The League of Extraordinary Bloggers

Part I: The Adventure Begins
Part II: A Fresh Face
Part III: And The Band Played On


In a Secret Location, deep beneath the bowels, entrails and colon of Pennsylvania Avenue, a Meeting of Diabolical Minds takes place. It is the League of Extraordinary Bloggers, each a hero (or a heroine or a Coulter) in his (or hers, or Coulter's) own sphere. They are:

Col. Glenn Reynolds—famous defender of guns, wherever they are needed to fight the Brown Menace.

Michelle Malkin—a creature of the night, with an insatiable thirst for blood under her modest, cheerleader-clad façade.

Jonah Goldberg—A barefoot man-boy with cheek, famous for being so lazy he got his research assistant to paint his fence.

Megan McArdle--a woman of mystery, of disguise, of charm, which hides an unscrupulous and greedy heart.

Ann Althouse—A respectable professor who digs deep into the evil aspects of her psyche when she drink an experimental potion know as “Merlot.”



Reynolds: We are here to address the grave danger facing our nation. We are at war with Barack Hussein Obama, and the natives are winning. Get out your instructions.

Everyone unfolds the sheet of paper they are each holding.

Goldberg: I get to read it aloud because I'm the intellectual.

McArdle: I'm better educated than you are, Jonah. My prep school cost--

All: Thirty-eight thousand dollars a year, we know.

McArdle: And I went to Penn and the University of Chicago. That's a lot more expensive than your stupid girls' finishing school.

Goldberg: It's not a finishing school any more, smarty pants. It's a coeducational university and I was a legacy!

Althouse: Glenn and I are law professors. That's a lot better than a business degree. You have to be smart to be a lawyer; my daddy said so.

Malkin rolls her eyes.

McArdle: Did you carry a parasol to class, Jonah? I hear the students all have to wear their hair up in a bun and are just dying to marry well--oh, obviously you *did* learn that one.

Goldberg: At least I did get married. You'd better hurry up because there aren't as many millionaire out there as there used to be and you're almost old enough to be my mom.

McArdle: I'm younger than you are, you moron. And your mom's a million years old.

Goldberg: You stop talking about my mother! Everybody says bad things about my mom and I'm sick of it. Cut it out or I'll call you a fascist!

Malkin: (dryly) You terrify us, Goldilocks. Now shut up before I get hungry.

Goldberg (mutters) I was on the Daily Show and you weren't. I win.

Reynolds: All right, Goldberg. You can read. I hope.

Goldberg: Dear Extraordinary Bloggers. Your mission is to close in for the kill and eliminate Barack Obama. Polling has determined that the following subjects should not be brought up, as they have negative numbers; Iraq, the economy, the ownership society, Wall Street, the dollar, education, infrastructure, car loans, the stock market, New Orleans, and the global economy. Instead, William Ayers must be on the lips of every American consumer by next week. These are desperate times, Bloggers. We're counting on you. Hugs and Kisses, Karl.

Reynolds: I need your very best ideas, Bloggers, and I need them now!

McArdle pulls a daguerreotype from her pocket and passes it to Reynolds.

McArdle: Fellow Bloggers, I have in my possession a photo of Barack Obama with Bill Ayers. As you will see, Ayers has his arms around Obama in a very friendly fashion. We can use it to blackmail Obama into dropping out of the race.

Malkin takes the photo from Reynolds and looks at it.

Malkin: Who's the kid?

McArdle (stiffly) Obama, of course. Don't you know what he looks like?

Goldberg: This could be Michael Jackson for all I know. Hey, maybe we can say that Michael Jackson had more surgeries and now he's That One Known As Barack Obama.

Althouse: How do you speak in capitals like that? I want to speak in capitals too.

McArdle: There could be bomb materials in that "Lost In Space" lunchbox, you know.

Reynolds: Megan, we appreciate the effort but we need a picture of Obama with Ayers as an adult. Do you think you can do that?

McArdle: Sure, I'll just go back to the University of Chicago, where I found it in one of my professor's home office.

Goldberg: What were you doing in your professor's apartment?

McArdle: Networking.

Malkin: Oh, that's what they're calling it now.

McArdle: Shut up, you brown person, you. My classmates and I used to laugh at people like you, with your funny little home-made lunches and out-of-date socks.

Althouse giggles. Megan tosses her hair and smiles. Malkin bursts into tears.

Goldberg: Are you girls going to fight? I can record it and make a fortune.

Reynolds: Jonah, shut up. This is serious. My stock portfolio is dropping, my bonds were hit, and the missus cancelled my subscription to Popular Mechanical Women.

Goldberg: I'm a very serious person, Glenn. I'm a leading intellectual in the conservative movement and everyone wants to shake my hand and buy me a beer, as long as it isn't too expensive. My ideas echo across the blogosphere, and every day more people tell me how smart I am. When's the last time you were on the Daily Show, Glenn?

Reynolds pulls his gun and points it at Jonah's nose. Jonah pees on himself. Malkin smiles through her tears. McArdle wrinkles her nose.

McArdle: You stink, Goldberg.

Malkin: Glenn, you didn't have to buy a new house at the height of the housing bubble. It's worth less every month.

Reyonolds: God only know what's happening to my University of Tennessee Retirement Fund.

McArdle: You should have taken my advice and not looked. If you don't look, you'll never know if you lost money until it's too late to worry about it.

Reynolds: If I had a robot wife she'd never nag me or make me take out the trash or memorize safe words. I want to go home and watch Serenity again.

Althouse: Am I poor too, Glenn? What about shopping in New York and new cameras? And box wine isn't getting any cheaper, you know. This is all Greenspan's fault.

McArdle whirls on Althouse and slaps her. Althouse slaps back and Jonah whips out his camera. Ann bursts into tears. Glen hands her a drink, and then another when the first is swiftly downed.

Althouse:(*sniff*) You're all just indulging in anti-Althousania. You're--you're vortexy and swirley and spinney and rotatey and I think I need to lie down now. Megan, would you care to join me, I mean walk me home?

Reynolds: McArdle, throw her in a cab and get back to Chicago. We're depending on you.

McArdle and Althouse depart.

Reyonold: This Ayers thing will work. It has to. We have nothing to lose.

Goldberg: Tell that to my stock broker. I cracked my wife's password and checked it out. We lost 120 thousand dollars in a couple of months. Now what do I do? A man can't go to his mother for money forever.

Malkin: You mean she cut you off?

Goldberg: (shouting) It was for my own good! My mother loves me!

Malkin snickers and files her fangs.

Reynolds: I don't believe it.

Goldberg: We did too. It was a lot of money and it's going to take a long time before we can inherit more. My wife cut my allowance, and she told me I can't go to San Diego for Comic Con. We had to drive across the Heartland to be with Real Americans instead. I don't want to see real Americans. I want to see goth college girls dressed up like Vampirella.

Reynolds: No you idiot, I don't believe you cracked your wife's password.

Goldberg:(mumbles) I'm smarter than you think. My book is famous and now everyone's calling liberals socialists and saying Hitler was really kind of nice.

Malkin: Let me guess; it was Doughy Pantload.

Goldberg bursts into tears and runs off.

Reyonolds: (sighing) Okay, let's do this thing. I'll link to Ayers stories and you write some op-eds for the Corner. We'll beat those Fuzzy Wuzzys yet.

Malkin changes into a bat and flies off.

Reynolds pulls out a photograph of a beautiful android in a mini-skirt and boots. He sighs again.

Reynolds: This is all Karl's fault.