

Suddenly a pipe hit Bush and sent him rolling back into his office. "Don't forget Tom Smashle!" Tom Daschle said, brandishing a pipe. Soon the rest of the Hell's Democrats entered the Oval Office following Tom Daschle. Laura ran to Bush's side and helped him up.

"You're going to be in so much trouble for driving motorcycles in the White House," Laura said sternly.

"Yeah!" Bush exclaimed, "Ichi, kill them all."

Ichi laughed. "Kill who? I don't see anyone."

"Hey, I said I'd get you that 30 ryo," Bush yelled at him.

"Know what, I think I'm going deaf, too," Ichi responded.

"You limey bastard!" Bush yelled, "Fine, I'll have to take care of this myself." He looked to Laura. "Give me my whup'n hat."

"Your cowboy hat is at the drycleaners since you spilled grape juice on it," Laura informed him.

"Dag-nabbit, now I'm going to have to fight hatless!" Bush exclaimed. He approached Daschle with his dukes up, but Daschle grabbed Bush and tossed him across the room.

"Suddenly we Democrats feel so powerful!" Daschle exclaimed, laughing his weasel laugh, "And now we will take over the White House and do what you never did - find Saddam Hussein!"

"And then we'll surrender to him!" Kerry added.

"And we'll only do military action if the U.N. or French tell us too!" Dean laughed.

"But first we'll crush you! Wha ha ha ha!" Big Fat Teddy K said.

"Help me, Laura; they're going to hurt me!" Bush exclaimed.

Laura rolled her eyes. "I guess I have to do everything." She sunk into a praying mantis fighting stance, and then sent Daschle flying out of the room with a series of kicks and punches.

"Kill the librarian!" Daschle yelled.

Kerry swung a chain at her, but she caught it and used the leverage to send him flying into Bush's desk.

"Ah! That injured me!" Kerry yelled, "Just like I could have been injured while I served in Vietnam!"

Dean held up a bat. "I'm going to knock you out of power just like would left Saddam in!" He swung at Laura, but she ducked underneath and sweeped out Dean's feet.

"Grerawerr!" Big Fat Teddy K growled as he charged Laura. She flipped out of the way, and Teddy K went head first into the wall.

"Time to die, 'publican!" Dick the Knife screeched as he charged Laura from behind. With a flash of a sword, the knife was cut from Gephardt's hand. "Ahh!" he screamed, clutching his wound, "That's my hand for reaching into the pockets of taxpayers!"

"Hey, you helped her for free!" Bush yelled at Zatoichi.

Ichi laughed. "I didn't see me do anything," Ichi said, resheathing his sword. He then sniffed the air. "I smell patchouli oil. The hippies are flooding into the White House."

"We need to get out of here," Laura said, fixing her hair.

"To the helimocopter!" Bush yelled.

* * * *

"Let's see," Buck said as he looked through his pack, "Got my knife for kill'n, got my rifle for kill'n, got my bullets for kill'n, got my grenades for kill'n, got my MRE's so I can keep fed and kill, got my postcards to send home about my kill'n, and I got my ballpoint pen to use to write about kill'n, and, on the rare, occasion, for kill'n itself. I guess I'm ready to be deployed."

He walked through the military base, but suddenly a glowing red figure appeared in the air, shooting down beams of red.

"I don't what that is," Buck said, "but it looks foreign to me!" Buck took out his M-16, chambered a round, and opened fire.

"Muh ha ha ha!" Cyber-Lenin laughed, "You're pathetic weapons cannot harm me. Now face Pure Commie Evil!"

A red beam hit Buck's M-16, turning it into a cheap imitation AK-47. "Dang it! This ain't good for kill'n!" Buck yelled as he ran for cover from more shots of Cyber-Lenin's Pure Commie Evil.

Soon, Cyber-Lenin had flown away, and all of the high-tech American equipment had been turned into cheap, Russian surplus. "Now us Marines will never get deployed!" Buck exclaimed, "And, without us kill'n for'ners, they'll multiply like rabbits! God help us all."

* * * *

"Come on, Chomps, get angry at something," Rumsfeld yelled.

Chomps just whimpered.

"I'm afraid the Pure Commie Evil has infected his body," Condoleezza Rice informed him, "It's made his white blood cells angry - very angry - and thus he has a high fever. I don't think he'll make it."

"I'm sorry, Rumsfeld," Scott said, "We can get you a new dog... and then psychologically scar him so he'll be just like Chomps."

"I don't want a new dog!" Rumsfeld yelled, "I want Chomps back to his old angry self! What can we do to get the Pure Commie Evil out of him?"

"Any operation would only risk infecting ourselves," Condi said, "but, if you destroy the carrier of this Pure Commie Evil, I think the infection will fade away."

"So I need to kill Cyber-Lenin," Rumsfeld stated, brimming with anger.

"Yeah, but he's too powerful," Scott said, "I just saw on the news he took out a military base. Why don't we just hide down in this underground lab where it's safe and we have cable and free sodas?"

"The sodas are not free!" Condi yelled, "There's a cup right next to the fridge where you need to put fifty cents. It's very clearly marked!"

Bush, Laura, and Zatoichi now walked into the lab. "The Democrats have the White House," Bush said somberly.

"You little pansy!" Rumsfeld shouted, "How could you let the whiny little Donks take power."

"Well, they we're big and mean," Bush answered defensively, "and they yelled at me... and I didn't have my hat."

"We need something with which to destroy Cyber-Lenin!" Rumsfeld demanded.

"I have something," Condi said. A door on the wall opened up revealing a cybernetic suit. "It's only a prototype. It was made by the lowest bidder, who then used the cheapest parts that would work to greatly increase their profit margin. When they prototype was finished, the corporation laid off hundreds of workers to raise their stock value. I.e., this suit is the product of pure capitalism."

"So let's have someone put it on and fight Cyber-Lenin," Bush said.

Condi looked at him sternly. "We can't just have anyone use it. For it to work properly, the user has to perfectly represent the chaotic rage that is capitalism. That’s why... Hey! Where's the suit? And where is Rumsfeld?"

"I guess I better go with him," Scott said with a look of resolve as he put back on his floral pattern cape and placed hit letter opener in his belt. He then ran out of the lab. "Super Scott away!"

Bush shook his head. "The new guy is such a dork."

Laura just looked on in disbelief. "Tell me those were not my drapes."

* * * *

Can Uninhibited Capitalism defeat Pure Commie Evil? Can Bush get his White House back from the Hell's Democrats? Will Buck ever get to kill more foreigners? Will Chomps survive the night? Will Scott defeat evil with his letter opener? And why is a librarian versed in multiple forms of martial arts?

Tune in Wednesday for these answers and less in the final installment, In My World: The Rumsfeld Strangler vs. Cyber Lenin Part III.

Through my great negotiating, Jennifer has agreed to withdraw support of White Glenn and to stop calling me monkey-boy. People fear my power and respond thusly.

As for Alliance members, I have post on banners at the headquarters.

While the Netflix was giving me $9 a referral, I wasn't getting enough people to warrant it being at the top of my blog so I now have an ad on the side. Also, for Lord of the Rings fans, the extended version of The Two Towers is available for preorder. If you click on my ad to the side to buy it (or anything else from Amazon.com) it's just a nice way of saying thanks to me... thanks with money.

Also, remeber to check out all by Blog Ads sponors to show them that advertising on IMAO is a good idea.

Here I am sitting home alone on Friday (still got a bit of a cough, and am taking it slow), so I decided to clean my carry guns. I haven't gotten to a range in a long while, and I really need to get my game back on. Anyway, since it's been a while, here are some links.

Rachel Lucas watches Bowling for Columbine so you don't have to. God bless her.

Wouldn't be fair to link to everything Emperor Misha I writes, so I'll just link to his latest. "FDR lied; people died!"

Blackfive has a new salvo against the enemy, plus he has another awesome military story involving guns, Germans, and beer.

Harvey of Bad Money reports on an interesting conversation with White Glenn. Penguins, eh?

Newmanisms has a biography of Glenn Reynolds. Not as dry a read as I would expect.

The Texas Imperialist has found more evil of White Glenn.

Owen fisks Bob Herbert on his crappy multilateralist argument.

A new joke from Gil. All I can say is, "Oy."

The Onion has a funny little parody here. I just love the mysterious candidate in the bottom right corner.

And here is one entry for the Blogger Alliance banner I missed because I was woefully unprepared for a .png file.

Maybe we can set up an official vote later at our headquarters.

Now I’m gonna get me another cup of OJ.

UPDATE: I've been lax on crediting who wrote which banner, but a lot of people like the one above so I want to make sure people know it was made by Sam of Unigolyn (our man in Estonia - it's an actual country). None of the banners were made by me. While I do have some artistic skill, I am also lazy.

I had just finished eating my lunch and watching the seventh Zatoichi movie (Zatoichi is such a badass; I want to be a blind samurai gangster who is wanted dead by just about everyone when I grow up), when I had a thought: Exactly what sort of things did White Glenn write before 9/11, when he was read by no one? I checked out his archives, and most of it was pretty boring, but then I found this gem. Creepy. Why is the guy so interested in asteroids?

That was all I could take, and I stopped reading after that entry.

We've joking a lot about the evil of Glenn Reynolds, and you've seen his attacks against me, but the letter he sent to Glenn of Hi. I'm Black! is simply despicable. Anyway, here is an artist rendering of what Neo-Nazi Glenn probably looks like:

UPDATE: I've got a lot of complaints that this over the top, so I just want to clarify that White Glenn is a Commie-Nazi... if that helps in some way.

Read More »

Ernst Stavro Blofeld sat at the head of the table, stroking his cat as he scanned the other faces in the room. "The Legion of Doom is failing," he said, "We have yet to bring about the destruciton of America. Why is that?"

"We need more bombing in the name of Allah!" yelled the Mad Mullah.

"Bombings have gotten us nowhere," Blofeld answered, "We need fresh ideas. What have you been up to, Dr. Doom?"

"I'm a little caught up right now in keeping up my home practice," Dr. Doom answered.

"We are trying to take over the world!" Blofeld yelled, "Why must you keep up your medical practice."

"Hey! I spent all those years in medical school, and Dr. Doom will have a family medical practice that delivers quality care to its patients, and no one can stop me. Muh ha ha ha!"

"I can defeat America!" Kim Jong Il vowed, "I have nukes; I am very scary."

"You couldn't scare anyone!" Blofeld responded.

"Maybe if we sold more of my books," Hillary Clinton suggested, "I think if more people came to like me, then America could be destroyed."

"True, but your book is boring and insipid," Blofeld answered.

"Well, we could try and get my universal healthcare plan passed," Hillary said, "It will so cripple the American healthcare system that it will kill millions! Heh ha ha ha!"

"The only way to defeat America is to first destroy Aquaman!" Black Manta exclaimed.

"I thought we threw you out of the Legion of Doom," Blofeld grumbled.

Black Manta looked down at his feet. "But I don't have anywhere else to go."

"Birds and umbrellas! That's the way to attack America!" the Penguin exclaimed.

Blofeld looked to Chirac. "Do you have any new ideas?"

"Well, I'm not here as part of the Legion of Doom," Chirac explained, "I'm just here to keep a dialogue open. Also, I would like to note that France's surrender is on the table for whatever plan you eventually decide upon."

"More explosions!" demanded the Mad Mullah, "Allah will see to it that we destroy America through irrational bombing!"

"Fools!" yelled a voice in the shadows, "The more you attack America on the outside, the more determined and powerful it becomes. The only way to destroy America is to corrode it from the inside."

"How dare you contradict my wacky-ass, extremists Islamic beliefs!" shouted the Mad Mullah. "Suicide bombers, kill him!"

Two suicide bombers ran at the figure in the shadows, but a red shield formed around him protecting him from the blasts. "Regular weapons are no match for me."

"Who are you?" Blofeld demanded.

As he stepped out of the shadows, they saw a large, robotic figure. Through the glass at his head, though, they see a recognizable face accented by a red beard. "I am Cyber-Lenin. I am kept alive by a robotic body powered by the most powerful force known to mankind - Pure Commie Evil! Witness its power!"

Two red beams shot forth from Cyber-Lenin's hands and hit the Mad Mullah, quickly disintegrating him into nothing but a skeleton.

"Wow! Pure Commie Evil is very powerful; very scary!" Kim Jong Il exclaimed, jumping up and down on his chair and clapping his hands.

"Ooh! Ooh! Ee! Ee!" agreed Chim-Chim, the evilest monkey.

"It can instantly corrode anything touches," Cyber-Lenin explained, "Just like Communism itself, but condensed down into its purest and most evil form."

"Excellent!" Blofeld exclaimed, "With your power, you can destroy America from the inside. And, when America falls, the world will be ours!"

"And finally we can defeat Aquaman!" Black Manta added. Everyone just stared at him. "I'll get back to mopping the floors."

* * * *

"Man I love Beer," Buck the Marine said as he drank his domestic, "I don't think there is anything I like more than beer... oh wait, kill'n for'ners. I like that better; doesn't make me want to pee as much."

"So where are you shipping off to tomorrow?" Rumsfeld asked as he drank his double whiskey sour.

"I dunno," Buck answered, "Some other country where people will speak gibberish and shoot at me with AK-47's. I'll then kill 'em all and shout, 'Ooh-rah!'. Another day, another dollar."

"Eighty-five cents," Rumsfeld corrected him.

"What!"

"The rich needed more tax cuts; sorry, Buck."

"So they reduced all us Marines' salaries?"

"No, just yours."

"Dammit. Why always me? I'm so mad I could kill! Kill foreign people, that is!"

"That's the spirit," Rumsfeld told him, patting him on the back.

"You can't have your dog in here!" shouted the bartender.

"Then make him to leave," Rumsfeld answered.

The bartender looked at Chomps, the world's angriest dog, who had found the barstool he hated the most and was now tearing it apart. "Hey! Dog!"

Very slowly, Chomps turned his head to look at bartender with a steady glare.

"Uh... nevermind," said the bartender.

Chomps slowly looked back to his barstool and then continued mutilating it.

"What that out the window?" Buck asked.

Rumsfeld looked to see a light in the sky that projected the image of two hands ready to strangle. "That's the Strangle-Signal!" Rumsfeld exclaimed, "Come, Chomps, to the Strangle-mobile!"

"See you later, Rummy!" Buck called to him.

"Have fun killing for'ners," Rumsfeld answered.

"I always do," Buck said, taking another sip of his beer.

Rumsfeld and Chomps jumped in the Buick and sped off towards the White House. Before they could get there, though, they were blocked by protestors.

"My God!" Rumsfeld exclaimed, "They are the smelliest, most incoherent protestors yet!"

The crowd held signs up such as "Yay Dictators; Boo Bush" and "No Blood for Liberation" and chanted slogans such as, "Blood lied, Hitler is Oil."

"Skibberdy-wa-gibber doo!" shouted a hippy at Rumsfeld, communicating nothing more than that he needed a strangling. Rumsfeld was happy to comply.

Chomps started to growl, beginning to fill with anger as he looked at all the hippies. "There's too many for you to mangle," Rumsfeld told him, "And lord knows I'd just ruin my hands with arthritis if I tried strangling them all. We just need to get to the White House and find out what riled up this many dimwits at this late an hour. The only way to do that is plow right through them."

Rumsfeld pressed the petal to the metal and ran straight through the protestors. Soon hippies and placards were flying everywhere while he was inundated with the smell of patchouli oil. Eventually, he crashed through the gates of the White House.

"Going be spending a long time cleaning hippy off my Buick," Rumsfeld grumbled as he and Chomps ran into the White House.

"Glad to see you," Bush exclaimed as he saw Rumsfeld, "We were hoping the Rumsfeld strangler would come, but at least you're here, Rummy."

"There are hippies everywhere," Rumsfeld said angrily.

"Yeah, they just started protesting out of nowhere!"

From out of the shadows emerged the dark figure of Karl Rove. "An ancient evil has come," he uttered, "If left unchecked, it can destroy the Republican Party, as prophesized by the ancient tome The Dark Book of Punditry."

"That's bad!" Bush exclaimed.

"So do we know what we're up against?" Rumsfeld asked.

Clancy, dressed in his usual black tie, black suit, and black sunglasses came forward and opened a briefcase. "We have some idea. Just earlier today this was a supermarket full of merchandise, but look at it now." He handed a photo to Bush.

"People are in line for bread!" Bush said, "I've never heard of such a thing!"

"The only thing that could destroy a business so quickly is Pure Commie Evil," Condoleezza Rice exclaimed, "but the existence of such a thing was only theoretical. You'd need a host of pure evil to contain it."

"True," Clancy answered, "and we think we know who that host is. According to some second hand information from my cousin Barry, the body of Lenin has been floating around the black market for some time. Then, according to a gossip column in the Idaho Statesman newspaper, Lenin ended up in a wax museum in Norway. Finally, according to this transient I ran into last week, former KGB agents seized the body and then revived Lenin using cybernetic technology."

"How sure was this transient?" Bush asked.

"Very sure," Clancy answered, "and somewhat drunk."

"Man, I thought after we captured the supervillian Chemical Ali we were in the clear," Bush said, "But now we have to deal with a threat of Cyber-Lenin. We'll need the best on this: Get me Aquaman!"

"We can't find Aquaman," Condi told him, "We tried contacting him with the Aquaphone, but all we got was his Aqua-answering machine. I guess he's busy battling the evil forces of the sea elsewhere."

"Dammit!" Bush exclaimed, "I guess we'll have to go to the second tier superheroes. Get Superman!"

"I'm afraid he's fallen in with the left-wing Hollywood crowd and doesn't like making judgments of good and evil," Condi informed Bush, "Also, there seems to be a strong association between him and a writer for the Daily Planet who is always writing negative articles about you and your big campaign contributor, Lex Luthor."

"Criminy!" Bush yelled, "Well, what about Batman?"

"You accidentally ran him over on a campaign stop in Gotham, remember?" Condi told him.

"Oh yeah. Well, if you run around at night in a dark costume, it was bound to happen sometime. I hope more superheroes learn to wear reflectors. Is Spiderman available?"

"He was one of the first to go when Guiliani started cleaning up New York," Condi answered, "He was always leaving web everywhere."

"The Green Latern?"

"Turned yellow."

"The Hulk?"

"Learned to express his anger through song."

"The Flash?"

"Ran away at the first sign of danger."

"The X-Men?"

"Remember? We decided mutants were a threat to society so we rounded them all up with the help of large robots."

"Do we have the large robots then?"

"They're rusting in some warehouse in Minnesota."

White House Press Secretary Scott McClellan then came in the room. "I heard something was going on."

"Good you’re here," Bush said, "We need you to defeat Cyber-Lenin. If you need a weapon, you can have this letter opener - the point is somewhat sharp. Also, if you want a cape, you can borrow some drapes. Just make sure they get back before Laura finds out."

"Why do I have to fight Cyber-Lenin?" Scott complained.

Bush rolled his eyes. "Do you have something better to do right now?" Bush asked with annoyance. "Now come up with a cool superhero name and get to it."

"Bah!" Rumsfeld exclaimed, "Back in my day we didn't need any superheroes to handle our problems. If a supervillain tried to take over the world or a portal opened up out of which aliens swarmed, we just picked up some rocks and sticks and beat the crap out of them."

"Fine, Rummy, you can try things your way," Bush said, "Just take Super Scott with you as back up. Oh, and tell your dog to stop ripping apart my desk."

"He must not like it," Rumsfeld answered.

"But it was picked out by Queer Eye for the Straight Guy," Bush said, "I'm the straight guy, by the way."

"Come on, Chomps, we have a Commie to kill," Rumsfeld told the dog. He then turned to Scott. "You too, tubby."

"Alright," Scott answered, "but I better get overtime for this."

* * * *

Having made their way back through the hippy protestors, Rumsfeld, Scott, and Chomps drove about the city looking for Cyber-Lenin.

"So what's the plan?" Scott asked, fixing his floral pattern cape.

"We find him, we strangle him," Rumsfeld answered.

Chomps looked at Scott and growled.

"I don't think your dog likes me," Scott stated a bit nervously.

"Is he ripping you apart?" Rumsfeld asked.

"No."

"Then he's still deciding." Rumsfeld looked about. "All the businesses here are either shut down or out of merchandise. And the cars are small and fuel efficient. We must be close to the corrosive effects of the Pure Commie Evil."

"What should I do?" Scott asked.

"See that McDonalds over there?" Rumsfeld asked.

"Yeah."

"Go get me a Big Mac meal with a coke," Rumsfeld told him, as he stopped the car and got out. "I get hungry after kill'n."

Scott ran off to the McDonalds while Rumsfeld and Chomps started walking on foot. "Plan is," Rumsfeld told Chomps, "I strangle him, while you rip off his limbs."

Chomps growled angrily in approval.

They traced the destructive effect of Pure Commie Evil until they found themselves down an alleyway. There stood a glowing red robotic figure. "You must be the Rumsfeld Strangler," he laughed, "I knew I'd run into you. Well, I'll destroy you and your angry dog too."

"Well see about that!" Rumsfeld shouted. "Rarr!" Rumsfeld ran forward and tried to get his hands around Cyber-Lenin's neck, but it was protected by metal and bulletproof glass. Soon, Rumsfeld had to let go as his hands started to burn having touched Cyber-Lenin.

Cyber-Lenin threw a punch, sending Rumsfeld flying backwards. "Soon you will learn the power of Pure Commie Evil," Cyber-Lenin said, "and it will be the last lesson you learn, Rumsfeld Strangler."

Cyber-Lenin fired a red beam at Rumsfeld, but then Chomps leaped at him, his mouth agape and ready to bite. The beam instead hit him, sending the dog flying backwards. He hit against a wall and then fell unmoving to the ground. "Chomps!" Rumsfeld exclaimed with worry. He then turned his rage to Cyber-Lenin. "Rarr!"

He threw a punch at his enemy, but Cyber-Lenin caught it in his metal hand and backhanded Rumsfeld, sending him smashing through the brick wall behind him. Dazed and injured, Rumsfeld tried to get up, but Cyber-Lenin was soon standing over him. Rumsfeld looked again to Chomps, but he lay there motionless.

"It is over for you, Rumsfeld Strangler," Cyber-Lenin said, his hands charging with red Pure Commie Evil as they prepared to release the fatal blow, "Say goodbye to your precious country, as it will not be here much longer either. Muh ha ha ha!"

* * * *

Is this it for the Rumsfeld Strangler? Is Chomps now in Doggie Heaven (or in Hippie Hell, biting hippies for all eternity)? Will the Republican Party and then America fall against Pure Commie Evil? Will Black Manta ever get to defeat Aquaman?

For those answers and more, tune in Monday for In My World: The Rumsfeld Strangler vs. Cyber-Lenin Part II.

You can call me names, you can make fun of my appearance, you can call me racial epithets, but YOU DO NOT CALL ME A COMMUNIST!

White Glenn has declared open season on spreading lies about Frank J. (BTW, congratulations to Tiger on his first Instalanche). So now the linkage come to whomever is ready to defame me (example1, example2, example3). And, of course, the current tagline he has is a complete and utter fabrication. He thinks that by attacking me he can destroy the cause (though this one attacks also Misha, Annika, and whomever the guy is seated to the left), but we are an Alliance, not just one man. If we fall the Puppy Blender, though, the few who swear to him will no longer have a leg to stand on.

It is time to strike back my friends.

I want everyone to come up with their best Glenn Reynolds story, the more made up the better (photoshopped images a plus). Put it on your blog and then next we'll pick the best and make sure to repeat the lie until anyone researching into the blogosphere sees it as fact. Don't worry; as bad as anything you make up about Glenn Reynolds, nothing could be worse than the reality of this evil, puppy blending man.

As for people without blogs, we need to come up with ideas for what you can do to help the Alliance. I was thinking maybe we could find a dumb congressman or woman (of which there are plenty) and send signatures on an initiative to condemn White Glenn for all his evils. Other ideas are certainly welcome.

From now on, war planning will be moved to our headquarters (linked on my sidebar where the banner should eventually go). Also, I need someone else to take over keeping the membership; I am already straining myself for time keeping my regular blogging duties so I need more people to take up leadership positions. We will soon stop letting just anyone join and will need standards for admitting new members. BTW, many new ones have been added to the compatriots list. The newest will be at the bottom. Go check them out as many are some great blogs I had never seen before. Also, if you e-mailed me asking to join and don't see yourself there, make sure to tell me.

I also want to clear up some things being said about the Great Blog War ala snopes.

* The Blogger Alliance is all about getting links from Instapundit.com - FALSE - We declare hatred of his linkage, and cringe at the touch of his Instalanches as if it were the caress of the devil. We will achieve much greater traffic once he is out of our way.

* The Blog War is all about generating traffic for your blogs - FALSE - It is also about getting bags and bags of money and power.

* The Blog War is silly - FALSE - You are silly to think this. Centuries from now, people will speak of the Great Blog War.

* The Blogger Alliance is Communist - FALSE - Everyone in the Alliance will receive great linkage (I would say a minimum of a million visitors a day), but some more than others based on their talent. Of course, I will get the most traffic as I am the most talented.

* Glenn Reynolds kills the puppies through humane means before blending them - FALSE - He says the energy drinks are only tasty if the puppy is alive during blending.

* Jennifer smells like a monkey - TRUE

* Jennifer is a monkey - UNDETERMINED

* All who oppose the Blogger Alliance will be destroyed - TRUE - Either they will be destroyed outright or whither and die.

* The Blogger Alliance will one day be ten times as influential as all media sources today combined - FALSE - We will be a hundred times as great.

* This whole blog war idea is just some vain idea of Frank J.'s related to some deep seated insecurities he has yet to fess up to - UNDETERMINED

I hope that cleared some things up. Now it is time to look at our banner candidates and finally pick one.

Read More »

The McDonalds near my house needs to get its act together... but that's neither here nor there.

Before I compared Arnold Schwarzenegger to Bloomberg, but now I'm thinking I'm a sap who fell for the hype that Arnold is too liberal, a RINO (Republican In Name Only), and an empty muscle shirt. Something doesn't jive with that, though. While Bloomberg pretty much was a Democrat until he ran for mayor (and in his winning, gained us nothing more than being able to laugh at the Democrats, "Ha! Ha! We got a Republican elected to mayor of New York three times in a row even though it's a 6/1 Democrat/Republican split!"), Arnold's case is quite different. He is part of the Kennedy family and he works in an industry that will blacklist people for conservative views, yet he's been an avowed Republican long before there was any talk of him running for a political office. That seems to say to me he must have some very core principles that makes him a Republican. I remember a long while ago hearing him explain that the reason he is a Republican is he saw the damage socialism did in Austria, and that seems like a sincere reason to me.

Arnold is an immigrant - he chose to be an American - and he came here and made a success of himself. To me, that indicates that maybe he does have what it takes to be a leader.

Yeah, there wasn't anything funny there; I just don't want to be on the list of people who underestimated Arnold. Stay tuned for my Big Bad Blog War Update which will be coming later tonight.

I just want to let you know that, though I have a bit of a cough still, I'm back in action. I'll have a big war update tonight, including a ton of new banner submissions and finally updating the compatriots list. Apparently White Glenn took my sickness as a chance to strike against me multiple times, and I'll comment on that as well. Also, I'll finally have my myth and truths about the Great Blog War and the Blogger Alliance.

In previous issues of Frank on Guns, I went over gun basics and gun calibers; now you need to pick out a gun to do your killer'n. I'm just going to focus on handguns right now because I know them better and they're cool.

One of the questions I commonly get from people who don't anything about guns is how much does a gun cost. That's like asking how much does a car cost. In just handguns you can range from a $150 dollar Yugo to a $5000 dollar Maybach. Then there is customization, and you could easily put thousands more on to any gun's price. Also, if you want a full-automatic mp5, it's time to mortgage the house (and check the legality of owning one in your state).

Generally you get what you pay for, though sometimes you do pay for the name (if you want an official Colt peacemaker, you better be prepared to put out the big bucks). Anyway, I'm going to discuss my opinion on different handguns based on my personal experience, what I've heard, what I think I've heard, and what I've just plain imagined.

The first thing you need to decide is whether you want a revolver (based on a nearly 170 year old design) or a semi-automatic pistol (based on a much newer design just barely over a hundred years old). First I'll talk about the revolver.

Revolvers

The revolver is the most simplistic of the gun design (read "less to go wrong"). Pretty much all of them have no more to their operation than pulling the trigger (except for single action; cock it, then pull trigger). Even a moron or a curious five year old could operate one of these. Loading is more of a problem as each bullet has to be put into the chambers individually, and you're not going to get high capacity (try imagining a 19 round kill'n wheel, a.k.a. cylinder). IMHO, if you find yourself in a situation where you need more than six rounds, though, then you were looking for trouble.

If you don't care about size, you can always go with the legendary S&W; Model 96 (or newer 629) .44 magnum just like Dirty Harry, or get a sweet .357 magnum Colt Python (if you can find one). If money is no object, you could get the Korth Combat Revolver for $4,700. To the layman, it looks just like a revolver you could buy for $300, but, to the more discerning eye, it costs $4,700.

For conceal carry, you want a nice snub-nose revolver, the ultimate backup gun. Ruger has some great ones that don't cost very much, and S&W; as some good ones too, including hammerless ones so the hammer won't snag (secret: it actually has a hammer; it's just hidden). They also make the LadySmith, the first gun tailored towards women's kill'n needs. It's a perfectly fine gun for a man to use as well, but, if you shoot a mugger with it, his dying words will imply you're gay.

Semi-Autos

Semi-automatics are much more complicated, using the force of the bullet explosion to push back the kill'n cover (a.k.a. slide) and chamber a new round from the magazine. It's much more complicated (read 'more to go wrong'), with each gun having its own take on safeties and what-not. Still, if you get yourself a good model and train on it, a semi-auto is a great weapon. Plus, reloading is quick and cool, as nothing beats slapping in a new magazine and raking the slide (note: the manual says to not "slap" the manual in, but what does a manual know). Plus, you can get really high capacity if you want to pay for it.

I guess this is a good time to discuss pre-ban magazines. For those who don't know, in 1994 the evil Clinton passes a bill banning magazines that hold more than 10 rounds.

"Oh, he only shot me ten times. Thank god for that law which... Oh no! He's reloading!"

The law was not retroactive of course (try walking from gun owner to gun owner and demanding they hand stuff over) so there is a premium on high-capacity pre-ban clips. As for guns that were made after 1994 (such as the Walther P99) you’re kinda screwed. This law, of course, was un-American, as we should be working towards larger and larger capacities until you don't need to reload at all. A very American gun is the Calico which has a 100-rd cylinder magazines that go on top of the gun ("I know what you're thinking, punk: Did I fire all 100 bullets or just 99? To tell you the truth, in the heat of the past six months, I lost count myself..."). We need to repeal that evil law, and thus make my dad having wasted money spending over a hundred dollars for some Glock magazines.

Anyway, here are some notable semi-autos:

Beretta 92FS: This is the current military sidearm, and I've fired one, borrowing it from my brother, Joe foo' the Marine. It's most noticeable in how the slide is cut so that most of the barrel is visible (and you will see it in about any movie or TV show with guns). This is to help prevent jamming (a casing or improper loading of the next round which ceases the semi-auto's functioning). Jamming's can get you killed in battle, so jamming is bad (i.e., not good). With any gun, test a hundred rounds through it with the ammo you plan to use to test for jamming. IMHO, the Beretta 92FS is kinda big for something that fires a dinky 9mm, but you can get Beretta's that fire more manly, non-metric calibers. 15rd pre-ban clips for the 9mm are pretty easy to find, though.

Desert Eagle: Most notable for that kill'n end is triangular shaped... oh yeah, and it's frick'n huge. Fires magnum rounds usually only found in revolvers and it's own .50 AE ammo. I really would love to own this $1000 handgun, but I don't know of any practical purpose for it. It's too big for conceal carry... or even just regular carry. The only thing I've seen it used for is as a great gun for villains in movies (see the Agents in The Matrix).

Sig Sauer: A gun made my the Swiss and sold by the Germans. Expensive, but supposed to be worth the money. Don't have too much experience with them, and would be interested in comments.

Glock: Durable, high capacity, simple to use, and no safeties (I don't count the frigg'n trigger safety). You can get these in about any caliber you want (9mm,.40,.45,10mm,sig.357... did I miss any?). Plus, you have the option of regular size and compact for conceal and carry (high capacity clips will still go into the compacts but stick out underneath, defeating the point of it being compact). They all look the same, which is great if you have a wife who doesn't like you owning lots of guns, because then you can get guns in a bunch of different calibers and make it look like you only have one gun (not that I know anyone who fits this description ). If you get a compact model, just tell your wife that the larger gun had a baby. Wives who don't like guns are stupid, so she should fall for it.

Glock is most notable for being the first gun to use composite materials. The frame is plastic, while the slide and barrel are metal like God intended. Also, they were one of the first guns to offer ridiculous size ammo capacities (you can get a 19 round magazine for Glock 17). They cost big bucks now. We spent $125 dollars as a present for my Dad so could fire three more bullets out of his Glock 21 (.45 caliber).

My complaint about the Glocks is that, once a round is chambered, a not to stiff trigger pull is all that keeps it from firing. I like either a stiff double action on the first round or a manual safety. Something to keep in mind for conceal and carry, because you really want a gun you feel safe with a round chambered in it so that it can be drawn and fired quickly.

Walther: Want to be like James Bond? I'm sorry, you're too lame, but you can own his guns like me. I have both a Walther PPK (PPK/S actually; they had to change the frame to comply with some idiotic gun regulations) which was the old bond gun and the Walther P99 which is the new bond gun. The Walther PPK is a nice metal gun that fires a dinky .380 round with good accuracy at a self-defense range. Good for concealment and not too expensive. The Walther P99 comes in 9mm and .40 and has a composite frame like the Glock (I'm still getting used to it). It's a bit bigger and harder to conceal. Also, composite frames aren't so good for hitting someone over the head with the beat'n end of the gun.

1911: The pistol. The original is made by Colt, but everybody and their sister makes one now (even S&W; has come out with one). It fits in your hand like it's supposed to be there, and fires that .45 bullet like a dream. You can either buy a simple platform and customize it (like the Colt 1991 I have), or get a nicely souped up one from Kimber or Springfield. There are also compact models for conceal and carry (though I successfully conceal and carry my full size model). The gun only fires single action, which means the way to carry it is cocked and locked, i.e., round in the chamber, hammer pulled back, thumb safety on. This is scary to some people, as some people are pansies. Also, the regular magazine for this gun holds only 7 rounds, but that's seven dead perps in my book. There are double stack magazine versions, but then you have a bulky grip. Para Ordnance makes a double action 1911, but, to me, that's just wrong.

Before you buy a gun, you have to make sure it's right for you. If you have friends with guns, see if they let you try them out. Also, many gun ranges let you rent guns (the one I go to in Idaho has a fully-automatic Thompson "You'll never take me alive, coppers!" submachine gun to rent; sweet!). You want to at least hold the gun and see if the grip is comfortable to you. Most importantly, you need to ask yourself, "Can I see myself killing someone with this gun."

Sorry, I think I ended up actually trying to be informative instead of just funny today. It's important to note that I don't actually know jack. Anyway, next week we'll talk about how you store your gun, either in your home or on your self.

Still home sick, and I just wanted to say that In My World™ will be moved to Friday.

Anyway, I got this letter from Whitler:

I was wearing my Nuke the Moon T-shirt when I wrote RESPONSIBILITY. You promised me that doing so would make them shorter and easier for IMJO readers to understand.

Didn't work.

I would ask for my money back, only I was driving to work yesterday in the shirt and seven REBAR spears came through the front windshield and bounced off the mushroom cloud. Can I get half my money back?

I never promised that the Nuke the Moon t-shirt had enough power to make Whitler's essays a sane length. Anyway, you can go read his essay now, and, by the time you're done, it should be Friday. I haven't had time to read it yet (I just got up), but I assume it's all about pledging allegiance to the Blogger Alliance.

Also, Carnival of the Vanities is up to find more bloggy goodness.

I have gotten many more banner submissions, and I'll put them up later. When we have a banner, war planning will be moved to the headquarters.

Anyway, here is a teaser for the next In My World™:

Donald Rumsfeld has felled many a powerful foe, but can he stand against his biggest challenge yet... PURE COMMIE EVIL!

Be prepared for Rumsfeld's greatest battle... and possibly his last.

In My World: The Rumsfeld Strangler vs. Cyber-Lenin

Coming Friday to a blog near you.

I tried going back to work today, and now I feel even worse. Sorry for lack of updates, but I'll be lucky if I get out a Rumsfeld In My World™ for tomorrow.

Anyway, here were two banner submissions:

I dunno; I think we need one a little less busy and more professional looking.

This one is professional looking, but I think it would work better for the Gay and Lesbian Alliance rather than the Blogger Alliance.

Come on, people; we need a cool banner before we can become a vast media empire.

Anyway, here is a link of some propaganda by Blackfive. I got a lot of great links from people, but I'm sorry I haven't had the time to post them (and I have some more people to add to the compatriots list). If you have some great war links, put them in the comments section (I support html tags).

For those curious, this is what a post looks like that hasn't been proofread or even spell checked.

* I don't know about this whole Arnold thing now. I'm starting to get worried that's he going to be a Bloomberg liberal Republican instead of Giuliani liberal Republican. Though it's nice to have someone in office with an (R) next to his or her name, if the choice is between an ineffective Republican governor or mayor vs. and ineffective Democrat, I'd rather have the Democrat. No reason to sully the good name of Republicans for a short-term gain. If Arnold screws things up, I'll kick his ass. Yeah, that right!

* My sister is in California, but I don't remember hearing what she thinks about this recall thing. She told me in the last election she voted for Nader, but that was just to tweak me (she voted for Bush). Aww, my little sister involved in democracy.

* Then again, I never got this whole "women voting" thing. If it wasn't for women, Dole actually would have beat Clinton in '96. Then again, I hear woman are now just as concerned as men about issues of national defense, which is good. Still, you shape up, women; we gave you the vote, and we can take it away!

* IMAO would like to apologize to all its female readers for that last statement, which does not reflect the opinion of IMAO or its subsidiaries (of which there are none).

* I ended up getting that Zatoichi sword. I didn't play with it much yesterday since I wasn't feeling well, but I found out that if you're practicing throwing something in the air and cutting it in two, an orange is too messy... especially in the living room (I had to clean orange juice off the miniblinds). I think I'll stick to apples. BTW, if there is a slowdown in blogging, it's probably from a loss of fingers.

* Am I alone in not particularly liking the French?

* To all military readers of this site: get off your damn asses and kill some terrorists. What are you doing surfing the net when there are still people out there in need of killing! Hey, my tax dollars pay your measly salary, so get to it!

* If I become a successful author and makes lots of money with the book I wrote, screw you guys; I'll only write if I get paid for it from now on. Sorry.

* When do we find out who the Democrat candidate for president is? I can't wait for that race to kick into high gear; it should be funny. Wouldn't it be cool if Kucinich surprises everyone and breaks into the lead? He's the only one brave enough to take on mind-controlling space lasers (and tin-foil hats won't save you from those).

* I hear there is controversy about Mel Gibson's movie The Passion which is about the final hours of Jesus Christ. Some people think it will cause anti-semitic violence. How would that work? "Wow, that movie was such a touching statement of Jesus belief in love, peace, and sacrifice... NOW LET'S GO BEAT US UP SOME JEWS!!!"

* Just for the record, I don't actually hate monkeys. If I did, that would be specist. You can't just hate a whole species; you have to judge each one individually. Like, you may say you hate all mosquitoes, but what if one you saw wasn't trying to such your blood but was instead just admiring your wallpaper? Then you'd be a jerk to swat it.

* There is a particular monkey I hate, though. See, one day I heard a knock at the door and there was this monkey. So I said, "Are you lost from the zoo, Mr. Monkey?" and he said, "Ooh! Ooh!" (or maybe it was, "Ee! Ee!"; it was a while ago). So I let him in, asked if he wanted some coffee, and, after he nodded yes, I went to get him some. Soon as I turned around, though, I saw him going out the window with my stereo and yelled, "Hey, come back with my stereo, you damn dirty ape!" That was said in the heat of the moment, but still, that doesn't excuse how specist that was of me. Anyway, I hate that monkey! If I find him, I'm going to hit him with a bat!

* So what's the best way to carry a bat so it looks like you’re on your way to baseball practice and not like your just ready to cause trouble? Is there a certain way you can hold it in hand, or do you need a sheath to keep it in. Or does the sheath make you look too prepared?

* I really think that baseball is the American pastime, because it symbolizes the values of America. You have to work as a team to succeed, but everyone also gets their time in the spotlight when they're at bat. Baseball is also hella boring, but I'm not sure how to work that into the metaphor.

* Wouldn't it be funny to teach some monkeys to play baseball? Probably be easier to have it be tee-ball. That would be funny to watch, unless one bit me, which he almost certainly would. And then I don't like the idea of them having bats in their hand. They'd probably take me down with the biting, and then hit me with the bats. I'd be defenseless!

* I hate monkeys.

I ain't feeling so well, so I'm going to have some OJ and get some sleep; thus no more posting today. I wanted to a post on some spreading myths about the upcoming Great Blog War, but I'll save that for later.

Even though I haven't got any complaints like I did with the permalink contest, I just want to remind everyone that the blog war posts are in addition to my regularly weekly posting, not in place of.

I have two new sponsors. Please check them out to show that you appreciate them sponsoring this site. One is FriendSurfer.com which is a new social networking experiment on the net. The other is the Axis of Naughty which seeks to destroy me and... hey!

Bush sat in the Oval Office playing nerf basketball until Attorney General John Ashcroft walked in. "Hey, it's little Johnny Ashcroft," Bush exclaimed, "How are you doing?"

"Not so good, by golly," Ashcroft said, "Everybody says mean and untrue things about me like that I want to take away their rights and everything, and it makes me feel bad."

"I know how you feel," Bush replied. He then started laughing. "Can you believe that some people say I'm dumb?"

Ashcroft just stared at him. "Anyway, I don’t want to take any nice people's rights away. I was just trying to fight terrorists, by golly, like by passing the Patriot Act, the Victory Act, and the Question this Act and I'll Put You in Jail Act."

"That's the first bill I've seen with the word 'bitch slap' in it," Bush remarked.

"Well, the bitch slap is needed in the fight against terrorism," Ashcroft said, "but I can only use it after getting a court order, you betcha. To speed things up, of course, I have a whole court follow me around in a bus."

"So what's been happening lately on the terrorist front?"

"Well, golly, we found this guy who looked pretty darn suspicious, so we questioned him about terrorism," Ashcroft answered, "He wouldn't tell us, nut'n, don't you know. So we put some electrodes to his gonads and he started singing a different tune, you better believe it."

"So what did we find out?"

"There a terrorist hideout here in D.C. full of illegal arms, wouldn't you know."

"We better go take 'em out!" Bush exclaimed.

"That's what we're going to do, by golly."

"And I'll go with you."

"This is not a good idea," Zatoichi told Bush, "It safer here in the oval office."

“Who is that?” Ashcroft act.

“That’s a blind samurai I hired as a Secret Service agent under the People with Disabilities Act.”

“And you need to listen to me and stay safe,” Ichi told him.

"Bah!" Bush answered, "Safety is for cowards and smart people! Let's roll!"

* * * *

"We're pretty sure the terrorists are in that building, I tells ya" Ashcroft said, pointing to the building ahead of them. The ATF agents gathered around getting ready for the assault. "BTW, Bush, I want you to meet our head ATF agent, Psycho Stan. He used to be a psychotic, remorseless killer."

"And then you reformed him and made him an ATF agent?" Bush asked.

"Well, we made him an ATF agent," Ashcroft answered.

"I wants me to kill someone," Psycho Stan said, twitching.

"When you raid that building, Psycho Stan, we need you to take some alive so we can question them," Ashcroft ordered.

"A... live...?" Psycho Stan said, confused.

"That when you don't kill someone," Ashcroft explained.

"What bullets and explosives do you use to not kill someone?"

"Well you don't use any bullets or explosives at all," Ashcroft answered chuckling, "If someone drops their weapon and raises his hands, don't shoot him."

Psycho Stan still looked confused, but then he started laughing. "Oh, now I get it. I always wondered why people would drop their weapons and raise their hands, because that seemed a funny way to attack me. I guess they were actually trying to get me to not shoot them."

"See, you learn something new ever day, by golly."

Psycho Stan and the rest of the ATF agents prepared for the raid. Bush nudged Zatoichi while laughing. "That guy was dumb."

Ichi just grunted.

There was a lot of shooting and exploding, but then Psycho Stan emerged bringing out a terrorist at gunpoint. "I got me one," Psycho Stan said, "and I got him... uh... not dead... uh... what did you call it?"

"Alive."

"Yeah, he's alive."

"And I tell nothing to you infidels!" the terrorist shouted.

"Golly gosh, I think I'll need to use a bitch slap here," Ashcroft said, and then turned to judges behind him. "Court order, please."

They handed him one. Ashcroft then cocked back his hand and bitch slapped the terrorist.

"Okay, I talk!" screamed the terrorist, "We are plotting to kill the Vice President today!"

"Oh no!" Bush exclaimed, "It's Vice President day! That's when the Vice President emerges from his undisclosed location. If he stays out, it will mean economic recovery is on its way. But, if he's scared back in by a terrorist attack, that means six more weeks of recession! It's covered by all the press."

"We better call his Secret Service agents and tell them to expect an attack," Ichi suggested.

"That's too simple," Bush said, "We need to race over there and stop it ourselves!"

"Okay," Aschroft answered, "and I'll take care of things here, by golly." He turned to the ATF agents. "Secure the building."

The building exploded.

"Jeepers," Ashcroft exclaimed, "We need to work on our communication here."

"I need your car," Bush said, pulling open the door to a Corvette and yanking the driver out. "Wow! This is just like Grand Theft Auto!" he remarked as he sat in the driver's seat, "Now get in Ichi."

Ichi felt around for the passenger side door.

"Just get in!" Bush urged, "What are you? Blind?"

Ichi simply grunted as he finally got in the car.

* * * *

"You’re holding the camera backwards again!" Melinda Hawkish of Fox News yelled at her camerawoman, "It's important we get good coverage of the Vice President."

"Having trouble again," asked her arch nemesis Lefty Stevens of CNN, "Too bad you're not professionals like us." He then thought out loud, "Now how am I going to work into this story that Arnold Schwarzenegger's father is a Nazi?"

Melinda just gave him a stern look. She then noticed some odd reporters beside her. "That's a weird looking camera you have," she told them, "Almost looks like a bazooka with a lens cap on the end."

"Quiet infidel woman!" shouted one of the men, "You're unconcealed face and body both disgusts and intrigues me!"

"How rude," Melinda remarked. She then saw someone start to emerge from the cave in front of them. "The Vice President is emerging!"

Suddenly a Corvette sped into the scene. Out leaped Zatoichi, who cut down three men.

"Those were MSNBC reporters," Bush told him.

"I hate MSNBC," Ichi answered.

"But we need to find the terrorists!"

Ichi listened carefully. He could then hear the sound of tension upon a trigger. He quickly tossed his sheath which hit the terrorist's bazooka, so, instead of firing at the Vice President, it was knocked off target to fire into a group of reporters. Ichi then ran forward and cut down the terrorists."

Having successfully emerged from his undisclosed location, Dick Cheney now danced a jig.

"Hooray!" Bush exclaimed, "Now we'll soon have economic prosperity! And all who were killed were a bunch of stupid reporters who can easily be replaced."

"I save Vice President," Ichi stated, "You pay me ten ryo."

"What!" Bush yelled that's the most ridiculous thing..."

With a quick swipe, Ichi cut off Bush's tie.

"Ah, fine, you blind bastard," Bush grumbled, "Let me get my bag of ryo."

I've added more blogs to the compatriots list. If you don't see yourself or have just decided to join, there is still time to e-mail me.

I really need to delegate more duties as I am quite busy (my widescreen TV won't watch itself, you know). Also, right now, I should be in the middle of writing tomorrow's In My World™. Anyway, before we can start the full-scale war, we need a really cool banner for the Blogger Alliance. Then, we, Allied bloggers and blog readers can begin our attacks, eventually controlling the growing blogsphere. Soon, our power will rival that of God Himself!

Anyway, one reason I haven't been busy on the war this weekend is I was trying to finally finish up my novel. I had started the damn thing back in 1997, and it has plagued my mind ever since. I kept stopping, throwing away what I had, and restarting multiple times. This is probably like the 17th version, but I finally finished an entire first draft weighing in at 75,200 words by Microsoft Word's count. I'll have to edit it some more, but eventually I'll try and look for an agent. I think at the same time I'll see if an agent might be interested in a compilation of my In My World™ posts.

To celebrate finally getting this novel monkey off my back, I've decided to be nice to my Enemy and make him a promotional poster for his site:

Read More »

Go to White Glenn's site and you'll notice up in corner he has a completely fabricated quote. Dirty pool. If lies is the game, I gave an anonymous phone tip to PETA and ended up getting Glenn Reynolds arrested. He'll probably make bail pretty quickly, but that should slow the bastard down.

I must be ready for war, because I woke up this morning punching. I had a dream that some guy was being an ass, and I woke up throwing a left jab into the air (after jabbing him, I was prepared to pin him to the ground by his neck with my right hand and talk some sense to him; of course the plan was aborted when I realized it was a dream). Anyway, if that punk appears in another dream, he is so going to get it, and the break of morn is not going to save him this time.

It's the weekend, and I have a lot to do, but I wanted to put out a quick war update. Susie (who adores me and always will, Jennifer) has made space for an Alliance HQ. Now, I'm a very busy man, so I will need some Alliance members to pick up some of the slack and maybe take over keeping track of Alliance blogs (which I will keep a list of on my main page) and then also blogless Alliance members.

The next step is to get a banner for the Blogger Alliance that all of us can have that will link the HQ. Once we are nice and organized, we need to put out a press release announcing that there is a fight in the internet world for control of the blogosphere. Hopefully there will be some news outlets gullible intrepid enough to follow up. Anyone have some experience with press releases and want to be our Press Secretary?

There are new members to the Alliance. Check them out as many have a statement of their joining (the newest ones will be at the bottom of the compatriots list). There is still time to join up now, but in the future we will be more critical of taking new members.

Oh, and, if you haven't yet, vote for Alliance member Annika as sexiest female blogger. The Alliance must win this competition! If you have access to multiple computers or know of other cheating methods, use them.

I've added more Alliance members to the list on my sidebar. There is still time to join us by e-mailing me with the subject "WAR!!!".

The poll is up for sexiest female blogger. Go and vote for Annika, as she deserves to win because of her rousing speech about the Alliance (and because she is sexy). It is important that an Alliance member wins.

The Emperor has incontrovertible proof that the Enemy is behind the power outage. We declare war, and he knocks out the power grid; It will take more than that to intimidate us!

I think I'm just going to just call us the “Blogging Alliance” or “the Alliance” for short. All your ideas were stupid. Sorry. Anyway, we need a banner! Anyone artistic out there?

Jennifer, enemy of the Alliance and thus slave to the Enemy, sent me these ridiculous terms of surrender:
1. We get permalinks with the grownups. Yes, the same list Rachel Lucas is on. There are no qualifiers attached to our links.
2. You surrender all bananas to the Axis.
3. You publicly apologize for mocking me, your loyal reader. You remove your poll about me. You publicly admit I do not smell like a monkey.
4. You will post no less than 250 words on the following subject: "Why Frank J. is not worthy of Susie's adoration."

Here is my response:
1. That is way too much to ask. You lost the competition; live with it.
2. I have no bananas.
3. This I will negotiate.
4. Bah! Completely non-negotiable. I am completely worthy of Susie's adoration.

Here are my terms:
Join me now, and I will erase the poll about Jennifer, add the names of Jennifer and her compatriots to my list, and the hatchet will be buried. Otherwise, you will all be destroyed.

Okay, everyone, time to plot attacks against the Enemy and think of ways to gain media attention.

Instapundo Delenda Est!

UPDATE: White Glenn strikes back! Treachery!!!

UPDATE II: Speaking of the Empire striking back... (hey, I look good in black. Maybe I should be voted the sexiest male blogger).

The Enemy has me on his blogroll, but, instead of a direct link to me, it goes to a page that makes fun of me. I was just e-mailed today asking why I haven't mentioned that fact. Well, I mention it now. Everyone go to White Glenn's site now and click on my link (IMAO) on his blogroll.

I believe the Alliance has picked up a new ally.

Instapundo Delenda Est!

UPDATE: Treachery!!! Wizbang remains an enemy of all that is good and just and in the pocket of the Enemy. Trust no one (except those in the Alliance).

Jennifer from the monkey house, Bronx Zoo asks:
If I were to dig a hole to the center of the Earth and put you in it, would you feel gravity?

I already have a fortress at the center of the Earth in which I float perfectly, absorbing the thoughts of all those throughout the world and plot against the enemies of me and the Alliance (and thus the allies of the Enemy). Watch yourself, Chief Smells Like a Monkey.

Robert from an Undisclosed Location, NY writes:
I recently installed the Seti@Home screensaver because I thought it looked kinda cool, and I liked the idea of helping to make contact with an alien species. (So we can go to war and steal all their oil of course) But I suddenly realized that the origin of this program is BERKLEY! Now, the question is should I accept this fact and continue running the screensaver, confident of the fact that the fools at Berkley are helping the US make contact with aliens and begin walking to the path to interstellar conquest, or should I delete the program, format my hard drive, and burn it so as to avoid the taint of the liberal hippy-monkeys who must have been involved in it's creation?

Good question. My initial fear is that the first beings the aliens encounter when contact is made would be these Berkleyites, and thus the aliens would be so disgusted that they would surely declare war on us. Then again, I bet we could take those pansy-ass gray skins. Let the program run and bring it on, I say.

Aric, Arlington, VA
Why do monkeys like to fling poo?

Because they are disgusting, vile creatures who luckily don't have access to grenades. Let's keep it that way.

* * * *

Please keep the questions coming, e-mailing me with the subject "Frank Answers" and include your name and town after the question and blog URL if you have one. Since I like the whole name and town dynamic, if you don't give me a place you're from, I'll randomly select one.

Annika has a stirring speech for any of you who still sit on the sidelines. Plus, she is in the running for sexiest female blogger; she gets my support.

We still need someone to host our headquarters (it's free hits), and then we have to decide on our name and banner. Next will be a media campaign like none will have ever seen, in which the evils of the Enemy will be exposed and people will know that we control the blogosphere and thus the future.

There will be much plotting this weekend. Perhaps an e-mail list may be in an order.

BTW, here is more mockery from the Enemy. I smell fear.

As anyone who regularly read my site knows, I don't follow the news very closely, but apparently Canada has done a first strike against America and knocked out our power grid. I say its time to show those hosiers a thing or two about power - military power!

And that's all I have to say 'bout that.

It's been a long, long time since I read a comic book, but I decided to plunge into the depths of geekdom that media to determine whether Aquaman is worthy of the scorn I heap upon him in my Know Thy Enemy™ segments. There are other superheroes I could make fun of such as the Flash who seems like the perfect French superhero (can quickly run away from any battle), but Aquaman has just been like the perfect target. His superpowers are that he can breathe underwater and talk to fish. That might make him a great marine biologist or a good lifeguard, but superhero seems a bit of a stretch. Plus, what's with that orange shirt? Is it so helicopters can spot him from the sea? Is it so he doesn't get shot during deer season? And how many goldfish did he have to skin to make it?

Anyway, the comic book I read was Aquaman #25 from October '96. I was told it was written by an actually very good writer, Peter David. This surprised me, because I didn't know comic books had writers. Also, if I were D.C. Comics, I would be assigning the A-list writers to Superman and Batman and have maybe the interns hack out a story of Aquaman fighting a jellyfish and a tuna or something.

To get to the actual comic, the first thing one notices is this isn't the SuperFriends Aquaman.

Instead, the bearded, longhaired Aquaman looks like some blond biker dude. Also, he's got a hook for his left hand. Apparently, in Aquaman #2, someone stuck his hand into a pond of piranhas and they ate it. I don't know why he didn't just use his fish talking powers to talk them down, though.

AQUAMAN: Dudes, like don't eat my hand.
PIRHANAS: But we're like crazy hungry, yo.
AQUAMAN: Hey, I promise that if you don't eat my hand now, I'll give you like a whole chicken later.

Well, I just know that from secondhand information, so I can't judge on it.

The other big change with Aquaman is they lost the orange shirt. Actually, I guess they wanted to get so far away from that stupid shirt that Aquaman doesn't wear a shirt at all. So, if you’re in trouble in a 7-11, Aquaman can't help you or he'd be breaking the rules. Aquaman still has green scale pants, though. I guess green scale pants are the sine qua non of Aquaman.

As for the story in this comic, the site I got the image from says it best: "This issue is definitely a capper to the plot, and would be absolutely nonsensical alone." While I can't attest for the first part, the second part sure as hell is true. How many pages are there in a comic book when you remove the ads? Six? Well, in that many pages that had more characters to keep track of than in War and Peace. I was so confused, that, by the end, I didn't know my ass from my elbow; I think I'm scared from ever reading a comic again. The plot involved like the White House, a dragon, aliens, and water, but luckily my mission isn't to explain the plot, it was just to follow the Aqua-action and see whether Aquaman is a badass or not.

So this green dude who also has a hook for his left hand jumps in and is like, "I'm gonna cut you, Aquaman!"

And, does Aquaman call for a dolphin backup? No. He runs right into the fight saying, "Bring it on, bitch!"

And I'm like, "He's green, Aquaman; kill him!"

But instead of going stab crazy with his hook hand on green-dude, Aquaman pulls out a rope (apparently his hook hand is also a grappling hook or something) and then begins to strangle the guy. Okay, strangling is still really violent. But then some woman confuses things as they always do. So green dude cuts Aquaman in the leg (his green scale pants, while stylish, afford little protection apparently). Now Aquaman get all pissed, but, instead of finally going stab crazy, he uses his psycho-telekinetic-fish-talking powers on green dude and green dude kills himself. I guess that's somewhat badass.

Now, outside, Power Girl is fighting this big dragon Tiamat (Power Girl? Was she just about to turn in her superhero application form and then suddenly found out that "Super Girl" was taken and then had like ten seconds to come up with a superhero name?). Aquaman again uses his fish talking powers on the dragon to get him to jump into a magic bag of some sort (don't ask me, 'cause I can't explain).

All in all, I have to say I'm not convinced. If I'm getting attacked in the sea, I think I'd feel safer if I saw Batman come by in his Bat-boat or Green Lantern flying above than if I saw Captain Hook swimming by. I think I'll offer some constructive criticism, though.

First off, go to The Gap and find a nice polo shirt that is on sale. I don't know how things work underwater, but here on land we wear shirts.

Second, as long as you've lost a hand, why don't you go the full Bruce Campbell and replace your hand with a chainsaw. No one is going to make fun of Aquaman if he comes at him with a chainsaw hand! You will have to be careful to keep the seawater from rusting it, though.

Finally, lose the name Aquaman. It's just gay. There are so many better names an underwater superhero could have, like "The Shark" or "Sea Urchin". Even "The Swimmer" or the "Fish Whisperer" would be better. Aquaman makes it sound like you should be made of water or something, and is only a step up from being called "Water Boy". He also in the comic was referred to as Orin. I think even a regular name would be better than a superhero name like Aquaman. Even "Bob" sounds fiercer.

Still, I have to say that this Aquaman would not be the first guy I would pick a fight with in a bar. And, while he probably couldn't take on any of the A-list superheroes, I bet he could he could beat the tar out of Robin.

...well, I guess it considers which Robin. He certainly could beat up the dead one. And, if he got too near a bird's nest and were attacked by a real robin, that bird wouldn't stand a chance. Aquaman would kick its ass and be like, "Don't mess with Aquaman!" What a badass!

I think I'll end this here. We all know the dangers of analyzing Aquaman too much.

Permalink contest winner Jarred Nicholls wonders if because someone is racist, does that mean you can violate all of his rights.

John Hawkins writes about why he became a conservative. I remember why I became one. I saw this guy who was really dumb, and I was like, "What are you?"

And he said, "I'm a liberal."

"What's the opposite of that?"

"A conservative."

"Then that's what I am." And then I punched him.

True story.

Spoons dissects a really dumb article on guns.

Right We Are has the Carnival of the Vanities. It's a big one this time.

Here is my man Blackfive on violence.

First Loser Harvey has some fan-fiction.

Sterile-Thunder has composed an anthem for our blog war.

Bill Whittle says he will have a new essay soon. It's been so long, though, I forget who he is and why I would care.

I have started to compile a list of compatriots in the blog war. It is the list right under my regular blogroll. If I have forgotten you, or, if I mistakenly added you when you wish to remain a slave, e-mail me with the subject "WAR!!!". Remember: The time to choose sides is now. Don't think you can wait until after we start seeing success and then come strolling on into our alliance.

First off, as said before, we need a name, and a good one. We want the name of our alliance of bloggers to be what people and the media first think of when they hear the word blog. Here is my suggestion for the name of our alliance of bloggers: The Blogger Alliance.

Discuss it in the comments, but we need a name soon and then a banner for all our pages to display. It should link to a central headquarters where all the alliance names are kept, both those with blogs and those without. Are there any volunteers to make this headquarters, which should start now as a single page? It should be real fancy and professional looking.

I know what is on your minds right now: How do we attack this giant foe? I think us delinking him would accomplish nothing, as the roots of his power comes from his influence from outside the blogosphere. Anyway, we need to keep tabs on him. I think no one in the Alliance should link to him as "Instapundit", though, and instead choose some other name such as "The Enemy", "Puppy Blender", etc.

How we attack is to grab media influence. We need to let the world know there is a blogosphere, a new order in this world, and that there is a war for it. We need the press to hear of the crimes of Glenn Reynolds and know that we, the Alliance, stand for good. Thus, our first plotting must be how to get media attention to our cause. I have my own ideas, but more suggestions are certainly needed.

Here are a few things I need to mention:

* For now, I am leader. Later, that can be decided democratically, but not while in war. I should be known as Frank or Frank J. Any defamation of my name is a defamation of our Alliance and thus of our cause and thus freedom and liberty in general. If you stand for oppression, for dictatorships ruling in Iran and North Korea and the like, then go ahead and call me "Frnak" or "Monkey-boy". We know where you stand.

* Since we are the real order of the blogging world, I hereby decree that Glenn (not Reynolds) of Hi. I'm Black! will no longer be known as Glenn (not Reynolds). Instead, he will just be known as Glenn. Glenn Reynolds will from now on be known as the Enemy, the puppy blender, or White Glenn.

* It is important that all members of the Alliance bring something unique, thus I wish for each blog to think of its specialty in commentary. This should be listed with the name of each blog in the Alliance headquarters.

* Some fool named Jennifer who, by a majority vote, smells like a monkey (and probably looks like one too, but I don’t have a poll for that), is trying to declare war against me. This only serves the Enemy. I extend an olive branch, though, as there is still time to choose the appropriate side before you are destroyed.

That's just a few things to start with. The important things to remember for today are that we need to decide on a name, we need someone to make our web headquarters, we need a banner for all blogs in the Alliance to display, and we need to strategize ways to get media attention. I want everyone in the civilized world to know that there is a blogosphere, that it is the new order, and that we are its rulers.

Instapundo Delenda Est!

Support for the upcoming Great Blog War is overwhelming, and I'll sort through the supporters later today and probably add a list of them to my ever-expanding sidebar, starting with who started it all, Glenn (not Reynolds). He's a negro, and, with a negro on our side, we can't possibly lose!

Planning stages will commence soon, but we first need a cool name for our alliance. I don't want it to be anti-Instapundit, but, instead, a name showing our hope for a future where we all rule. Put suggestions in the comments section.

UPDATE TO WAR UPDATE: I thought the Enemy would ignore us, but he has linked to my declaration against him and then adopted part of it as a slogan in mockery.

Indeed.

When I get hom from work tonight, I will give more details on how this alliance will work start putting all the supporters names together and consider the suggestions for names for the alliance. Remember, we fight not just for the blogoshpere, but for the minds and hearts of all citizens of the world. They will hear us, and they will take heed.

This is the second part of primer for people who don't know much about guns. In my previous entry, I went over gun basics. Now let's discuss the almighty bullet.

As stated before, the cartridge (a.k.a. kill'n fuel) consists of three parts: the kill'n activator, the gunpowder, and roundy, pointy thing which flies fast does the killer'n. What determines the power of the cartridge is the amount of gunpowder and the size of the roundy, pointy thing which flies fast does the killer'n (slug, for short).

Now, I'm going to stick to mainly handgun calibers as that is what I know. Did you know the lower the shotgun gauge, the more powerful it is? That's crazy. Anyway, handguns are the coolest, and their name refers to the width of the bullet, either in parts of an inch or indecipherable metrics. What about the length of the cartridge, you ask? That's a secret.

.22: This is target ammo. It's cheap and plentiful, but, for killer'n, it's only good if you just want to injure a squirrel. It's rimfire; you can hit it anywhere on the rim to start the kill'n activator. You don't have to be exact or anything, it will fire.

.25 and .32: These start to look like baby versions of real bullets, being center fire (having a round little target on the back to start the kill'n activator). Some people want to ban certain types of ammo, and I say ban these. They're only good for wounding someone, and that's just mean.

.380 (or 9mm short as known by Nazis and Commies): With this bullet, you're starting to get serious. This is what my Walther PPK fires. You really need something more that a regular FMJ to make it deadly though (more on this below).

9mm (or .380 long as known by me): A very popular bullet, especially after the high capacity craze started with Glock. Sure, you can fire 19 of these without reloading, but you'll need it to take someone down with this little pansy cartridge. Also popular with submachine guns… except for my man, Tommy. It's the bullet fired by the Beretta 92FS, the M9 sidearm of our troops. Poor troops only having a 9mm sidearm. I have a Walther P99 in 9mm myself, but, because of damn Clinton, I only have silly little 10-rd magazines for it. Bastard.

10mm: A high-powered semi-auto round made for the FBI. But it's a damn metrics bullet and hasn't really caught on.

.40: Smith & Wesson shortened the 10mm and gave it nice American caliber name. This quickly became the choice round of law enforcement, because it's much more of a man-stopper than that pansy ass 9mm.

.45: My man, .45. There are two .45's, both made popular by Colt. The first is known as the .45 Long Colt, and that's the bullet fired by the old West Peacemakers. What we mainly know as .45 today is the .45 ACP (Automatic Colt Pistol) made popular by the ultimate semi-auto, the 1911 (that's the year Ronald Reagan was born; coincidence, I think not). It is also the bullet of the Thompson submachine gun (the Tommy gun), made popular in WWII and made unpopular by gangsters. It's a man's bullet, a nice big chunky SOB which you could probably knock someone unconscious just by throwing it at him. Do not fire this bullet if you're some girly man.

.38 Special: A popular bullet for backup revolvers. What does special mean? Think like "special classes" and the kids who rode the short bus. It's not a very powerful cartridge.

.357 Magnum: Magnum is Latin for large or great, and this is a great bullet for blowing some punk away. You might need to get both hands on this one. Why isn't it a .356 or a .358 you ask? Because some very scientifical people determined that .357 it should be. Any revolver that fires a .357 magnum can also fire a .38 special. Now isn't that special?

.44 Magnum: "Are you feeling lucky? Well do ya, punk?" Dirty Harry caliber and that used by xXx. Actually, it might be a little too much for shooting a man unless you don't care about also shooting anyone who might stand a mile behind him. My dad originally bought one for fishing in Alaska in case he got attacked by a bear. I have a Colt Anaconda myself which I keep around in case a Florida alligator looks at me funny. There is a .44 Special, i.e., a retarded version.

.454 Casull and .480 Ruger: Now we're just getting ridiculous. Just get yourself a damn rifle.

.50 AE: AE if for Action Express. It's made by those crazy Israelis just for the Desert Eagle because those Palestinians are so annoying they wanted something extra big to shoot them with.

500 S&W; Magnum: After caving in the anti-gun nuts, Smith & Wesson had to win back the heart of their consumers. They did this by making a freaking huge handgun caliber. If someone is robbing the house four houses down from you, you can shoot through all the houses and hit him with this.

If all of these calibers are too weak for you, those crazy Israelis at Magnum Research can make revolvers for you chambered in rifle rounds like the venerable .30-.30. The only purpose of these is to freak out people at a gun range, and it takes a lot to freak out people at a gun range.

So, the question is, what's good for killer'n? As I said, .380 is minimum, but you don't want a regular slug. When I say regular slug, I mean a full metal jacket (FMJ), just like the name of that movie ("What's your major malfunction, numbnuts?"). That’s when the slug is coated in metal. More stopping power is a hollow point, which has a hollow point. It collapses on impact leaving a regular entry wound and a big exit wound. The best are bullets that fragment on impact and spread throughout the perps body. If the bullet doesn't go through, that means all power was transferred to the perp, and that's what you want. Think stopping power, yo.

The next questions is what caliber do you want to use to kill a monkey. The proper caliber should reduce a monkey to nothing but a fine red mist. That means, for a regular size monkey, use a bullet big enough to kill a gorilla. To kill a gorilla (scientific name gorilla gorilla), use something big enough to kill King Kong. To kill King Kong... well, God help us all.

Next week we'll talk about popular handgun choices. Remember: No problem is so complex it can't be solved by proper firearm usage.

I recently said I would be the arbiter of blog wars, someone needing to just e-mail me with the subject "WAR!!!" and I would handle the formal announcements. Before you begin choosing sides, though, I have some words I hope you – nay - the entire blogosphere take heed of.

The blogopshere is the future of political commentary - this I declare as fact. We, meaning both blog writers and blog readers, stand as pioneers of this new media. Unlike the days of old where some stodgy fools with their own agendas sit in back rooms deciding what information should be disseminated to the public, we now have a true democracy of news and commentary, where we choose which stories become the talk of the town, where we decided what ideas are the best. A democracy, yes?

No.

While we have eyes with which to read, and fingers with which to type, there is one whom decides what gets seen beyond us cherished few. You know whom I talk of. And, when one rules, it is not a democracy; it is a dictatorship.

I submit to you this. One sits atop, far outnumbering the rest of us in traffic. To many - to too many - the blogoshpere is but one: Instapundit.com. They come to see what we are all about, and all there is is Glenn Reynolds and what he decides to quote, perhaps adding the occasional commentary of "Indeed" or "Hmm".

Now, there are many crimes of Glenn Reynolds, both real and imagined, and all he should pay for. Now, some may say my grudge against him is personal, being I was upset that he neglected to link to my blogography on my blogiversary, but don't you see how that was a strike against us all? That blogography was very informative to new bloggers, and the last he wants is more bloggers to threaten his stranglehold on the blogosphere.

Still, even today, I offered him an olive branch. He has yet to link to one of my beloved In My World™ posts, so I e-mailed him the link to today's since I thought it was a good starting point for someone who had never read one before. And you know what he did?

He spat at me.

Not just me, but all of you! For he mocked and derided anyone who enjoys my posts. He told me we are all fools, and that he would never link to one of my In My World™ posts. He said he knows that doing so would steal too much traffic away from him, traffic he clings to like a greedy monkey clinging to its bananas.

Of course, he did not specifically say any of this as he did not respond to the e-mail in any way whatsoever. Yes, you heard me right; he ignored me! Me, Frank J.! That's not just a slap against me, it's a slap against all my readers and all like bloggers. You know he read the e-mail. You know he reads all the e-mails. But we are nothing to him. He sits upon his dark throne, sipping his puppy, while scanning the blogosphere for a few links that will not threaten his power.

No more, I say.

No more!

I spit upon my Instapundit permalink. I shiver at the touch of his wretched Instlanches. And I especially mock and deride his 74,000 daily visitors. That's right. His tens of thousands of visitors is so pitiful it makes me laugh. For there millions our there, millions and millions who will soon see the power of the blogosphere... but only when this obstacle is removed.

Instapundo delenda est!

The Enemy must be destroyed, and then true democracy will come to the blogosphere. They will see our brillance, no longer filtered through the one, and they will be awed. So we must strike against Instapundit.com, and we must strike against it so hard with so loud a battle cry that the isolated tribes in Africa will shiver in fear. In the sound of battle, everyone will soon take note of the blogosphere, and, when the dust settles and the Enemy has fallen, they will no longer look to the Rush Limbaugh on the radio for commentary, they will not look to O'Reilly on the T.V. for analysis, and they will not look to the New York Times for news... THEY WILL LOOK TO US!!!

I need not just blogs to help in the battle, but blog readers as well. All people of all crafts need to join together and get the blogosphere the recognition it deserves. We need people to make banners, people to get the attention of the media, and people to keep an eye on the Enemy as his scheming to stop us.

We are the future, people. Our actions now will decide the fate of the world. And your grandchildren will ask you about the great blog war and upon which side you stood. Will you tell them you sided when the Enemy, forever to be his slave? Will you tell them you sat on the sidelines like the Swiss, mired in irrelevancy? Or will you tell them you took a stand for freedom, for democracy, and for intelligent news commentary?

Those are your choices. Bow before Instapundit.com and I promise you continued enslavement and a weakened blogosphere, but follow me and I promise you the respect you deserve, hundreds of millions of readers to split between us, and bag and bags of money.

WHO IS WITH ME?!!!!

No Frank Answers™ today. I have a lot of old questions I need to sort through and see if I'll ever answer, but still send new ones in. I especially like science questions.

People seemed to like the Bite-Sized Wisdom™ piece yesterday, so I'll probably do that more in the future. It's a good way to use some ideas I have that aren’t big enough to make a full post about.

My primer on firearms will continue tomorrow with a discussion on calibers.

I have read the Aquaman comic book, and plan to put my thoughts into words for that on Friday.

You may have noticed I now have a rotating poll on my main page (it will change to a different one each time you refresh). This was done at the behest of Jennifer who, by a majority vote, smells like a monkey. I've just added two more and will keep adding as it strikes my fancy. I can have up to fifty of them running at once.

I've gotten a number of war declarations so far, but I have martial arts tonight after work, so don't expect an update on that until tomorrow. Then, let's get the fight'n started! Only the strong shall survive!

"What are you guys doing?" White House Press Secretary Scott McClellan asked as he approached President Bush, Dick Cheney, and Donald Rumsfeld who were all wearing black leather jackets and wielding weapons of switchblades, bats, and chains.

"We're starting a biker gang called the Warmongerers," Bush answered.

"Is that a good idea?" Scott inquired dubiously.

"All the cool presidents were in biker gangs in their spare time," Bush explained, "Reagan cracked skulls every weekend, Nixon stabbed more people that you can count, Eisenhower was wanted by the law in most states, Teddy Roosevelt used to exercise his big stick while speeding on his hog, and Lincoln used to jump school buses on his Harley."

"Enough talking," Rumsfeld said, "I want to smash something!"

"You coming," Cheney asked Scott.

"I don't know if this is smart," Scott said.

"The guy is a dweeb," Bush remarked, "Let's ditch him."

"I'm not a dweeb!" Scott protested.

"Uh oh; my old lady is coming!" Bush exclaimed, "Everyone act cool."

Laura Bush walked by and looked at the four of them. "This looks suspiciously like a biker gang," she commented.

"No, we're just getting ready for Bible study, ain't we guys?" Bush said. Rumsfeld and Cheney nodded in agreement.

"Mr. McClellan, is this true?" Laura asked Scott.

Bush pointed a switchblade at Scott and gave him a stern look. "Uh... yeah... Bible study," Scott answered.

"Alright," Laura said, not looking quite convinced, "but I better not hear otherwise later."

She walked off, all the while keeping an eye on the four until she was out of sight.

"Thanks for covering for us, Scott," Bush told him, "You can be part of the gang now. We all have cool biker names." He pointed to Rumsfeld. "He's Mad Dog." Then to Cheney. "He's Chainman Charlie... and I'm Tex. Your biker name will be 'Skippy'."

"Skippy?"

Condoleezza Rice then walked by. "Hey, Condi," Bush called out, "Do you want to be a biker slut?"

"Someone has to stay here and keep watch of the country," she answered.

"But it's the weekend!" Bush exclaimed, "International incidents never happen on the weekend."

"Hey, do you want Colin Powell trying to make peace with everyone while we're all gone?" Condi asked.

"Okay, stay," Bush grumbled. He then turned to his gang. "Let's get rolling!"

"Yeah!" Rumsfeld and Cheney shouted, while Scott looked warily at one of the motorcycles.

"I've never driven one of these before," Scott said, "Do you at least have some helmets."

"Of course not," Cheney answered, "If I wreck my hog, I don't want to live!"

"Just get rolling, Skippy," Bush commanded, "Time to show this town who the real badasses are!"

* * * *

"Yee-ha!" Bush shouted as he rode his Harley over the top of the French ambassador's limousine.

"I surrender!" squealed the ambassador.

"Not accepted, Pierre!" Cheney answered, smashing one of the limo's windows with his chain as he rode by.

"Rarr!" Rumsfeld shouted, smashing the windshield with his bat.

"Now hit him with the Molotov cocktail, Skippy!" Bush called out to Scott.

Scott threw a bottle at the limo, which shattered and splashed liquid everywhere to no effect.

"You're supposed to light it, dumbass!" Cheney yelled.

"I'm sorry, but I'm not very experienced with this sort of thing," Scott said.

The limo drove off. "Aww, he got away!" Bush whined. "You have to shape up, Skippy."

"I'm trying," Scott said, "but did I really have to get a green mohawk?"

"Hey, we decided one of us needed to have a mohawk and it was a 3 to 1 vote that it should be you," Bush said.

"I want some drinking!" Cheney yelled.

"And I want some fighting!" Rumsfeld shouted.

"Off to the biker bar!" Bush yelled as he drove off, Rumsfeld and Cheney following with Scott wobbling far behind.

Soon they were to a shady looking bar and parked their motorcycles. "We need to find the toughest guy in their and beat him up," Bush told his gang, "That will show everyone we're boss."

"I don't know if this is all legal," Scott stated uneasily.

"We're above the law!" Rumsfeld shouted.

They entered the bar and Bush walked over to the bartender. "Who is the toughest guy here?"

"That would be Murder'n Carl," the bartender said, pointing over to a massive man who looked quite unstable, "He just got out of jail... for murder!"

"Thinks he's so tough because he's ripped people apart with his bare hands," Bush scoffed, "Go beat the crap out of him, Skippy."

"What?"

"Hey, Murder'n Carl!" Bush yelled, "Skippy says the reason they let you out of prison is because you’re such a pansy!"

"Then Skippy is dead!" Murder'n Carl yelled, grabbing Scott and lifting him into the air.

"Eep." Scott uttered as his life passed before his eyes.

"Hey, look over there, Tex" Cheney told Bush.

At a nearby table sat the Warmongerers' rivals. "Hey, Scott," Bush called out, "Stop getting beaten up by the murderer for a second and get over here."

Dizzy and in pain, Scott stumbled over to Bush. "What?"

"See over there?" Bush said, pointing at the table, "There's our rival gang, the Hell's Democrats."

"That's Governor Howard Dean, Representative Richard Gephardt, Senator Ted Kennedy, and Senator John Kerry," Scott stated, a bit surprised.

"Yeah, but in the biker world they are known respectively as The Dean, Dick the Knife, Big Fat Teddy K, and By the Way I Served in Vietnam."

"Let's kill 'em!" Rumsfeld shouted.

"Be cool, Mad Dog," Bush said, and then slowly walked over to the Hell's Democrats. "So," he chuckled, "If it isn't Deany Weenie, John Fairy, Big Fat Teddy Gay, and Dick... uh..." He thought for a moment. "Gephardt... Gephardt... What sounds like Gephardt?" He looked back to the Hell's Democrats. "....and Dick Dumbfart." Bush turned to his own gang. "Best I could come up with on short notice."

The Hell's Democrats all stood up. "We're going to rule this town!" Kerry shouted, "Just like I ruled when I was in Vietnam!"

"Yeah, you ain't so tough!" Dean said.

Big Fat Teddy K just chewed on a shank of ham.

"You guys think you can beat us," Bush laughed, "but you're just a bunch of jokers. By this time next year, the economy will have improved and we'll have found WMD's in Iraq... and then we'll make you eat them!"

Big Fat Teddy K just laughed.

"Hey, Chainman Charlie," Gephardt said snidely, "I see you ain't in hiding no more."

"Keep it up and the undisclosed location my foot will be in is your ass!" Cheney threatened.

"You guys are all talk, and I know talk, having been in Vietnam," Kerry said.

"You're soon going to be known as the haughty, French-looking Massachusetts Democrat, who by the way served in Vietnam and got ripped a new one by Rumsfeld!" Rumsfeld shouted.

Senator Joe Liberman then showed up. "Hey! There is no need for violence," he said, "I think we can settle this in a bipartisan..."

"Quiet, Jew-boy!" Big Fat Teddy K shouted as he broke a pool cue over Liberman's head.

"I'm gonna cut me a 'publican!" Gephardt yelled, pulling out a knife.

"Now why don't you guys back off before you get hurt," Dean said with a smirk.

"Know what," Bush said, "I think it's time for a preemptive strike... AGAINST YOUR FACE!" Bush then punched Howard Dean. Cheney whipped out his chain and knocked down Dick Gephardt.

"Rarr!" Rumsfeld shouted as he picked up John Kerry and tossed him across the room.

"Grerawerr!" Big Fat Teddy K snarled as he charged Scott who quickly tried to hide under a table.

"Eep."

* * * *

"I keep telling you," Condi said with frustration over the phone, "I had the nuclear launch codes, but I misplaced them. Now, I wouldn't want to be in your shoes if Finland isn't nuked by the time the President gets back... Yeah, that's right; he explicitly ordered Finland to be nuked while he was away... Hey, I'm not the one who is going to lose his job if Finland exists an hour from now... Yes, and he approved me to get that pizza on his credit card... President Bush is going to be so mad if he heard you denied me that pizza!"

"You in here, Dr. Rice?" Colin Powell called out from the hallway.

"Don't come in the war room!" Condi shouted, quickly trying to hide her map of the world with marks on it such as "Bomb here", "Invade here", and "Genocide here". "I'm not decent!"

* * * *

"You were supposed to have the pardons on you!" Cheney said angrily to Bush.

Rumsfeld just snarled and held onto the prison bars.

"I'm sorry!" Bush exclaimed, "I left them in my other biker jacket!"

"I can't believe it!" Scott cried, "I'm actually in prison!"

"Keep coo' yo," Bush told him, "Keep coo'."

"Okay, you troublemakers," the police chief said, "I'm letting you guys out for one press conference."

"Put a good spin on all this," Bush ordered Scott as they walked out to the prison steps where the press was waiting.

"Is it true that Bush and his administration is involved in a violent biker gang called the 'Warmongerers'?" asked one reporter.

"Now that's just silly," Scott said with a forced laugh.

"The French ambassador has told the police you harassed him," said another reporter.

"I'll murder him dead!" Bush shouted.

Scott raised his hand to silence Bush. "As we all know, the French are a race of liars," Scott told the press, "Only a fool would believe anything they say. Any other questions?"

Melinda Hawkish from Fox News stepped forward. "That green mohawk you have is so gay."

"That's not a question," Scott answered with annoyance.

"Uh oh; my old lady is coming!" Bush shouted, "Everyone hide your microphones and cameras."

"What's happening here?" Laura Bush demanded.

"We're just having a Bible study, dear," Bush answered innocently.

"On the steps of the police station?" Laura asked with suspicion.

"Yes; Police Chief O'Malley was nice enough to let us have our study here."

"Is that true, Chief O'Malley?"

He looked into the air. "Uh... sure, it's true."

"And why does Mr. McClellan have a mohawk?" Laura asked.

"You know Scott," Bush said with laugh, "He's an idiot; doesn't know how to present himself for Bible study."

"It's true; I am an idiot ma'am," Scott stated.

Laura kept looking at them all with suspicion. "From the clueless expression on these people here, they look a lot like reporters," Laura said, "Reporters assembled to hear a story about some lawlessness related to a biker gang."

"It's nothing like that, honey," Bush stated, "We're just studying our Bible stories."

"Which story are you studying, then?" Laura inquired.

"Uh... the one where Jesus... uh... fights the lions and... uh... blows up the Death Star."

"That doesn't sound like a real Bible story!" Laura exclaimed.

"Uh, Mrs. Bush," Scott interjected, "You see, being a bunch of doofuses, we forgot our Bibles and had to try and draw the stories from memory... and... well, we're all really dumb."

"It's true," Bush said and everyone nodded in agreement.

"Alright then," Laura said beginning to walk away as she kept a stern stare at Bush, "I'm heading to the store and am going to pick up your diarrhea medicine."

"Thanks, dear," Bush said with a smile while everyone snickered.

Once Laura was out of view, everyone let out a sigh of relief. "That was a close one," Bush said, and then patted Scott on the back. "Quick thinking there, Skippy. You'll make a great member of our violent biker gang yet." He then remembered the press was still there. "Which does not actually exist and did not smash up the German ambassador's limo."

"It was the French ambassador's limo we didn't smash up," Cheney reminded him.

"Oh yeah," Bush laughed, smacking himself in the forehead.

"Grerawerr!" came a snarl from nearby.

"It's Big Fat Teddy K looking for revenge!" Bush exclaimed, pushing Scott into the charging beast's path.

"Eep."

Jay Solo is having a vote of which actors you'd most like to see be governor. I vote for Bruce Willis (after he gets something past the legislators, he can say, "Yippee ki yi yay, motherf--kers!), Mel Gibson (more Catholic than the pope), and Clint Eastwood (he's just badass).

A story of armadillo hunting. As soon as I passed the “Welcome to Florida” sign when moving here, I saw my very first dead armadillo. I was like, "Wow! Exotic road kill!" Looked like a chunky lizard.

Kim du Toit doesn't want people having guns and wants the ATF to keep close tabs on the guns out there.

Michelle is having an Ashcroft t-shirt design contest. Yay! Why is everyone so scared of Ashcroft? I am going to have to work him into an In My World™ post one of these days.

Speaking of In My World™ posts, the one I've written for tomorrow had me cracking up. My humor is not always in tune with my readers (you often latch on to things I didn't think were money lines) but hopefully you'll enjoy this next one as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Apparently Glenn (not Reynolds) has been declaring war on me for a while and no one told me. We really need some formalized way for blogs to declare war on each other, as there are far too many blogs our there, and some need to be crushed to make way for others. As Emperor Misha I's Imperial Secretary of War, I will take it upon myself to organize war between blogs. In the future, if you wish to declare war against a blog, e-mail me with the subject "WAR!!!" and I will take care of the formal announcements.

As for Glenn (not Reynolds), I don't know why he declared war on me. Was it because I looked at him funny? Was it because a while back I ranted on about how I hate black people? Anyway, his terms are ludicrous. He expects to get link from Instapundit, have me surrender to him, then join up with me. Instead, I offer that he join up with me now to destroy the puppy blender and I will give him a permalink. I will not move on those terms, for I am Frank J., and all shall fear me.

So, in the future, if you wish to declare war on me or some other blog, e-mail the declaration to me. Let's keep this formal.

SallyVee Answers

Mitchell G., MD from Saint Cloud, Minnesota writes:
As you may or may not know, Minnesota recently passed a concealed carry law. All law-abiding citizens are issued permits now. But...
I hope you can help me. I'm a physician in a group practice, and a couple of my partners and our administrators are pushing having one of those "Guns not welcome" signs in the window of our office. I know all the arguments against them, and have expressed them, but I'm getting nowhere, and it's making me sick. I sense that my partners are going to outvote me and a few like-minded friends. So I sold out, figuring that half a loaf was better than none: I proposed coming up with wording that would express the desire that guns not be allowed, and yet with a disclaimer. I prefer the one at www.gunfreezones.com but I don't think they'll go for it!
I am thinking of something along the lines of this, but more succinct and well-put that I have been able to come up with yet: "Although we respect the 2nd amendment, please leave your firearm in your car." Have you ever heard of a sign expressing the same sentiments? Any ideas?

Mitch: This is ludicrous, which should become evident to even the dumbest of dumbasses as you try to write the stupid sign. How are you going to enforce the request, btw? You gonna have the nurses pat everyone down--could get interesting and may help with client retention.
That said, how 'bout this for your sign: THANK YOU FOR NOT SHOOTING

Frank Answers

Jonag from Chandler, Arizona writes:
I just read in the paper that there is now a shortage of lab monkeys to use for experiments. Why do you think that is? Did you have anything to do with it?

I've had nothing to do with at no one has presented any evidence otherwise. I would say, though, that a sudden dissapearance of monkeys is cause for concern. Most likely that means they are doing their final plotting for a strike against us. Make sure to stock up on shotgun shells and anti-monkey spray.

Curtis from the backwoods asks:
Why do we have to go steal oil? Why not just power everything with nuclear reactions?

Yeah, power everything with nuclear reactions; that’s a great idea! Then, when we have a car wreck, it will take out half the state. Plus, when everyone slows down to look at the wreck, they'll get radiated (you have to at least be going 65mph to outrun radiation).

* * * *

Please keep the questions coming, e-mailing me with the subject "Frank Answers" and include your name and town after the question and blog URL if you have one. Since I like the whole name and town dynamic, if you don't give me a place you're from, I'll randomly select one.

When I was a kid, we never heard of ADD. Anyway, my mind tends to jump from subject to subject at a pretty quick pace, and I've decided to go with it and comment on whatever pops into mind.

* I'm actually a bit conflicted about this California recall election. I do want a Republican Governor, but the whole recall concept seems wrong when they just reelected Gray Davis not that long ago. Hey, jackasses, you're stuck with him! Then again, I guess it's easy for me to be principled when I don't have to live in California. And, I am an uber-partisan, so I probably would end up helping in any skullduggery to get more people with R's next to their name in office. Well, I'm just glad Arnold entering the race has knocked the Kobe Bryant thing out of the news. I didn't give a rats ass about that; it didn't involve Republicans or Democrats or Iraq or anything.

* A bunch of people sent me this article, and no, I did not kill all the rhesus monkeys. And, if I did, where is your proof?

* You hear about problems in Liberia and then problems in the Congo and then they’re always asking on T.V. for money to help feed all the starving people in Africa. Have you ever heard of people say, "Wow, what that place in Africa is a great place to live!" No, you haven't. Africa is just a bad; everyone should just get out. Leave it all to the monkeys and lions.

* I forget if I have said it on my webpage, but Dennis Kucinich is a total nut. I wish he was doing better in the polls.

* My prediction for the election is that Howard Dean will be the Democrat candidate and then, before the election, the economy will improve and WMD's will be discovered. Bush wins the election 535 to 3, the 3 electoral voted being D.C.'s. They elect crack mayors, so there is no way a Republican could win in D.C. Whose bright idea was it to give them electoral votes in the first place?

* I like Fox News, but please drop the phrase "homicide bombings". It's just too idiotic. Why don't you just call them what they are: "Islamic scum jackass bombings where at least the piece of s--t terrorist died too". Not as succinct, but they can make it work.

* U.S. troops getting killing in Iraq really pisses me off, and I hope they can hunt down the bastards and fill them with holes. What I also hate is how all the peaceniks who were for Saddam still terrorizing his people are now acting like they care about American troops so they can condemn Bush. I think we should all be more on the ball about kicking them in the nuts.

* Arnold Schwarzenegger seems to be making the education of children a central part of his campaign. He then should get T.V. stations to rerun his move Kindergarten Cop. It has my all-time favorite Arnold line of, "It's naught a too-mah!" He could use a variation of that as a campaign line. "Gray Davis is a too-mah!"

* We should have a Punch a Democrat Day. Less people will be Democrats if they find out it means they will get punched.

* The Unabomber wants the government to give him his bombs and books back. Alright. (lights fuse) "Here's your bomb back."

* There is a worm spreading on the internet that will target a Microsoft website. Microsoft is releasing a patch to prevent it, but, hey, what's in it for us?

* I found out they sell a Paul Chen Zatoichi sword on Ebay. I think I should get one and practice my blind swordsmanship. That way if I get older and lose my eyesight, I can still kill bad people.

* I've decided to refuse to look up whether I'm spelling Schwarzenegger right. If I'm not, I'm sure you know whom I mean.

* If Arnold ever has to debate someone, I think in the middle he should headbutt the guy. Usually before the debate, advisors try to think of everything the opponent might say and then come up with a response. I don't think they'll expect the headbutt, though.

* I'm pretty sure I can always be happy in life as long as I enjoy eating at Taco Bell and drinking a Budweiser.

* According to Fox News, Fox News is suing Al Franken. Whatever happened to the good 'ole days of just roughing someone up a bit?

* I only drink my coffee black; how unusual is that? I don't understand the concept of putting sugar and cream in coffee; I want a cup of joe, not a damn milkshake.

* Living alone, it makes me sleep safer at night knowing I have my .45 at my bedside. It's like a security blanket, but much easier to kill someone with. I also just got a security system installed. I'm still considering of whether to put out the ADT signs or just let it be a surprise to a burglar. Anyway, I now feel much better about leaving my guns all home alone. It's not like a gun can defend itself... or maybe I could design one that knows to shoot an intruder. Hmm... is there anyway that could go horribly wrong? Nope, can't think of anyway. I'm going to get working on the design.

I like laughing at Frank and Fritz because they're dumb enough to live in California. I remember the one thing I said to recruiters when they asked where I would like to work: "I'm open for anything except for California." On the Fritz did beat me and Scrappleface in a recent bidding war, though.

Harvey of Bad Money has proof of Chomps' existence. Also, look on his sidebar for his official "First Loser" logo for coming in second place in the Super Lucky Happy Fun Permalink Contest Number One.

The Blog of Xanadu, another contest loser, has changed into Quibbles and Bits.

Israeli Guy has a warning for Israeli bus passengers (August 11, 2003 entry).

Emperor Misha I has a guest column in which a ClueByFour™ is applied liberally to a former human shield who is getting fined by the government.

My boss at work, tired of me belittling Aquaman, bought me Aquaman number 25 from October '96. It sits right now on my coffee table in its protective sleeve, as I have not read a comic book in a long, long time, so I wish to savor the experience. As soon as I have some sufficient free time, I'm going to pour myself a brandy, put on some classical music, and read the comic from start to finish. I will then write a review of the comic and see if I have to recant my insults against the king of Atlantis.

I've been wanting to comment on Arnold Schwarzenegger running for governor of California, but for the time being I don't have much to add past this previous post if you hadn't read it.

Part I
Part II

"Place could be booby-trapped," Bush declared, "Scott, open the door."

"Why do I..."

"Stop being such a pansy!"

"Okay." Scott carefully opened the door to the White House while Bush, Buck, and Zatoichi watched. "Man, looks like the place was trashed!" he exclaimed.

Garbage littered the floors. Most of the furniture was overturned. "Terrorist attack," Bush ventured.

Ichi sniffed around. "Smells like... kegger party."

Bush then spotted his two daughters. "Jenna and Barbara, did you throw an all night kegger party at the White House?"

"I'm Barbara and she's Jenna," Barbara said angrily.

"Whatever. You two are twins; how am I supposed to tell you apart?"

"We're not identical twins," Jenna exclaimed, "We don't even look alike in the least."

"Fine; not stop avoiding the question. Did you trash my White House?"

"It's not your White House, Mr. Not-President," Barbara answered, "Dr. Rice said we could use it for our parties."

"You don't listen to Condi; you listen to your father!" Bush demanded.

"Hey, at least she gives us money," Jenna responded.

"I stopped giving you money at college because I know all you do is spend it on booze. What is she giving you money for?"

"She's paying us ten bucks an hour to help her take over the world," Barbara explained.

"You shouldn't help her!" Bush exclaimed, "She's evil!"

His two daughters both rolled their eyes. "Yeah, she's the one who is evil," Jenna laughed, "I heard about the mean, sexist things you said to her."

"You really should apologize," Barbara added.

"She's just being too sensitive," Bush insisted, "Now where is her secret fortress?"

"We're not telling you," Jenna said. She then turned to Barbara. "Let's get going. Dr. Rice said we can pick the next country to bomb."

"Why don't you and your friends go back to your ranch in Texas and play war there?" Barbara commented derisively as she followed Jenna.

"You should discipline your daughters better," Ichi stated.

Bush scoffed. "Why does every blind samurai without children think he knows better how to raise my daughters?"

"What mean sexist things did you say?" Buck asked.

"Forget it, Buck," Bush commanded, "The important thing is I get back my presidency without apologizing."

Just then Laura Bush walked into the White House. "Oh dear!" she exclaimed, looking at the mess in complete and utter horror. "White House tours start in an hour. They'll think I'm the worst first lady ever!"

"It was all Barbara and Jenna's doing now that they're working for Condi," Bush told her, "Or was it Jenna and Barbara? Which one has red hair?"

"Neither," Laura answered angrily, "and I can see why they would act like this when their father sets such a bad example. If you just had apologized to Dr. Rice for being so sexist, we would have never had this mess."

Bush groaned. "It's like people think I'm supposed to apologize every time I do something wrong; it's ridiculous." He turned to Scott, Buck, and Ichi. "Let's try and find that secret fortress."

"We could follow your daughters," Ichi suggested.

"Good thinking, Ichi," Bush responded, "I'll drive and you keep an eye on them."

Ichi shook his head. "You're an idiot."

Bush fixed his cowboy hat. "An idiot who's getting his presidency back."

* * * *

Bush, Scott, Buck, and Zatoichi slowly approached Condoleezza Rice's secret fortress. "I always knew there was something suspicious about this hollowed out volcano just outside of D.C.," Bush remarked.

Suddenly a gunshot hit near them and they all ran for cover behind a large rock. "Is that Barbara shooting at us?" Bush asked, peeking out from behind the rock.

"It's Jenna!" she answered angrily as another shot flew just past Bush's head.

"Barbara is watching us from the other sniper tower," Buck commented, "I think we're pinned down."

"You can get passed them," Bush told Ichi, "They can't see you."

"That's invisible!" Ichi exclaimed with annoyance, "Blind means I can't see them!"

"Geez; come down, Ichi."

"We need a diversion," Buck said, "Someone to draw their fire."

All eyes went to Scott. "What?"

"Run out there Scott and distract them," Bush commanded.

"But... uh... I don't want to get shot."

"Don't be such a baby," Bush said, "They're just firing paintballs."

"You sure about that?"

"Yeah," Bush answered, shoving Scott out from cover. Scott then started running.

"God, is that guy gullible," Bush chuckled, "Now let's get going!"

Bush, Buck, and Ichi ran for the fortress's entrance, with Bush guiding Ichi along by holding on to his cane. Once they got to the entrance, they heard Scott yell, "Ahh! My leg!"

"Should we go help him?" Buck asked.

"That's what they want us to do," Bush answered, "She wounds someone so she can pick the rest off as we try and help him. I've seen Jenna do this before, and I ain't falling for it again."

"It was Barbara who shot him," Ichi remarked.

"Who can tell them apart," Bush exclaimed.

There was another gunshot. "Ahh! My other leg!" Scott yelled.

"You're doing great, Scott!" Bush called out to him, "Way to take one for the team!" Bush then prepared to open the door to the fortress. "Everyone get ready."

Inside were six military death machines. Bush and Buck charged firing their machine guns while Zatoichi drew his sword and came in swinging. "Who's the leader of the Executive Branch?" Bush yelled as he blew up the last of them.

"Blowing up robots is kinda fun," Buck declared with a smile. "If I can't become a Marine again, I think I'll get a job as a robot exterminator."

"You'll get your job back," Bush declared as he charged forward. They soon came to a large room where Condi sat at a throne at the far end.

"Ha!" Bush laughed, "Your military death machines fight like they were made by a girl!"

"I'll make you eat your words," Condi declared as she stood up. She wore a costume of green with a purple cape and mask.

"Wow!" Bush exclaimed, "You have villainess costume and everything!"

"I take my job seriously," Condi said, "Unlike some people." She then pressed a button on a remote control and even larger robots now came after Bush and his company. "Let's see how you do against my new and improved models. Muh ha ha ha!"

Bush and Buck fired their guns, but their bullets bounced off their metal hides. Ichi's sword clang uselessly against them. The three then cowered in the center of the room while the robots surrounded them.

"I think we might be done for, chief," Buck declared.

"Ichi, use your ninja magic or something," Bush said.

"I'm a samurai!" Ichi yelled with annoyance, and then swung his cane hitting Buck in the head. "Sorry; I'm not so magically attuned to my other senses when I'm mad."

"It's alright," Buck said as he looked at the deadly robots and tried to contemplate what to do.

"There's an extra secret ingredient to these robots," Condi said. A wall opened up and there was Chomps in a cage and Rumsfeld chained to the wall. "I've collected the combined anger of Chomps and Rumsfeld and imbued the robots with it. To stimulate that anger, I have a hippy reading political opinion pieces by Noam Chomsky to them.

There sat a hippy, gleefully reading a book by Noam Chomsky as Chomps and Rumsfeld struggled with all their might to break from their constraints and kill the hippy.

"My God!" Bush exclaimed, "That's so diabolical it's kinda funny!"

"With my robots, I'll destroy all of America's enemies, foreign and domestic," Condi declared, "Then all shall worship me and declare you a worthless idiot."

"So are you going to kill us with your robots?" Bush asked.

"That is the plan," Condi said.

"Just like a woman to have robots do her killing," Bush laughed.

Condi looked steamed. "Fine! I'll kill you myself!" She walked up to Bush and sunk into a martial arts stance.

Bush rolled up his sleeves. "Now I don't want to hit a gir..."

Condi kicked him the stomach and then elbowed him in the chin, knocking Bush to the ground.

"Help!" Bush exclaimed, "Condi is beating me up!"

Laura now stormed into the room, dragging Barbara and Jenna by their ears. Scott crawled in behind her. "Do you know what your daughters were doing?" Laura said angrily, "Trying to snipe their own mother, that's what!"

"Why are they always my daughters when they're trying to kill us," Bush groaned as he got himself off the ground.

"Dr. Rice, what are you doing in that silly outfit?" Laura asked.

"Killing your husband and then taking over the world," Condi said defensively.

Laura rolled her eyes. "Okay, I cleaned up the White House and made enough punch and pie for everyone... but you only get it if you all make up. Now, George, why don't you finally apologize to Dr. Rice for the mean things you said and set a good example for your daughters."

"Apologize?" Bush said distastefully.

"Come on," Ichi urged, "We want punch and pie!"

"Fine," Bush said, first looking at the ground for a moment, but then finally facing Condi eye to eye. "I'm sorry I said those mean sexist things. You can be just as mindlessly hawkish as any man around… if not more so."

"And do you have something to say to George, Dr. Rice?" Laura urged.

"I guess I overreacted a bit when I tried to have you killed by Islamic extremists, became a supervillian, and turned America into a police state," Condi told Bush, "I'm sorry."

"Happens to the best of us," Bush said, patting her on the shoulder. He then looked to Laura. "So do we get punch and pie now?"

"Fist you have to apologize to Daschle for breaking his nose for no good reason," Laura said as Daschle then walked into the room with bandages on his nose.

"But I had a good reason!" Bush insisted, "I don't like him!"

"George!" Laura shouted sternly.

"I'm sorry, Daschle," Bush said, "It's not your fault your a slimy weasel; that's just the way God made you."

"I'm saddened by..."

"Hey!" Bush interrupted, "You're not going to help by talking!"

"Guess I better let Chomps and Rumsfeld go," Condi said as she hit a button on her remote. The constraints fell off of Rumsfeld and the cage door opened for Chomps.

"Rarr!" Rumsfeld shouted.

"Grrraw!" Chomps growled.

"Uh oh!" exclaimed the hippy, holding the Noam Chomsky book in front of him as a shield.

"That one dead hippy," Bush remarked, quickly looking for a place to shield himself from the splash damage.

* * * *

The entire group sat around a picnic table on the White House lawn enjoying punch and pie. "I've learned something today," Bush declared, "Anyone can be whatever they set their heart on. A woman can be just as good a cabinet member as a man, a blind man can be a samurai, and a dog with a sever anti-social personality disorder can be an award winning U.N. peacekeeper."

"I learned something too," Condi said, "That if what someone says offends me, I should confront the person directly instead of trying to secretly have him killed and then turn the U.S. into a police state."

"That last part is Ashcroft's job," Bush chuckled.

"And I learned that while blowing up robots is fun, nothing beats stabbing a for'ner with my KaBar while the Old Glory flies on a pole behind me," Buck stated.

"And I learned never to trust President Bush," Scott said angrily, "He even signed my cast with the name 'I. P. Freely'."

"Yeah, that is pretty funny," Bush chuckled.

"Sorry about shooting you in the leg," Barbara said, "I didn't mean to. But that's what I learned: when sniping, you have to adjust for the gravitational arc of the bullet."

"And don't forget windage," Jenna added.

"I didn't learn anything," Rumsfeld declared, "I'm too old."

"I learned that Bush's ineffectual leadership can cause tragedy in both the foreign and domestic arena," Daschle commented, "and it saddens me."

"That reminds me of another thing I learned," Bush said, "The capital of Thailand."

"That capital of Thailand?" Daschle said with confusion.

"Yeah: Punchyouintheballs!" Bush exclaimed, and then punched Daschle in the groin.

"I learn I charge 150 bu for this job," Zatoichi said.

Bush rose to his feet as Daschle fell out of his chair. "150 bu! That's outrageous!"

Ichi's hand moved towards his cane.

"Okay! Okay! 150 bu it is!" Bush said, sitting back down and covering his neck, "These ties are expensive."

"Well I'm glad most everyone learned something today," Laura said, serving more pie.

"I bet Chomps didn't learn anything," Bush chuckled, "He's just a stupid dog. Look at him there sitting on the lawn chewing on a car bumper - Hey! That's my car bumper!"

Bush rolled up a newspaper and ran over to Chomps. He then struck the dog on the head while yelling, "Bad dog!"

Very slowly Chomps stopped chewing on the car bumper and turned his head to look at Bush. "I don't think he liked that," Rumsfeld said, "What paper was it?"

Bush unrolled it. "It was the New York Times."

"Then you just added insult to injury," Rumsfeld stated gravely.

Chomps brimmed with fury. His blood shot eyes bulged as he growled and bared his jagged teeth.

Bush backed away slowly as he prepared to run. "If anyone needs me, I'll be up in a tree."

THE END

Today my younger sister Sarah, turns 22. Thus I make this National Silly Sister Day, a celebration of silly younger sisters.

In addition, if any big Hollywood producers are reading this, if you need a hot, up and coming costume designer, my silly sister Sarah is perfect for the job. I'm also still available for any leading roles in action films.

BTW, your present is going to be a little late, Silly. I did the smart thing, though, and used one of the icons on the right to go to Amazon.com to order it so my website gets credit for it. Now that I'm an affiliate, it's like I get my own personal discount!

NOTE: Do not make your own webpage and become an Amazon.com affiliate; only use my icons to order from them. I deserve the money more.

I have things to do, so I was going to skip Links of the Day™ for today, but I got a plea from Maripat to plug Catholic Pundits, a new group blog of Catholics. As you all know, I am a Catholic, so I couldn't refuse. Go check it out if you're a Catholic or are thinking of owning one.

Other than that, I'll see you all Monday with the thrilling yet predictable conclusion to In My World: Condi's Coup.

M & R Homiller from Hell's Kitchen, NY asks:
Where are all the dead birds?

Obviously you've never cleaned out a rain gutter.

Jason H. from the furthest planet from the sun writes:
Frank, in regards to vegetarians, what do you suppose they would have the rest of us do with cows if we all suddenly turned into goofy vegetarians? I mean, what other reason would a cow be on the Earth if we weren't supposed to make burgers and gloves out of them? I hope you can shed some light on this situation. Thanks.

The vegetarians’ plan is to slaughter all cows in a merciless frenzy of blood and mayhem. A cow will always stand as the symbol of meat eating, and, for that, vegetarians hate them with every fiber of their soul. I don't even like to think of the horrible things they'll do to the poor cows if they have their way. The horror... the horror...

Don A. from Hicksville writes:
No one else seems to know the answer to this, so I'm going to THE definitive
source: Why are the keypads for calculators and telephones reversed? I don't know whether to blame the French or the monkeys. uh...is there a difference?

First of all, yes, there is a difference between the French and monkeys. One is a putrid, subhuman creature that has no knowledge of right and wrong and the other has a tail.

As for about the order of numbers question, I didn't know the answer offhand so I went to the local siencetorium in search of answers. When I entered, I said, "Hello, scientists!"

And they said, "Hello, Frank J. What science questions can we help you with today?"

"Why is the number order on a calculator different than that of a telephone?"

Their faces all went pale. "Begone!" shouted one, "You asks question of which the answers are best left unknown!"

"You're a bunch of dinguses," I said as I left the sciencetorium.

Well, quite obvious from their reaction, this all had to do with some demonic curse involving Alexander Graham Bell. So, I went to my local Alexander Graham Bell grave and dug up his body. When I opened the casket, there was a skeleton in there just like one would expect. Seemed to be a dead end, so I just stole one of his fingers to later auction on E-bay and went home.

The next step, of course, was to build a telephone with the numbers in the same order as a calculator keypad. So I bought a cheap phone from Wal-Mart, broke it apart, rewired it and placed the keys in the same order of the calculator keypad (I also swapped the * and the 0 since the 0 is usually on the lower left hand corner of a calculator). I plugged in the phone and picked up the reciever. There was a dial tone and nothing evil. So I thought I might as well dial up the sciencetorium and tell them they're a bunch of dinguses again.

As I dialed, suddenly the world around me went dark. From behind me came a sinister laugh.

Learning from previous experiments, I had a shotgun handy. I grabbed it and spun around. "Alexander Graham Bell, I presume."

"Wrong!" answered the spectral figure, "It is I, Elisha Gray, whom Bell stole the idea of teleor from. In vengeance, I invented telemarketing, to forever plague those who had a phone. But that was not enough. When I died, I sent my evil spirit to constantly dial people in the middle of the night and then breathe heavily into the phone. But, they rearranged the keypad on the phone to confuse my spirit and stop my curse. But now you have awakened me. Bwa ha ha ha!"

"You die good now!" I yelled, and fired at him with my shotgun.

"Ha! Your mortal weapon is no match for my spectral powers. Bwa ha ha ha!"

"Wait here," I told the evil spirit as I ran to my guest room. From out of the closet I got my vacuum and plugged it in. I then used the hose extension to suck up Elisha Gray.

"Nooooo!' he shouted as I sucked him up good.

I then figured I better dispose of that vacuum bag quickly, but it wasn't full yet and they're kinda a pain to replace. So I guess I'll get rid of Gray after the next time I vacuum, i.e., in a couple months.

* * * *

Please keep the questions coming, e-mailing me with the subject "Frank Answers" and include your name and town after the question and blog URL if you have one. Since I like the whole name and town dynamic, if you don't give me a place you're from, I'll randomly select one.

Part I

"What's this place?" Rumsfeld asked, looking around.

"It's my secret fortress inside a hollowed out volcano," Condoleezza Rice answered, sitting at her throne. "I decided to move my operations here to keep a lower profile."

"I don't know if I like it," Rumsfeld said. Chomps added a growl for good measure.

"You don't need to," Rice answered sternly.

"And what's with the mask," Rumsfeld asked, "Everyone knows who you are."

"It goes with the cape," Rice answered tersely.

Jenna Bush walked into the room. "France is calling. They're trying to surrender again."

"But I haven't even threatened them yet!" Rice fumed, "Tell them they can't surrender until I at least threaten them with war. If they call again, just hang up on them."

Jenna left the room. "Was that one of Bush's daughters?" Rumsfeld inquired.

"She and Barbara needed summer jobs for beer money so I hired them as evil minions," Rice answered.

"I don't know if I like all this hollowed out volcano and evil minion crap," Rumsfeld growled.

"Just keep to your warring," Rice ordered, "I now have even more of my military death machines to help you." The giant robots marched into the room, looking ready to kill. "They are in everyway superior to human soldiers. They are tireless, strong, and... is one missing a head?" She spotted Chomps chewing on a robot head. "That dog is an annoyance!" She thought for a moment. "But maybe I have a use for him..."

"North Korea called," Jenna called out. "They say they won't have multilateral talks and only will talk with the United States."

"I'll tell them who they will talk to!" Rice shouted, "I know who to send to handle this. Ha; all these international problems or so easy to deal with now that Bush is out of the way. Soon I will be known as the most effective leader of the U.S. ever. Muh ha ha ha!"

"I'll be at a bar," Rumsfeld grumbled as he walked away.

* * * *

"Ha ha ha! Pretty colors!" Kim Jong Il laughed as he played with his kaleidoscope.

"We're here to talk to you about your nuclear weapons," said a fierce voice from behind him.

"What!" Jong exclaimed, "I only talk to U.S."

"Well the U.S. don't want to talk to you," said the thug, "Instead you're talking to me."

"And who are you?"

"Vinnie, from Jersey," the man answered. He them motioned to the muscle bound man next to him. "And this here is Rocko."

"I don't know you! I don't talk to you! Only to U.S.!" Jong exclaimed.

"Oh, I think you'll talk to us," Vinnie threatened, "And guess what; we'll give you a free hair cut as part of the deal." Vinnie snapped his fingers. Rocko then pulled out an electric clipper and approached Kim Jong Il.

"No!" Jong exclaimed, "Not my poofy hair! Noooooo!!"

* * * *

"What are you doing up in that tree?" Laura demanded, "We're you drinking again?"

"No," Bush answered, "Chomps chased me up here. Is he gone now?"

"I think so," Laura said, looking at the tree, "Nearly chewed the tree down, though."

Bush climbed down. "Is that Zatoichi behind you?" he asked angrily, "That coward ran away!"

"You said nothing about large robots," Ichi answered sternly, "You want me fight robots: 100 bu."

"That's double your fee!" Bush yelled angrily, "There no way in hell I'm going to pay that..."

The click of the sword returning to its sheath was the only evidence Bush had that Ichi sword was drawn. His tie then fell off his neck to the ground.

"Okay, you drive a hard bargain, Ichi," Bush said more calmly, "100 bu it is."

"Have you heard what happened while you were up in that tree?" Laura asked, "Dr. Rice has taken over America and turned it into a police state. You need to talk to her and apologize for your sexist remarks to end this madness."

"Laura, Laura, Laura," Bush chuckled, shaking his head, "Politics isn't about talking and apologies; it's about blind samurai and robots with gattling gun arms. Now, come on, Ichi, we have work to do."

* * * *

"Okay, everyone, I know this is new for all of us," White House Press Secretary Scott McClellan announced, "This is the first time the U.S. has had a military coup, and this is also the first time I have given a press conference with a robot pointing a gun at my head if I misspeak." He glanced warily at the large robot behind him. "So, any questions?"

Fox News Reporter Melinda Hawkish stepped forward.

"I would think you'd be happy with all this," Scott said, "We have war with about every country out there. What are you concerned about?"

"I'm just wondering, as assume most of our viewers are, what caliber bullet will be shot through your head if you misspeak?" Melinda asked.

"I don't know," Scott answered with annoyance. "Any other questions?"

"Why does Bush want to kill Iraqi children?" Helen Thomas asked, "What did Iraqi children ever do to him?"

"Are you even paying attention?" Scott exclaimed with exasperation, "That questions has nothing to do with anything!"

"Where are my pills? Who took my pills?" Helen responded.

"For the last time, Ari Fleischer stole them before he left," Scott answered, "Go talk to him."

"Is it true that mafia thugs shaved the head of Kim Jong Il at Empress Rice's command?" asked another reporter. "Is it really wise to be associated with organized crime."

"Empress Rice is trying to come up with creative solutions to problems," Scott said, "And she thinks her new strategies are much more effective than Bush, who she terms a 'goober'."

"Many Democrats are complaining about being hunted down by robots when they oppose Empress Rice's policies," said a reporter, "They are then hunted down by robots after that complaining. How do you respond to that?"

"That's just politics," Scott said, "Sometimes it's rough, but, if all the Democrats can do is whine about it, that shows just how bereft of ideas they are. Any other questions?"

"Is that samurai approaching you blind?"

"Huh?" Scott exclaimed, looking behind him. With a swish of a blade, the gattling gun arm of the robot was severed. With another slice, the head fell to the ground.

"Come on, Scott," Bush said, running in front of the reporters," We're taking America back."

"Uh, okay," Scott said dubiously.

"Is it true, ousted President Bush, that you said mean sexist things to Empress Rice?" asked a reporter.

"I was just joking," Bush responded, "She shouldn't be so sensitive. And I want to assure the American people that Condi's reign of terror will soon end. I will get back in power, stop her mindless hawkishness, and get the economy on track."

"Actually, the stock market shot up when it was found out you were pinned up in a tree by an angry dog," Melinda told him.

"What!" Bush exclaimed angrily, and then looked right into the cameras. "You guys suck! I'm going to be president again, anyway, though."

* * * *

"Where's Chomps?" Rumsfeld inquired.

"Right where he won't do me any trouble," Rice said walking over to a metal cage. Inside was Chomps who was extremely angry. Condi made faces at him, and he snarled and growled but couldn't bite through the metal bars.

"That's cruel!" Rumsfeld exclaimed, "He should be running free, extracting his mindless anger on whatever he sees."

"I have better plans for him," Rice answered.

"And what's this with laying off the troops?" Rumsfeld asked.

"Now that I have my robots, I have no need for them. Come to think of it, I have no need for you."

A robot walked up from behind Rumsfeld and grabbed him. "Rarr!" Rumsfeld shouted, but couldn't break the robots grip.

"'Rarr' all you want," Rice said, "These robots are too strong for you." Rice thought for a while evilly. "Actually, save your anger; I have use for it. Muh ha ha ha!"

"Jenna and I are going for a lunch run," Barbara interrupted, "What kind of sub do you want from Subway?"

"Turkey with light mayo," Rice answered, "and they better get it right or they will be destroyed!"

* * * *

Bush, Zatoichi, and Scott barged into Buck the Marine's house. "Buck, we need your help," Bush exclaimed.

Buck was sitting in a chair looking all sullen.

"What's the matter, Buck?" Bush asked with concern.

"I got dismissed from the Marines," Buck said mournfully, "They think robots can replace us Marines, but a robot can't understand the intricacies of kill'n a for'ner no more than can it paint art or write poetry."

"I'm sorry, Buck," Bush answered, "Can't you get a job as a mercenary?"

"But I only liked kill'n for'ners for America," Buck said, "That's my favorite thing of all to kill people for."

"Well, we're going to overthrow Condi," Bush told him, "Then you can be back in the Marines. Want to help us?"

"Sure," Buck answered, cheering up a bit, "but won't we be kill'n robots? I only know about kill'n for'ners. It's not like you can stick robots with a KaBar."

"If it helps," Bush said, "I think a lot of their parts are made in China."

"Foreign robots!" Buck exclaimed, "I'm in!"

"So, do you have weaponry?"

"Some." Buck opened the door to a room filled with guns of all kinds.

"Hot damn," Bush exclaimed and then picked up a machine gun, "Condi will be sorry she usurped me, that's for sure. You want a gun, Ichi?"

"I prefer sword," he answered curtly.

"You pick something out, Scott."

"Uh, I'm not really a gun person," he said uneasily, "I don't think I'll be much use on a siege or anything."

Bush rolled his eyes. "What a diverse staff I got now. I have women, minorities, a blind guy, and now a homosexual."

"Hey!" Scott exclaimed, "That's not called for!"

Bush tossed him a shotgun. "Be a man!"

Senator Tom Daschle walked into the room. "I've been looking for you," he said, "The current government is a disaster."

"And we're handling it, Daschle," Bush answered with annoyance, "And we don't need any whiny Democrats to help us."

"I think this just proves what a poor leader you are," Daschle said, "I am saddened how you couldn't keep control of your own administration, your sexist remarks leading to..."

"Hey, Daschle," Bush interrupted, "There's something on your nose."

"What?"

"My forehead." Bush grabbed Daschle by the shoulders and then headbutted him.

"You broke my nose!"

"Then I did it right."

Daschle ran out of the room.

"Now we going to blow up some foreign robots?" Buck asked, loading some magazines.

"Damn straight," Bush answered. He then put on his cowboy hat and chambered a round into his rifle. "Time for some politics of massive destruction!"

TO BE CONCLUDED...

Jarred, winner of the Super Lucky Happy Fun Permalink Contest Number One, fisks someone who claims to be a "casual aquaintance" with a terrorist.

It's Thursday, which means it's time for MYONGWATCH! You go now!

With the new term "metrosexual" making its rounds, LittleA has some even newer words. I just have to say one thing, though: my Walther PPK does not "bulge".

Nice gun picture, but maybe a different shirt might make it look better...

Finally, Blackfive shows that IMAO's influence can spice up boring IT reports.

Some people have been making mean films about me - don't bother looking for them - and, instead of responding to them individually, I've made a film that makes fun of everyone who isn't me.

Also, I'll probably write the second part of In My World: Condi's Coup for tomorrow because it'll be easier than thinking of something new to write about. Just don't expect it until around the afternoon because I have tomorrow off and plan to sleep in. I'll also try to put up another Frank Answers™ since my being busy at work has kept me from doing them lately.

I am just curious how many people read the In My World™ posts on a regular basis, so I put up a poll. Please only vote once, and the results are visible since this is just to be informative. The poll assumes that you like some sort of posts on this site, so, if you completely hate my site, please don't vote. To everyone else, I'd appreciate a second of your time to vote on the poll.

UPDATE: Just to clear something up, the poll is not to figure out whether to stop doing IMW or change it or anything, it's just to find out how many regular readers of IMW I actually have. If you tend to read IMW, please vote for one of the first two options. If you like my IMW posts, you owe me that much. Thanks.

Please use the comments section of this post to discuss the permalink contest. I know some people thought it was a distraction, but I figured they could just skip those posts and read the other stuff. I plan on another, shorter competition later which will be a bit different, but I would like to hear some feedback from my readers first.

I got this letter recently:

First of all, I absolutely love your website. In fact, I visit it religiously and have bookmarked it on all of the computers in my school's lab...but anyway, I have a little suggestion for your website! You seem to know a whole lot about guns, which is very cool. I, however, don't. I find this to be very sad, seeing as I am an extremely patriotic and violent warmonger-y American. I do own a gun that my father gave me when I left home for the first time, and I know how to use it, but to this day I have no clue what the heck it is. All I know is that it makes a big noise and is extremely effective in killing people. Though I'm sure you're very busy, I think it would be beneficial if you made a "guns for dummies" type page where you explain different guns and what kind of power they have. This would be great for us females, in case a communist/hippy/ninja/Hillary Clinton shows up at our doorstep while we're ironing or something. I just thought I'd leave you with that little suggestion, and thanks for the great site! -Mackynzie G.

I think that's a great idea, as I always love to help the community. I've already written a history of guns and a list of gun safety tips, but I guess I could do more. So maybe now I can start my own series on guns to discuss all other aspects of them. Let's start with the basics.

There are many different types of guns, but they all work on the same principle in the end: there is a hole you point at who you want dead. That's called the "kill'n hole". The kill'n hole is at the end of the tube, known as the barrel. The action of the gun is started by pulling what most people call the trigger, though the technical term is the "kill'n activator". When you pull the kill’n activator, the hammer is released and the "let's kill something pin" (a.k.a. firing pin) flies forward. This strikes the cartridge (the "kill'n fuel" of the gun) in its "kill'n catalyst" (a.k.a. primer). This causes a spark which ignites the gun powder (which is only known as the gun powder) which then explodes and sends the bullet or slug or, more scientifically, the "roundy, pointy thing which flies fast does the killer'n" through the barrel. It is stabilized by groves in the barrel known as "grooves" which were initially added to the gun to spice up the opening of James Bond movies.

Here are the different types of guns:

* Revolver: this is a gun with a cylinder that "revolves"
* Semi-automatic pistol: this is a pistol that's sorta automatic
* Shotgun: this is a "gun" that fires "shot"
* Rifle: I don't what the hell this is. Apparently it's rifled or something
* Machine gun: This is a gun that uses a little machine to fire bullets rapidly. Don't bother looking for the machine; it's very small.
* Sub-machine gun: Like a machine gun, but it goes underwater.
* Glue gun: Fires hot glue. If you're creative, it's great for arts and crafts. If you're really, really creative, you can kill someone with it.

Let's see, what's left about gun basics... Oh yeah, there's what you hold the gun by. This is either a "grip" or a "butt". More generally, this is known as the "beat'n end" of the gun.

CAUTION: Never confuse the kill'n end with the beat'n end of a gun. This is especially important when firing the gun and when affixing a bayonet.

Also, there is the way different guns load more ammo. A revolver simply has many chambers with bullets which rotates each bullet into "kill'n position". This is effective and makes it easier to fire the gun if you have a bullet that doesn't fire, a.k.a. dud or hippy bullet. For automatics and semi-automatics, the gun loads from a magazine. Sometimes this is called a clip, but never use that term in a post or you'll get an angry e-mail telling you that you used the wrong nomenclature. To tell how many bullets a magazine holds, keep pushing bullets into it until you finally exclaim, "This is too hard; I give up." Sometime one more bullet can be put in the magazine if you have a friend helping by yelling at you, "Don't be such a pussy; you can fit one more bullet in there."

The last important gun basic is whether you have a single action or double action gun. In a single action gun, you have to cock the gun yourself. That sounds dirty, but it just means to pull the hammer back (that's located at the top of beat'n end of the gun). Eventually, people got lazy, and then double-action guns were invented so that you just had to pull the trigger and the hammer works itself. Also, for semi-automatics, they’ll cock the hammer for you each time they fire; isn’t that nice of them. Some guns, though, like the Glock, don't have a visible hammer. That's just freaky. I don't know how the hell that works and I'd stay away from one because it might use devil magic.

That's all the gun basics. With that knowledge, you'll soon be on your way to kill'n. Next time we'll discuss calibers.

John Hawkins has made his pick for the Democrat presidential candidate. BTW, I support Ah-nuld for governor of California since I like his movies and I don't live there.

Alice suggests a name change for my blog. But I like IMAO! I wonder what it stands for...

My post about defeating terrorists on a plane was pretty well received, but is it too soon after 9/11 to be making jokes about such a thing?

Look on my sidebar. I now have my official Imperial Secretary of War seal. And what do you have? Jack, that's what.

* * * *

I don't always have a lot of time each day to peruse the blogosphere, so don't be afraid to send me a link to one of your posts if you think it's especially worthy. Just don't bug me too often (try to keep e-mails to once a week) or get too upset if I don't use it.

Super Lucky Happy Fun Permalink Contest Number One™ could not go on forever. Only one could win the Permalink. The final question once again was:

They struck during the night. There was no warning. By morning, they had swarmed the U.S. and resistance was crippled. One fought bravely against them, trying to end the menace. Finally, though, the sword broke, the Colt 1991 locked on an empty clip, and the mighty Frank J. fell. He died as they always thought he would: clawed and bitten by thousands of monkeys.
Now the monkeys, in conjunctions with the hippies and the Communists, have taken control. The hippies dictate government policy, the Communists crack down on freedom, and the monkeys... well the monkeys just cause havoc. They race sports cars through school zones and rob liquor stores all day long. It's all over, it seems, for the human race, but there is one hope left: you.
You lead a ragtag group of rebels in possession of a few small arms. In 200 words or less, how do you plot and bring about the downfall of the monkey, hippy, Commie power structure?

And the winner of the final poll is...

UPDATE: Now have acceptance speech.

Read More »

I've been too busy for Frank Answers™ lately, but that should change later. So keep those questions coming.

Shawn F. from Louisville, Kentucky writes:
Watching Lance Armstrong stand atop the podium in Paris with the Arch de Triumph in the background and hearing the U.S. National Anthem was absolutely precious. (I hope it really bothered the EMB in the crowd.) But, while I was watching that I couldn't help wonder - who built the Arch de Triumph? I mean, I know it's in Paris and all, but surely the French didn't put it there?

I assume it was built by one of the many nations that "triumphed" in conquering France, and then eventually got bored and left. The French probably haven't knocked it down because they are scared of it.

Adam Pappas from Newark, NJ asks:
Who would win in a fight between the Justice League and the Arab
League? Does Aquaman have any chance against Amr Moussa if the fight
takes place in a desert?

Justice League would so kick the Arab League's ass. Superman would personally punch many of them into the sun. Batman when hit them with his batarang and then kick them good. Unfortunately, Aquaman would get whupped by Amr Moussa, but the Flash would quickly run by, grab Aquaman, and then run to the Alps where they could go skiing while the rest of the Justice League takes care of business.

Asha'man from the Chicagoland area writes:
I have a question that has been bothering me for some time. I have watched various SciFi series & movies in hopes of finding an answer; but so far have been unsuccessful so I am hoping you can help! The way I see it, soon the United States will become all-powerful and will master intergalactic space flight. By that time, we should be finished with conquering nations here on earth and we will already own all the oil on this planet.
I want to be able to use these space-craft to seek out new life and new civilizations, boldly going where no man has gone before...for the sole purpose of conquering and stealing oil, that is.
My problem is that I imagine that AS ALWAYS they are going to put up a fuss,
so I need to know if I will be able to fire upon them from my spacecraft while traveling at light speed, or will I need to slow down first? I really like the idea of cruising in faster than light and really letting them have it, but I am afraid that since a laser is light, and I am traveling FASTER than light......I might shoot myself, or worse yet, shoot backwards at my home planet of America!
Can you help me?

Well, this question has to do with the theory of relativity, which states: "Stuff is relative to other stuff." So, whether firing a laser while going the speed of light will work is relative to everything else. Are you angry when you fire it? What day of the week is it? What color is your spacecraft? Are you a Beatles fan? If your answer to any of these questions was something, then the answer to your query is maybe.

* * * *

Please keep the questions coming, e-mailing me with the subject "Frank Answers" and include your name and town after the question and blog URL if you have one. Since I like the whole name and town dynamic, if you don't give me a place you're from, I'll randomly select one.

A while ago I noticed something about a Google search. This prompted me to do a very scienterrific study that everyone helped me with.

Initially it seemed to be a failure.

But, a reader, IkkoNoIshi, pointed out that a post from Instapundit that mentions neither "puppy" nor "blender" is now the third item returned for puppy blender. That disproves my original theory.

Also, I now notice that if you search for liberal assclown, the main page of Instapundit.com is returned as the 13th item. It is the 11th item if "liberal assclown" is placed in quotes.

All in all, though, the theory was disproved, and Google remains a strange and mysterious entity who won't let me host their ads for some reason.

"Man, I was going to get in trouble for my Secret Service not being diverse enough," President Bush told Donald Rumsfeld, "I was told I need to hire either a woman or someone with a handicap."

"So did you hire a woman?" Condoleezza Rice asked, listening in.

Bush started laughing. "Yeah, I hired a woman," he said mockingly, "She'll be sitting there fixing her nails while I get mowed down by machine gun fire. Don't you have some dishes to clean, Condi?"

"I was working on threat assessments for middle eastern countries," Rice answered angrily.

"That's cute, Condi; you keep doing that."

Rice gave him an angry look and then stormed out of the office.

"I heard that, George!" Laura Bush exclaimed, "That was mean and sexist, and I think you should go and apologize to her."

"Bah, woman and there feelings," Bush answered, "They should be like us men and not have any."

Laura just shook her head and walked away.

"So who did you hire?" Rumsfeld asked.

"Zatoichi, the blind samurai!" Bush answered.

Walking slowly into the room came Ichi, tapping ahead of him with his cane. Chomps walked up to him, watching him with reserved anger. "Nice doggie," Ichi said, blindly reaching out to pet Chomps. Chomps snapped at him, but he had quickly retracted his hand.

"Wow! What reflexes!" Bush exclaimed, "And there's a sword in his cane he can pull out and cut people with it. He's so cool."

"Giving sharp object to blind people seems like a bad idea to me," Rumsfeld said.

"You should see him, though!" Bush answered, "A hippy bothered us on the way here, and, with one swing of his sword, Ichi cut the tie dye shirt right off the hippy without touching his skin."

"So he completely missed the hippy," Rumsfeld scoffed, "Sounds like a piss poor samurai to me. And how well is a sword going to help you nowadays? What happens if he comes up against a blind rifleman? He's dead; that's what."

"Don't listen to him, Ichi," Bush said, "I know you'll make a great secret service agent." He then turned to Rumsfeld. "And he only cost 50 bu to hire."

"What's a bu?"

"I don't know; I'm having an intern look into it. Anyway, I have to get going and give some speeches and stuff. Come on, Ichi."

* * * *

"Man, I don't like talking to people," Bush sulked, "They always laugh at me when I mess up my speakering. But I guess you don't have to worry about things like that, Ichi, since you can't hear them laughing."

"You're thinking of deaf," Ichi said, following Bush.

"Whatever. Anyway, I just had this last addition added to my schedule. I'm supposed to meet some school children in this scary alleyway."

As they walked further into the alleyway, Ichi grabbed Bush by the harm and then carefully listened around him. "I sense danger."

"Oh no! Danger is bad!" Bush exclaimed.

"Stay close to me," Ichi said, now holding his staff with both hands.

Five terrorists emerged holding scimitars. "We kill you, president Bush, because of our extreme Islamic view which dictates we want to destroy America or something," said one of them.

"Oh no! Islamic extremists!" Bush exclaimed. "Be careful, Ichi; they're extreme!"

The terrorists charged Bush, but, with lighting speed, Ichi drew is sword and cut all five down, the sword returning to its sheath with a click.

"That was so cool!" Bush said, "I need to get attacked by terrorists more often. That will learn them for sure! If they want to destroy America, they should do it through non-violent means such as helping the Howard Dean campaign."

"I think this was a trap," Ichi uttered.

"But who could have set it up?" Bush asked, "This was a last minute addition to my schedule added by Condoleezza Rice who currently has a grudge against me." Bush thought for a moment. "It must be the Syrians!"

"Maybe it was this Condi in vengeance for those mean things you said," Ichi suggested.

"You think?" Bush asked dubiously, "If that's true, she's going to get a talking to. Nobody tries to kill this President and gets spared a talking to!"

* * * *

Chomps stared at the control panel. It made him mad. "Grrrow!" he growled as he attacked it.

"Self destruct in 10... 9... 8..." said a pleasant computerized voice.

Rice ran over to the controls. "Self destruct deactivated," said the computer.

"You have to control your dog," Rice said to Rumsfeld angrily, "That's the third time today he's done that!"

"Hey, he doesn't like buttons and switches," Rumsfeld answered, "What am I supposed to do?"

"Hello, Condi," Bush said angrily as he entered the war room, Ichi following close behind him.

"Oh, you're alive," Rice with disappointment.

"That's right; it takes more than a couple terrorists to stop 'ole Dubya. Now why did you try to kill me?" he asked, "Is it like your time of the month or something?"

"Rarr!" Rice exclaimed and then hit a button on a controller. A door opened up and in entered a number of giant robots. "These are my military death machines," Rice explained, "With them I will achieve military victories you only dreamed of. Then I, Condoleezza Rice, will be known as the savior of America! All shall bow before me!"

Bush looked at robots warily. "We got trouble, Ichi."

"Describe them to me."

"They're eight feet tall, have glowing red eyes, and gattling guns for each arm. Now pull out your sword and cut them up good. Chop, chop, Ichi. Ichi?" He looked around and couldn't see Zatoichi anywhere. "For a blind man, he sure can run fast."

The robots approached Bush. "Rumsfeld, do something!" Bush pleaded.

"Hey, I stay out of this politics stuff; this is between you and Dr. Rice."

Bush noticed Chomps nearby chewing apart a metal folding chair. "Hey, Chomps, go bite these robots. Do it now! As your president, I command you!"

"Ordering Chomps around really makes him angry," Rumsfeld warned.

Chomps started growling at Bush. "Uh oh."

* * * *

"In other news today, the President Bush has been declared incapacitated as he is currently pinned up in a tree on the White House lawn by Chomps, holder of the title of the world's angriest dog by the Guinness Book of World Records." A file photo of Chomps tearing the treads off a Russian tank appeared on screen. "Next in line for presidency would be Dick Cheney, but, his location being undisclosed, no one can find him to swear him in. Instead, National Security Advisor Condoleezza Rice has declared herself Empress. This is an unprecedented move and highly unconstitutional..."

A large robot appeared behind the anchorman and pressed a gattling gun against his head. "...but you have to praise Empress Rice for her initiative. All hail Empress Rice. By the way, war has been declared on all countries that begin with the letter 's'. So, if your country begins with letter 's', remember: resistance is futile. Now let's all join in singing our new national anthem in praise of Empress Rice."

TO BE CONTINUED...

The puppy blender has linked to me again... this time not off-handedly. Linking to me like this sort of puts a damper in my war against him. Perhaps it’s another insidious plot of his, or maybe it's time for us to sit down at a bar and share a round of puppy shakes as a measure of friendship. If that happens, though, what do I do with all the evil plots I have left?

Google rejected Bill Quick for their Adsense same as they did me. Peh! I spit at Google. BTW, everyone click on the banner above and try out Netflix for free!

Glenn, who's black apparently, doesn't like how Susie dotes upon me. I think anytime my name is mentioned by a blogger, everyone should stop and take notice.

First they come to take your comics. Then they come to take you sci-fi novels. Next they come and take your Magic: The Gathering cards. Finally, they may actually come and take something I care about.

Howard Dean is stealing from the IDF!

Also, I have my first ad up for blog ads. Everyone click on it. I hadn't had much luck with blog ads yet; I thought I was asking for a fair amount considering the traffic I get, but no takers. Well, I'll be on my way to making millions sooner or later.

Here it is, the deciding competition for the permalink.

BTW, people were supposed to describe their blog without using the letter 'e' and include the word "armadillo". Some people cheated on that, but I can't punish them for it since it isn't part of the competition. They should just know they have my dissapproval. Kudos to those who did it properly.

Meet the Finalists

the voodoo lounge by dr.dna
My blog is gr3yish in color. On it I writ3 about armadillos. I also us3 th3 l3tt3r 3. Com3 and r3ad, I'v3 got th3 b3st 3's in th3 blogosph3r3.

Adventures in Trouble Shooting by Tom
My blog is my story. I writ3 about t3chnology, politics, bas3ball, lif3, my girlfri3nd (hands off, Frank! You can't hav3 h3r.), my job, blogging. Inst3ad of y3lling at th3 TV, I y3ll on my blog. It's not all bitt3rn3ss and b33r, though, th3r3's a lot of funny stuff, too. Oh, and it app34rs that I also sp34k l33t. Go T3am M3.

Modularparrot.com by Stan, Bob and Jon
A Ragtag Parrot Army – joking with armadillos, hacking armadillo tails from trunks, pulling out armadillo claws, shooting armadillo skulls with hollow points, spooning out armadillo brains, roasting armadillo brains, tails and claws – armadillo gourmands having fun with armadillos.

Bad Money by Harvey
Witty insights about this and that, plus graffiti bills with captions so hilarious that a road-kill armadillo would sit up and laugh.

[Think About It] by Jarred Nicholls
Armadillos and Libs: Good for a midnight snack!

Serenity's Journal by Serenity
Warm, caustic, funny and as snarky as an armadillo on a Florida highway!

Here are the answers to the question in random order (revealing who wrote which is means for disqualification):

QUESTION: They struck during the night. There was no warning. By morning, they had swarmed the U.S. and resistance was crippled. One fought bravely against them, trying to end the menace. Finally, though, the sword broke, the Colt 1991 locked on an empty clip, and the mighty Frank J. fell. He died as they always thought he would: clawed and bitten by thousands of monkeys.
Now the monkeys, in conjunctions with the hippies and the Communists, have taken control. The hippies dictate government policy, the Communists crack down on freedom, and the monkeys... well the monkeys just cause havoc. They race sports cars through school zones and rob liquor stores all day long. It's all over, it seems, for the human race, but there is one hope left: you.
You lead a ragtag group of rebels in possession of a few small arms. In 200 words or less, how do you plot and bring about the downfall of the monkey, hippy, Commie power structure?

ANSWER 1: We will entice the hippies to trust us by handing out granola and gently bubbling bongs and tell them that the monkeys want to set up a new capitalist government. This will prompt the hippies to whine and flee to New Mexico.
We'll then inform the Commies that the only papers the hippies produced before crossing the border were Zig Zags. While the Commies race after the patchouli stenched group, we'll tell the monkeys that the Commies just left with all the Vodka. Everyone will be on their way to Albuquerque.
Now that we have everyone assembled in the desert, we will sacrifice one Nuke The MoonT t-shirt and place it neatly on the sandy ground. We will then pour a volley of righteous Freedom Rounds into it thus causing a nuclear detonation. Everyone will perish except for those of us who wear the shirt.
As the fallout clears, we will see a figure walking towards us. It's Frank J! Of course Frank is alive. Everyone knows you can't kill someone who wears their Nuke the MoonT shirt. It was a vast left wing conspiracy, and we knew this, but it was a fun excuse to annihilate all the scum.

ANSWER 2: I would put on a big mustache and go to the hippies and commies, saying I was Saddam Hussein. They love mustached dictators, so I would gain their trust. Then I'd sneak into their headquarters, push the big red button marked "SELF-DESTRUCT". Hippies and commies are stupid, so they'd probably have a self-destruct button. So that would take care of the hippies and commies.
Now, for the worst of the lot - the monkeys. Since almost all diseases that infect humans came from monkeys at some point, I'd take the dead hippies and fling them at the monkeys. Since hippies are filthy, they've probably got tons of cool new diseases. Hopefully one of them will infect the evil monkeys. It wouldn't even have to jump species, seeing as monkeys and hippies are so closely related.
Then, the world freed once again, I would resurrect Frank J using voodoo, upon which he will probably ask me "how do you do that voodoo that you do so well?". Then we'd nuke the moon and have a big party.

ANSWER 3: Having cobbled together small arms and a catapult, we set off to the UN building where the Commies, Monkeys and Hippies had built their formidable fortress. Using the catapult, we captured some of those speeding cars in school zones, with a truckload of bananas to distract the monkeys. Since the Commies are most likely french, the use of German cars caused their outer guards to surrender. Using a few small arms on the non-French commies, we advance on the UN HQ for Communistic Crap and insult their leader, who sends out the hippies and monkeys.
Gathering the strength of the Wall Street Underground (who obviously hate commies and hippies) and a legion of firehoses filled with soapy goodness, we flushed out the hippies, who, coated in clean and soapy water became normal people, albeit more clueless, scattered like mice. The monkeys being tougher customers, the catapult was used to hurl bananas and other fruits toward them, pacifying them into a bloated stupor while we caged them up. Buck the Marine lead the final charge with the cry of "For Frank! And NO QUARTER!" which lead to a communist bloodbath the likes of which the world had never seen. We Won.

ANSWER 4: "There's only one way to stop them. We'll create a super-virus, mixing DNA from Frank, Rumsfeld, and Ebola."
"You can't do that," said a suspiciously odiferous cabal-member, "what about the unknown environmental consequences?"
*SHLORP*- I ripped the heart from his chest, holding it in front of his eyes as it spurted patchouli. "Shut up, hippy spy."
"URK!" said the hippy.
"But won't this require a new government program to pay for treating all the infected working poor?" said an elderly, rotund, gin-blossomed man (whom I'd been eyeing suspiciously).
"Die, Commie!"
"Kennedy"
"Whatever."
“BLAM!” added my Frank J Memorial 1911 decisively, ending the argument.
“Anyway, we’ll use the labs at ImClone to put this together.”
“How will we make it in? We’re nearly out of ammo.”
“Don’t worry. I’ve got inside connections. My mother-in-law is Martha Stewart. At least I think she is. Last time she visited, she alphabetized my silverware.”
“Alphabetized your…?”
“Don’t ask.”
“Anyway, enough chatter. Let’s roll.”
The virus worked as planned. Hippies and Commies died of strangulation-like symptoms, while monkeys everywhere bled to death out of their eyes.
… but somewhere in a dark cave… a voice… ”This round is yours, but I’ll be back.” *sip* “mmm… blended puppy.”

ANSWER 5: After the death of Frank J., the US becomes a kingdom of "you can't do that" Nazis under the direction of hippies and commies, with monkeys in charge of alcohol production.
Enter a patchwork team of citizens led by Chuck Heston, a sleeper cell created for just this sort of eventuality and developed at the Army War College.
Chuck has been spirited underground after accumulating vast experience with unruly monkeys in 'Planet of the Apes', hippie behavior in the pagan worship scene from 'Ten Commandments', and secrets of the current communist food complex in 'Soylent Green'.
The Chucks execute a commando operation that fouls the supply of vegetarian Soylent Green, Red and Yellow with pandas, rhinos and blue whales respectively. The hippies commit ipecac suicide after realizing they've destroyed 3 endangered species.
Without hippies, the commies have no free love, so begin the mass rape of monkeys. The monkeys retaliate by plugging themselves with potatoes, inadvertently creating the perfect conditions for the fermentation of vodka. The relentless pounding by the commies eventually leads to a chain reaction when the rectification columns of the volatile, vodka laden monkeys reach critical mass and explode.
Frank J. is immortalized in stone.

ANSWER 6: One bullet at a time.

There are the answers that will determine the winner of the coveted permalink.

PLACE YOUR BETS NOW!

POLL CLOSED (results here)

Poll closes in 24 hours (or so) from this posting, and then the final winner will be announced.

Al Qaeda is still plotting! You might have thought they were all plotted out, but, oh no, they're still after us. And their attacks are against planes again; these are like one note terrorists. You gotta switch things up, dudes. You know, Speed was on a bus, and Speed 2 was on a boat; that's how things work here in America.

Anyway, they're planning to sneak evil terrorist weapons into common household items, so I think it would be a good citizen of me to give everyone some tips on how to avoid terrorists on a plane flight.

FRANK TIPS FOR AVOIDING AIRLINE TERRORISM

* If the guy seated next to you is named Al, watch him with suspicion; that's halfway to Al Qaeda.

* If someone tries to light a fuse on his shoes, that's a sure sign of terrorism. Take away his lighter then hit him on the nose while firmly saying, "No!"

* If someone takes out a boombox, quickly grab it and smash it over the person's head. Even if he wasn't a terrorist, what the hell is he doing with a boombox on a plane flight?

* Terrorists are trying to sneak weapons into children toys. If you see a child on your flight, smash his toys.

* If you are going to crash land, don't duck into a crash position as illustrated in that little flyer; if everyone is ducking like that, a crash landing makes the perfect time for a terrorist attack.

* Terrorists plan to modify cameras as stun weapons. If a terrorist tries to take a picture of you, hold up a mirror and deflect it back at him. Stupid terrorist.

* The airline pillows are too small to smother a terrorist. If you need to smother a terrorist, politely ask your flight attendant for a blanket.

* Air Marshals on flights are supposed to have a gun, so, if you see someone on your flight waving around a gun and yelling, assume he is an Air Marshal and go to sleep.

* If you are worried that the people around you are terrorists, immediately alert the stewardess. She can give you booze which will make you much less worried.

* If the man next to you is named Mohammed, that's a terrorist name; beat him up. If he is named Mo, that could be short for Mohammed; beat him up. If he says his name is Bob, he's probably lying and it's really Mohammed; beat him up. If his name is Sue, make fun of him for having a girl's name; he'll beat you up.

* The best defense is a good offense, so bring a shotgun on the flight. How do you sneak a shotgun on? When security asks you, "Hey, is that a shotgun?" say, "Only a dumb person would think this is a shotgun." The security person will not want to look dumb, so he'll just wave you through.

* Also bring a bomb on board. If terrorists get up and start threatening everyone, you then threatening to blow up the plane if they don't shut up. That will steal their thunder, and they'll probably just sulk and then sit back down.

* If Aquaman is on your flight, don't worry; he'll save you. Well, maybe he will… if the flaming wreck lands in the water. On second thought, forget Aquaman; you're on your own.

* If the stewardess asks you to pay extra for your meal, that's probably a terrorist plot; take appropriate action.

* If the oxygen masks come down, make sure they are dispensing oxygen and not poison. The best way to do this is to use the lighter you took from the shoe bomber. If you apply fire to the mask and it immediately burst into flames, then yes, it was dispensing oxygen.

* As in Die Hard and Passenger 57, the best way to avoid the initial terrorist attack is to be in the bathroom. If someone complains about you being in there so long, tell him you're fighting terrorism.

* If terrorists are attacking, you can turn common items into weapons. One is to take your palm and then curl up your fingers. This makes a "fist" which works well as a cudgel. You can also curl up the inflight magazine and bop terrorists on the head with it. It won't do much damage, but it will be kinda funny. Bop! Bop!

* If you are about to fight a terrorist in hand to hand combat in the aisle, first yell to him, "You're about to experience some major turbulence!" because that will be so cool.

* When fighting a terrorist, the best and most climatic way to finish him off is to open an emergency door and suck him out. Be careful, though, as air pressure imbalance does not distinguish terrorist from decent American; it's neutral like the Swiss.

John Hawkins has bloggers’ picks for the worst figures in American history. Sic 'em, Chomps!

Watch out, Misha, here's some great fisking by one of the permalink contest finalists.

Speaking of Emperor Misha I, he has a letter from a Marine in Iraq telling us how things really are.

Rachel Lucas has a new hero. I like his attitude.

Dana has a problem a lot of us face: too many good blogs and only finite time in the day.

Blackfive has his Shirley Temple awards. As soon as I'm not lazy, I'm adding him to my blogroll, oh, yeah, and updating Charles Austin's link. I should write this down somewhere...

It's time for the final question... time to decide who wins the permalink.

Finalists:
Adventures in Trouble Shooting
Serenity's Journal
Modularparrot.com
the voodoo lounge
[Think About It]
Bad Money

Before the main question, first head the e-mail with this:

List site name and preferred blogger name.
Write a brief site description. You can't use the letter 'e' and it must contain the word "armadillo".

And now, the final question:

SHORT ANSWER QUESTION: They struck during the night. There was no warning. By morning, they had swarmed the U.S. and resistance was crippled. One fought bravely against them, trying to end the menace. Finally, though, the sword broke, the Colt 1991 locked on an empty clip, and the mighty Frank J. fell. He died as they always thought he would: clawed and bitten by thousands of monkeys.

Now the monkeys, in conjunctions with the hippies and the Communists, have taken control. The hippies dictate government policy, the Communists crack down on freedom, and the monkeys... well the monkeys just cause havoc. They race sports cars through school zones and rob liquor stores all day long. It's all over, it seems, for the human race, but there is one hope left: you.

You lead a ragtag group of rebels in possession of a few small arms. In 200 words or less, how do you plot and bring about the downfall of the monkey, hippy, Commie power structure?

You have 24 hours from this posting to e-mail me your answer. Godspeed.

Based on a true story.

Moscow, Soviet Union, 1949

Stalin's mustache brimmed with Commie fury. "This John Wayne, he is an enemy to our people. His cowboy mentality, his knowledge of right and wrong... it goes against everything Communism stands for. He must die!"

"You want us to kill the Duke?" exclaimed one of Stalin's advisors.

"You question me!" Stalin shouted, "Off to gulag!"

Stalin's secret police grabbed the man and dragged him away.

"Our intelligence says that John Wayne is currently in a bar with another actor Ronald Reagan," said another advisor.

"Send our agents to kill him now!" Stalin ordered.

"What about Ronald Reagan?"

"He is just a B-movie actor; he is no threat to the Soviet Union," Stalin said dismissively. "We kill John Wayne and Communism will live forever!" Stalin stood up and held his arms high into the air. "I am Stalin! Fear my mustache!"

* * * *

"My agent says I should do some movies with monkeys in them," Reagan said, "Comedies might be good for my career."

"Only thing a monkey is good for is target practice," the Duke answered, and took a drink of whiskey.

"Ever thought of doing a comedy?" Reagan asked.

"Nothing funny these days with Reds about."

"Anyway, this is a nice bar."

"It's outta the way," the Duke answered, "Keeps me from getting bothered."

"Jeepers! It's John Wayne!" exclaimed a kid, running up to the table.

"Dammit," the Duke uttered.

"And I'm Ronald Reagan," Reagan told the kid with a smile.

"Who?"

"Nevermind," Reagan answered, turning back to his drink.

"Golly gosh, Mr. Wayne," the kids said excitedly, "I'm your bestest fan. I want to be a cowboy just like you."

"Well, it will never happen, so scram, kid," the Duke answered.

"Aww, Mister, why'd you have to crush my dreams like that," the kid said mournfully.

"You could be a little nicer," Reagan told the Duke.

"You're starting to annoy me, too," the Duke growled.

"I'm sorry, but..."

"Quiet," the Duke ordered and observed the air carefully. "I smell Reds," he whispered.

Two men in suits approached. "I am FBI agent Yuri and this is FBI agent Ivan," said one in a thick Ruskie accent. "You must come with us, Mr. Wayne."

"Sure," the Duke said, standing up slowly. He then whipped out his peacemaker and shot them both.

"Jeepers!" the kid exclaimed, "You killed them!"

"Commies," Wayne answered, "and it ain't over." The Duke knocked over the table for cover and more gunfire came their way. The Duke fired back until his gun went empty. He tossed it to the kid along with some ammo. "Make yourself useful and reload that for me."

"Golly. But I don't know anything about guns, mister."

"Well figure it out," the Duke demanded. He then looked to Reagan who huddled behind the table. "Dutch, you have a gun?"

"I am an American," Reagan said as he took out a 1911.

"Cover me as I kill these Reds," the Duke said as he then emerged from behind the table. He saw four evil Commies, and he and Reagan shot them dead as the Duke kept moving, finally taking some new cover behind the bar.

"That was six shots, yankee scum," said an evil Commie the Duke hadn't seen who now stood over him.

"Here you go," the kid yelled, tossing a gun to the Duke. He caught it, and rolled out of the way of the Commie’s shots, finally returning fire with one bullet through the man's evil Commie brain.

The Duke stood up and observed the room. "That's all of them."

"Should we call the police?" Reagan asked.

"Nothing left except for a clean up crew," the Duke answered.

"Golly, I thought you were done for, Mr. Wayne," the kid said.

"Thanks for your help," the Duke answered, and then handed the kid the peacemaker. "Here, keep this gun."

"Wow! Thanks!"

"So what's your name, kid?"

"Clinton Eastwood, sir."

"That's the gayest name I've ever heard," the Duke said, "I'll call you Clint."

"Clint it is," the kid answered, "Thanks again, Mister. Your the bestest!"

Reagan looked at the dead Commies. "One day I'll see the Soviet Union destroyed," Reagan vowed, "but first I need to do that comedy with a monkey in it."

"I have some business to finish myself," the Duke said, reloading a gun.

* * * *

Moscow, Soviet Union, 1953

"Time to retire to bed and plot more Commie evil in the morning," Stalin said, brushing his mustache with his fingers. He looked around and noticed he couldn't see any guards in his country home. "Guards!" he called out, "Where are you?"

He made his way to his bedroom. Inside, he noticed a cowboy hat sitting on his nightstand. As he slowly approached it, he heard the bedroom door close behind him. He turned to see the Duke standing there, a peacemaker pointed right at Stalin.

"Say hi to Lenin for me in Commie hell, Joe," the Duke said, and then unloaded his gun into Stalin's chest. The Duke then slowly walked over and picked up his hat. He put it back on and strolled out of the room.

Soon some guards arrived and found Stalin lying there on the ground bleeding. "Oh no!" exclaimed one of them, "We let John Wayne kill Stalin. We'll be in big trouble for this. We better think of some other story to explain his death."

"I'm not dead," Stalin uttered weakly.

"First let's drink some vodka," said the other guard, "Vodka helps us think."

"Great, comrade," said the other guard, "We'll drink vodka and then come up with a story for Stalin's death."

"I'm not dead," Stalin pleaded, "and can I have some vodka too?"

"Here, have a pillow," the guard said, and then took a pillow off Stalin's bed and pressed it over Stalin's face.

Another guard entered the room. "Hey! You guys are killing Stalin!" he exclaimed, "I don't think you're supposed to do that!"

"John Wayne shot him," another guard answered, "We're just helping Stalin along."

"He's taking forever to smother," said the guard with the pillow, "Let's just go raid the liquor cabinet."

"Hey, after we get the vodka, we can go watch the movie Bedtime for Bonzo in Stalin's private screening room," said one of the guards, "It's supposed to be funny!"

The porn industry is threatening Fritz will legal action. That's not a joke. Man, he's already surpassing me; no one's ever threatened me with a lawsuit.

Cowboy Bob reports on a patriotic company.

Tom the Firendly Ghost has a story about the French, South African wine growers, and goat manure.

The Cool Kid has a post he claims to be "The most important post in the blogosphere, before, after, or ever", maybe it's true, but I'm too important now to read the posts of lesser blogs.

The Sine Qua Non pundit has finally moved off blogspot. So everyone update your links. Ahh... I'll do mine tomorrow.

Susie had the idea that everyone who participated and lost in my Super Lucky Happy Fun Permalink Contest Number One and lost should at least get a consolation prize of a special banner to put on their blog. Here is what she has come up with so far:

Post 1
Post 2
Post 3
Post 4

Pixy Misa has one too.

I like this idea. I think an official logo should be decided upon, and I put Susie, head loser, in charge of deciding what the logo will be. When she has chosen the logo, I'll present it, and only the participants in my competition can use it.

I even made an entry myself.

(I kid because I love)

On a related note, Turning Spork has a movie about his poor showing in the polls.

Reminder to those who aren't losers yet: the final questions will be announced tomorrow. Plus, there will be a very special In My World™ based on a true story.

The Peace Gallery has had a big update. We have a commando taking out monkeys, one tough woman, a man who has played too much Dungeons and Dragons, a disgruntled roommate, and a man who has made a tool that serves both as hippy bait and weapon. Also, Cathy Camp has two more pictures of her rottweiler. He doesn't look quite angry enough to be Chomps, but he has the proper attire.

My brother, Joe foo' the Marine, just got back from Marine training with his shirt. It made him so fearsome, that all the other Marines were scared of him. He'll send in pictures soon.

Keep those pictures coming.

After having a photo finish for the last poll, this one was a total blowout. There were 247 votes total.

The question was: You are on your way somewhere, but a group of hippies incoherently protesting something blocks your way. In 200 words or less, what is the best way to handle this situation?

And the winner is: Answer 3, written by Harvey of Bad Money. It got 143 votes (58%).

I actually encountered this situation once. All I wanted to do was cross the street, but the road was jammed with retarded lefties blathering gibberish like, “Free Mumia For Oil”, “No Blood For Peace”, and “Bush Lied, Babies Died, I’ll Have Tofu On The Side”, or something like that.
I suppressed my rage until I saw the “Bush = Puppy Blender” sign, then something inside me snapped. “That’s all I can stands, I can’t stands no more!” I cried, reaching over to a nearby organic foods vending cart, grabbing a handful of spinach, and shoving it down my throat.
Somewhere nearby, a Phish-smelling band inexplicably started playing a modified hornpipe, as animated battleship tattoos magically appeared on my biceps and started firing live shells into the fetid assembly. I waded through the crowd, my bulgy forearms windmilling madly as the Phish-smellers segued into a quick-tempo Yankee Doodle.
Filthy hippies flew in all directions, landing in comical pretzel-piles, with their stupid-slogan signs jammed in previously functional orifices.
Covered in patchouli-befouled blood, I reached the other side and burst into song:
“I’m strong to the finish
(here’s a buck for your spinach)
Don’t F*** with the sailor man!”
TOOT! TOOT!

Answer 1 was written by Analog Mouse of One Little Victory. It got 31 votes (13%).

When the hippies are basking in their smelly glory about how many protesters are there, tell them that the only reason no one is there supporting the other side is that they are all busy WORKING FOR A LIVING! Then ask the hippies if they have jobs. They will look at their shoes and quietly walk away. (I've seen this done. It really works!)

Answer 2 was written by Mark of Kaedrin. It got 35 votes (14%).

The obvious answer would be to simply savage them with my gas-guzzling SUV, but I should probably be more creative. I would sneak around the crowd, obtain their email addresses then send Frank J. a harassing email lecturing him on grammar. Then I would pull up a chair and watch the ensuing chaos (chances are, watching hippies die slow, horrible, painful deaths at the hands of a samurai sword wielding engineer would be more entertaining than anything I was going to attend anyway)

Answer 4 was written by Jennifer of Jennifer's History and Stuff. It got 34 votes (14%).

One word: soap. Soap is a well-known hippie repellant. If you carry a bar of soap with you at all times, you can wave it at any hippies you come across and they will part like the Red Sea.

Answer 5 was written by Tuning Spork of Blather Review. It got 4 votes (2%).

I'd cover myself from head to toe in a soapy lather; the hippies would part like the Red Sea as I strolled merrily on through.

Okay, I can see two answers centering around soap as a repelent to hippies, but both making reference to the parting of the Red Sea? Was someone looking over another person's shoulder when writing his or her answer?

As for me, despite how hilarious Answer 3 was (especially “Bush Lied, Babies Died, I’ll Have Tofu On The Side”), I voted for Answer 1, not so much because it was funny as it just was true.

So, congratulations to Harvey of Bad Money. We now have all our finalists.

Finalists:
Adventures in Trouble Shooting
Serenity's Journal
Modularparrot.com
the voodoo lounge
[Think About It]
Bad Money

The finalists’ questions will appear Monday. All the site descriptive questions will change, plus there will be the mother of all short answer questions to decide the winner (I just have to think of it first).

There are six finalists, but, in the end...

THERE CAN BE ONLY ONE!

Inspectors are getting more optimistic about finding the WMD's. That gets me thinking of all the cool things we can do when we have them. Sounds like another good time to rip-off Letterman.

TOP TEN THINGS WE CAN DO WITH IRAQ'S WMD'S

10. Put two biological weapons in an arena and have them fight it out. Kill! Kill!

9. Finally get rid of those gophers.

8. Sell them to another country for a big profit. Attack country and steal it's oil for proliferating nuclear weapons.

7. Hold world hostage for one meeeelion dollars. Spend the money on booze.

6. Yell "Whoops!" and drop them all over Saudi Arabia.

5. Hide them and challenge U.N. inspectors to find them again. Make fun of them when they don't.

4. Bully Canada for its lunch money. Spend the money on booze.

3. Combine all the WMD's into one super WMD. Now even Aquaman won't be able to stop us. Muh ha ha ha!

2. New Gallagher act where he nukes the watermelon in the end. Caution: those of you in the first three rows will get radiated.

And the number one thing we can do with Iraq's WMD's...

Sell France "Not Anthrax" brand powdered sugar.