The League Of Extraordinary Bloggers: The Replacement

Cross-Posted at TBogg's place.
This is part six of a continuing series about the famous Bloggers who fight for truth, justice, and American Exceptionalism.–the Author

In a Secret Location, a Meeting of Diabolical Minds takes place. It is the League of Extraordinary Bloggers, each a hero (or a heroine or a Coulter) in his (or hers, or Coulter’s) own sphere. They are:

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

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

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

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

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

Part I: The Adventure Begins
Part II: A Fresh Face
Part III: And The Band Played On
Part IV: Strange Bedfellows
Part V: The NRO Cruise: Voyage To Nowhere

Part VI: The Replacement

Reynolds: Okay, bloggers, pull yourselves together. Ann, stop playing with your lei. Goldberg, stop touching the waitress’s skirt.

Goldberg: I’d mow her grass anytime.

Reynolds: Don’t piss me off, Goldberg. Malkin, sit down. When I said fly to Hawaii, I meant take a plane.

Malkin: I have a lot of expenses, Glenn. Fresh blood isn’t cheap. God, are my arms tired. Why did we have to meet in here?

Reynolds: McArdle’s here on her honeymoon and I was under strict orders to include her in the meeting.

Althouse: We have a new leader! What a relief! Karl’s been gone so long and I don’t like that black man at all. He’s so vague and grandiose and socialist. Who’s giving us instructions now, Glenn?

Reynolds: I can’t tell you. (Reynolds giggles but pulls himself together.) Karl wants you to meet his replacement at the Big Island restaurant at 8 p.m.

Goldberg: Waitress!

Reynolds: Goldberg, you haven’t touched your drink. Leave her alone. What’s keeping McArdle?

Goldberg: Duh. She’s on her honeymoon. She’s watching cartoons and drinking everything in the mini-bar.

Malkin: Remind me to send Jessica a condolence card. You’re awfully nervous, Glenn.

Reynolds: No I’m not. I’m sitting her very casually, waiting for the new boss to arrive. Where the hell is McArdle, dammit?

McArdle: Is somebody talking about me?

Reynolds: Hurry up and get over here before the big boss arrives. I want to make a good impression. Oh, and congratulations.

McArdle: Thank you, Glenn. It’s nice to see somebody cares about my Big Event. It’s not like my wedding party did. They spent the entire wedding Twittering each other instead of looking at me.

Reynolds: McArdle–.

McArdle: This is my day, not theirs. I didn’t pay the caterer $100 a head so they could have twitter-fights and throw dinner rolls from one table to another. Plus I had to sneak away from my beloved husband who I miss so much.

Reynolds: Shut up! She’s here! I can’t believe it!

Reynolds giggles and squirms in his seat but quickly recovers. He smooths down his hair and brushes a speck of dirt off his browncoat. A woman slips through the crowded bar and into a seat next to Reynolds. She takes off her wig and glasses and tosses them to the floor. It is Sarah Palin!

Reynolds: Oh, Miss Palin, this is such an honor! We can’t wait to follow your every command. I promise we are well trained and know how to please a woman. A boss woman. A woman who is our boss, and a woman. And a boss.

Althouse: Mrs. Palin, I’m Ann Althouse. I’m a law professor.

Palin: Can you practice law in Alaska? I can always use a good lawyer.

Althouse: Uh, no. I teach.

Palin: Hate teachers. Teachers have unions and want to destroy young minds and call the police on young people who are just high-spirited and didn’t mean to do so much damage. Alleged damage. (To Malkin) Waitress!

Malkin: Mrs. Palin, I’m–

Palin: That’s nice honey. You can get my autograph some other time. Now run over to that bar and get me a little drinkie.

Malkin:—Michelle Malkin, Extraordinary Blogger and Fox News contributor, and not your waitress. And it seems you’ve already had a few drinks.

Goldberg: She has heightened senses. It’s so cool. I’m Jonah Goldberg. I wrote a New York Times best-selling book that was nominated for a Pulitzer.

Palin: Books are for sissies. Col. Reynolds, your orders are to use the British Petroleum oil spill to prove Barack Hussein Obama is a loser. Reynolds, you have the hardest job. I need you to take out one of Obama’s goons. Do you have a gun?

Reynolds: I have many guns, Mrs. Palin and I’m honored to shoot someone for you. I could use my big gun or my really big gun or my special Sunday gun with the mother-of-pearl stock. I have knives too if you want me to kill the Brown Menace with a knife. Also, my boot is very heavy and if you want I can–

Palin: Just shoot him, okey-dokey? Here’s his picture.

Reynolds and Malkin look at the picture.

Malkin: The Brown Menace looks exactly like that guy who moved in next door to you, the writer, what’s his name?

Reynolds: Shut up, Malkin. He’s a dead man, Mrs. Palin, you can count on me.

McArdle: Since Glenn has totally forgotten his manners, let me introduce myself. I am Mrs. Peter Suderman and I write for the famous magazine The Atlantic on economic issues. I’m on my honeymoon but we Extraordinary Bloggers are always ready to serve in a time of need.

Palin: Your honeymoon? That sure as shootin’ brings back memories. And congratulations about the baby. Better late than never, huh?

McArdle: (huffily) I’m not pregnant. What kind of person do you think I am?

Palin: Now, don’t get up on your high horse, missy. It’s no shame for people like us.

McArdle: I am not pregnant! I’m an economics blogger!

Palin: Great, than you can examine these BP spreadsheets and fill out this paperwork. It’s research for our mission. Mail it to this address by the end of the day. (She hands an envelope to McArdle.)

McArdle: Very well. Wait a second. This isn’t figures from British Petroleum. Travel and clothing expenses, W4 forms–these are your taxes!

Palin: Nonsense. Get crackin’, honey, those forms aren’t going to fill themselves out. And make sure you postmark it by midnight.

McArdle: Now just a damn minute. I’m on my honeymoon!

Palin: We all have to make sacrifice for our country. Do you think it was easy quitting my governor job? Where’s your patriotism? Your stick-to-it-tiveness? Your country needs you!

Malkin: Mrs. Palin–

Palin: You still here? Lord, these little Hawaiian people give me the creeps. Hardly a white face from one part of the country to another. Okay, hon, you can write our press release on Obama’s socialist plot to take over BP and redistribute its money to the poor.

Malkin: Fine, just give me the outline. (Malkin scans it quickly and then looks up at Palin.)

Malkin: You want me to update your Facebook page? I don’t ghost-write other people’s work. Doesn’t your husband do this for you?

Palin: Don’t be silly, native girl, schoolbook learnin’ is for children and my Todd is a real man, the kind that loves to hunt and fish and carry out orders to remove your enemies.

Malin: Then why don’t you have him take out—

Palin: Drinkie, sweetie. The day ain’t getting any younger. Fetch.

Malkin bares her fangs and starts to growl.

Reynolds: (hastily) Malkin, you can go now.

Malkin: I bet she tastes like bear grease and failed ambition anyway. (Malkin stalks away.)

Palin: Okay, Grandma, it’s your turn.

The bloggers look around the restaurant. Palin points a long, red fingernail at Althouse.

Althouse: Me? I don’t mind getting you a drink, Mrs. Palin. I know a very special concoction that will make your toes tingle.

Palin: No drinks for you-you’re going to need your wits about you, Grandma. Since Obama’s kids are helping him in his socialist take-over of BP, we have a couple of our own little kiddies to fight back. Your job is to assist them.

Althouse: You want me to introduce them to audiences? Write their little speeches?

Palin: Yeah, yeah. Here’s their pictures.

Althouse: Um, Mrs. Palin, I don’t have any experience with special needs children. Surely his mother would rather be with him if he’s going to be surrounded by strangers?

Palin: Some mothers are busy, alright? They have responsibilities. And their stupid mothers have to take a cruise just because her doctor said she’s exhausted and needs some rest, instead of helpin’ her children like Jesus commanded.

Goldberg: Isn’t that your kid?

Althouse: This is Trigg and Track?

Reynolds: You mean Trogg and Trigg.

Goldberg: I think they’re Trip and Trap.

Palin: Whatever.

Althouse: What about Bristol?

Palin: Teen abstinance lecture. That poor girl pays and pays and pays for her sin. Oh, that reminds me–I haven’t taken my cut yet. Take a note, Honeymoon Girl. Now, which one of you is the Jew?

Reynolds: (points to Goldberg) He is, Mrs. Palin, but I’d be glad to convert if you want. I wouldn’t have to cut anything off, would I?

Palin: (to Goldberg) I have a very special relationship with your people. The only flag in my office is an Israeli flag. I just can’t wait until Jesus returns and wipes you all off the map so Christians can be Raptured. Your assignment is to read all about the history of BP and fill out this research material.

Goldberg: This is a bunch of questions about the history of Alaska. And it has “Piper Palin” written on the name line. And it was due yesterday.

Palin: Your people are so smart, I’m sure you can do it in no time. You have an hour. Piper’s ballet lesson’ll be over then.

Goldberg: I can’t. My research assistant is busy working on my book about cliches.

Palin: Do you want to serve your country or not?

Goldberg: Not if I have to do your daughter’s homework. I have to run, anyway. I have to go to the movies and write a review. For my job. And I have to interview some dancers in the women’s dressing room. I hear some of them belong to a union and I need to talk to them about freedom and the free market. And then I need to take my daughter to the new Harry Potter theme park. For my job.

Reynolds pulls his gun from its holster and points in in Goldberg’s face.

Goldberg: (hastily) I’ll pull my assistant off the book right away.

Reynolds: Good. Anything else, Mrs. Palin?

Palin: Yeah. What the hell is that?

Palin points to a small woman in a nun’s habit and veil making her way to the table.

Reynolds: Oh, Jesus. Quick, eveyone, under the table!

The League and Palin duck under the tablecloth.

Palin: You wanna explain yourself, Col.?

Reynolds: Shhhhh!

“Nun’s” voice: Glennie, is that you?

Palin: That nun is lookin’ for you Glenn. Stop hidin’ and act like a man.

Reynolds’ face turns red and he comes out from under the table. The rest of the League stays where they are.

Reynolds: K-Lo. What are you doing here and why are dressed up like a penguin?

K-Lo: Hi, Glenn! I thought that since Megan was on her honeymoon I could take her place in The League of Extraordinary Bloggers’ latest adventure. I’m in disguise so nobody knows my real identity.

Palin appears from under the table. K-Lo stiffens with shock. Her eyes widen and her mouth slowly opens. She sinks to her knees.

K-Lo: Mrs.–

Palin: What’s that, honey?

K-Lo: Mrs.—

Palin: You got a stutter, honey?

K-Lo makes the sign of the cross and rises.

K-Lo: Oh, Mrs. Palin! God has answered my prayers at last! Well, one of my prayers, but that’s one more prayer than he’s ever answered before!

K-Lo bends over and kisses Palin’s wedding ring.

Palin: Take it easy, girlie, you’re getting spit on my diamond.

K-Lo shudders in esctasy.

K-Lo: Oh, Mrs. Palin! Can I do anything for you, Mrs. Palin? Would you like a drink? A massage? A kidney, one that’s never tasted the demon rum? Is your chair comfortable? Do you need a pillow? I can be a footrest if you want. See, I’ll just bend over and—.

Palin: Col., I don’t think you and your Bloggers will be needed after all. Come with me, little nun. I think we’re going to be very good friends.

Palin hands her wig, sunglasses, purse, and sweater to K-Lo and departs. K-Lo caresses the sweater furtively and follows.

Reynolds: She’s gone.

The other bloggers sit back in their seats.

Reynolds: She’s gone, and I don’t know if she’s ever coming back.

Goldberg: They’re both gone, hopefully for good. I never thought I’d see the day when K-Lo found her true calllng. I was sure she’d end up in the loony bin.

Reynolds: Enough chit-chat. Mrs. Palin needs us. Let’s get crackin’, bloggers.

Goldberg: Sure thing, Glenn. Right after lunch.

The League of Extraordinary Bloggers: Goin' Galt At Last

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

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

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

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

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

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

Part I: The Adventure Begins
Part II: A Fresh Face
Part III: And The Band Played On
Part IV: Strange Bedfellows
Part V: The NRO Cruise: Voyage To Nowhere

Part VI: Goin' Galt At Last

Reynolds: Is everyone here? Good God, what a storm. If it weren't for my steampunk snowplow I'd still be stuck in Virginia. How did you get here, Malkin?

Malkin: I flew. It was easy once my eyes started glowing red.

McArdle: We should have been able to just drive here instead of getting a police escort. I blame the government for not taking better care of me when I needed them and when everyone else got to go to the Mediterranean on Spring Break and I had to go visit Aunt Bessie and her pet cow Daisy on the farm. Or was it the cow who was named Aunt Bessie? We pay our hard-earned money on taxes for services and where are the services?

Goldberg: We shouldn't be paying any taxes at all!

All: Yeah!

Althouse: And we shouldn't get any services either! We should all clear our own roads!

McArdle: Not so fast, Ann. I have no problem with privilege. Why should I clean my own house or cook my own meals or research my own columns when I can pay someone else to do it for me or not do it at all? It's a much more efficient allocation of resources. Plus work is hard.

Goldberg: Very well said, Megan. I tell my wife that all the time but she never listens to me just because she has more degrees than me.

Malkin: You upper class twits are helpless.

Goldberg: Not everyone has a stay-at-home husband to cook and clean for them.

Malkin: Your wife seems to-she's the lawyer; you blog in your "home office." Also known as "the den."

Goldberg: I work out of the home and office, I'm not a housewife! I'm writing a book and that proves it! I got a million dollars for my second book!

McArdle: What?

Goldberg: I got a million dollars to write a book about how cliches are stupid.

Malkin: Let me guess--your next book will be about how men who speak Klingon are just little boys who never grew up.

Goldberg: I'm an intellectual now, Malkin, so you better be nicer to me or I'll tell O'Reilly to stop putting you on tv. Oh wait, he already did.

Malkin's fangs pop out.

Althouse: Look out Jonah, she's starting to drool, just like when she almost ate Fluffy.

Goldberg giggles.

McArdle: God, you are so jejean, Jonah.

Reynolds: It's jejune.

McArdle: How the hell do you know, Glenn?

Althouse: Helen says it to him all the time. Then she makes him call her Mother Superior.

Reynolds: Gorram it, Ann, the first rule of Dr. Helen's Pleasure House of Pain is to never talk about Dr. Helen's Pleasure House of Pain. That's it--no more Merlot for you.

Althouse: (tosses her head) Fine, I have my own anyway.

Althouse pulls out a flask and takes a dainty swig.

McArdle: Shut up, Ann, and let Jonah talk. How did you get this book contract anyway, Jonah?

Malkin: His mother is a literary agent.

Goldberg: That had nothing to do with it. My reputation preceded me--

Malkin: (interrupts) Much like your stomach.

Goldberg--and everyone begged me to share my insights with my fellow intellectuals. They're making documentaries about me already.

McArdle: Eww, Peter made me watch that with him. It was stupid. Why couldn't we have watched Hoarders instead? I saw this tv show once where a woman filled a warehouse with her possessions. There were shoes and purses and kitchen appliances and electronic equipment and clothes and oh my God, they were everywhere I looked, heaps and piles and mountains of things that prove the superiority of the American Way of Life and our glorious consumer culture and yummy free markets and--and--.

Malkin slaps her.

McArdle sways and ignores the slap.

McArdle: Is it hot in here or is it just me?

Goldberg: Slap her again, Malkin, that was fun.

Malkin slaps Goldberg.

Goldberg: Why, you--I oughta--.

Malkin pokes him in the eye.

Goldberg: Stop it Malkin! That's not funny!

Malkin: I think it's hilarious. What are you going to do, Goldberg, tell your mommy on me?

Goldberg: Leave my wife out of this.

The women snicker.

Reynolds: Enough, enough, we're not here to beat up Jonah, unfortunately. We have a mission to accomplish.

Malkin: Speak for yourself, Reynolds.

Reynolds: WE ARE HERE to coordinate our response to the Snowpocalypse of the Century. My orders are to--

McArdle: By the way, Glenn, who is giving us orders now that Karl has retired to spend more time with his collection of bastinadas?

Reynolds: That's a secret.

McArdle: Come on, tell us. I won't tell anyone else. I deserve to know if I'm going to lead our nation to a new era of fiscal freedom and consumer-based individualism.

Althouse: I don't understand, Megan.

Malkin: Don't worry, neither does she.

McArdle: I went to the top, most expensive schools in the country, Michelle. Where did you go, a state school?

Malkin: I went to Oberlin, you idiot.

McArdle: Where did you go to school, Glenn?

Reynolds: SHUT UP!

Malkin whispers to McArdle. McArdle giggles.

McArdle: How sweet.

Reynolds reaches for his blaster but Malkin grabs his hand.

Malkin: The mission?

Reynolds: Right. Jonah, your mission is to---okay, what the hell happened to Jonah? He was here a minute ago.

K-lo: Look no further than I, Glennie--I mean Col. Reynolds!

Everyone turns around and sees K-Lo, dressed in a pith helmet, khaki skirt and jacket, and Pink Power Rangers quilted coat, holding a knife to Jonah's throat.

Jonah (croaks) K-Lo, let me go or I'll tell everyone what you begged me to do at the office party.

Malkin: Nobody move! He still owes me fifty bucks!

Reynolds: Calm down, K-Lo. Let H. R. Puffnstuff go.

Goldberg: Oh yeah? At least I'm not Jimmie, the magic flute!

Reynolds: Go ahead and cut his throat, K-Lo.

Althouse: Glenn! How will that look in The New York Times?

K-Lo: You guys, it's my turn to talk now. I hereby demand in the name of Pirate Law that you take this ship to Haiti so we can save the poor Haitites from their heathen gods, who are destroying the island in their wrath.

Malkin: K-Lo, you dolt, we are thirty feet under the ladies' washroom in the Lincoln Monument in Washington D.C. How did you even get here?

K-Lo: I'll have you know I got here entirely on my own, after Nanny dropped me off at the entrance and that nice young soldier walked me to the other entrance. Jonah was just coming out so I grabbed him and now you have to listen to me or I'll torture him, just like in my favorite tv show, "24," starring Kiefer Sutherland. I know how to torture because I practiced on Fluffy.

Althouse: You tortured your adorable little dog? That is so mean! And illegal, I think.

K-Lo: It's okay, Ann, I was just pretending. Fluffy was just yelping because I pinched his leg a little to make it more realistic. Mama took away my teeny little home-made electric brain frying machine.

Goldberg: (weakly) What the hell?

K-Lo: I made it with a lamp, magnets, some wire, and the little clips we use to keep the pretzel bags closed.

Malkin: I'm impressed.

McArdle: I'm not going to Haiti for my honeymoon, K-Lo. Forget it. Go ahead and kill Jonah.

Goldberg: Hey! What about my million dollar advance?

McArdle: It's not mine, is it?

Reynolds: K-Lo, I'm afraid to ask but why do you want to go to Haiti?

K-Lo: We have to rescue the heathen children from eternal damnation. Right now the Haiti-tian government is denying us our religious freedom to kidnap other people's' children when their country is hit by a natural disaster. If God didn't want them to convert, He wouldn't have destroyed their country, would he?

Goldberg: That's not a bad idea.

K-Lo: Oh, Jonah! Do you really think so or are you just saying that?

Goldberg: It would be a perfect time to create a libertarian utopia. No rules, nobody telling you what to do or what to wear, or to sit up straight and do your homework. God, I hate my wife. I mean my life.

K-Lo: Great!

K-Lo releases Jonah, who slowly backs away from her and stands behind Reynolds.

K-Lo: Now all we need is a boat and Nanny and we'll be all set to rescue orphans and establish free market capitalism! Megan, do you want to be in charge of all the money?

McArdle: Why, K-Lo, how magnanimous of you. I was just saying to Jonah that I wanted to be better friends--wait a second.

Reynolds: K-Lo, I just sent a message on my Blackberry to my Secret Boss, who promises to have a ship waiting for you by the time you get to the harbor. Now be a good girl and take charge of your new Pirate Vessel, while we all go home and hug our kids and kiss our wives good-bye.

K-Lo: Sure thing, Glenn. I know how hard it is to leave loved ones behind. I left Mama and Daddy behind in New York when I moved to DC. See you soon, everyone!

K-Lo leaves.

Althouse: I don't want to go to Haiti. I like to take pictures of reflections in mirrors and windows and all the glass in Haiti is broken. If you can't look into a mirror and see yourself, how do you know you're really there? Maybe you're the reflection and the real person is in the mirror. Maybe the person in the mirror is much happier than you are and has sex with famous politicians and gets her picture taken by other people instead of just taking pictures of herself taking pictures of herself taking---.

Reynolds: (interrupts) Go home, Ann. We don't need you for this mission anyway.

Althouse weaves her way to the exit.

McArdle: I don't want to go to Haiti either.

Reynolds: WE ARE NOT GOING TO HAITI!

Goldberg: Jesus, Glenn, you don't have to yell.

Reynolds: Goldberg, you complain that the city didn't fix your lights fast enough. McArdle, you figure out how much money the government wasted by paying people overtime to fix the lights they should have fixed themselves.

McArdle: Figure?

Reynolds: You, know, do the math.

McArdle: Math?

Reynolds: (hopefully) You remember, don't you, Megan? Two times three? The square root of the hypotenuse is something or other?

McArdle: It wasn't fashionable at my school to learn how to do math, Glenn. Everyone knows that.

Malkin: That explains a lot.

Reynolds: Just make something up.

McArdle: Say no more, old chap. I can take it from there.

Reynolds: Malkin, you continue pushing those tea parties. I know by the time you're done with them, they'll be primed to hang the first non-white person they see.

Malkin: Consider it done.

Malkin changes into a bat and flies towards the exit.

Reynolds takes out his cell phone and punches in a number.

Reynolds: They're gone. Send in The Boss.

A glow of unearthly light slowly fills the corridor. A woman's form approaches, radiating in the growing light. She sways slightly as her four-inch high heels slide on the slick floor. The apparition finally steps forward into the room. It is----Sarah Palin!

Reynolds: Sarah!

Reynolds kneels before her. Palin smiles beneficently on Reynolds.

Palin: You betcha!

THE END

The League of Extraordinary Bloggers: The NRO Cruise: Voyage to Nowhere

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


Part V: The NRO Cruise: Voyage to Nowhere

Reynolds: Is everybody here? Where the hell is Goldberg?

Malkin: He's in the bar, running his mouth off in front of his adoring fans. I haven't seen so many pink-cheeked piglets since the kids watched Charlotte's Web. Did you know spiders eat their mates? We have so much to learn from the animal world.

McArdle: God, those NRO-nicks are freaking me out. "Oh, Miss McArdle, you're so tall and pretty. Miss McArdle, should I sell my Citi shares? Miss McArdle, your engagement broke my heart."

Goldberg: What ho, chaps! What's our mission?

McArdle: They were all just devastated about my engagement. To Peter Suderman.

Althouse: Why, what a coincidence. I recently got---

Goldberg: That's our mission? You need help dragging him to the altar and sitting on him until you walk down the aisle?

Reynolds: Shut up, Goldberg. The Foundation has called us together to consult with the party's leading intellectuals and formulate new ideas that will return us to our rightful place in society.

McArdle: Isn't anybody going to congratulate me on my engagement?

Althouse: Just this summer I, too--

Goldberg: The Federation? Hot damn! At last! And they said I was crazy for buying a Starfleet uniform on the internet. I'm going to be first in line at the Academy and then I'll get some big guy to beat up everyone else and all the girls will want me.

Malkin: Foundation, not Federation, doofus. The tiny group of multi-millionaires and billionaires that fund conservative causes. You know, the people who sign the paycheck of the people who sign the paychecks of the people who sign the paychecks of the people who sign our paychecks.

McArdle: Suddenly I feel very tingly. Also, did I mention that I just got engaged?

Malkin: So what?

McArdle: I don't think you understand the importance of my wedding. As the world's tallest female economics blogger, my every move is watched and admired. It's a big responsibility.

Althouse: Me too!! Getting married!!

McArdle: Ann, dear, it's not all about you.

Reynolds: Shut up, all of you! We're here to get new ideas to restore us to or rightful supremacy! Now mingle with the guests and listen to the National Review speakers and report back to me at 0200 hours in the Starlight Cocktail Lounge on the Pool Deck.

Goldberg: Why do we have to walk all over the ship and talk to other people? I know exactly how the country should be run--the libertarian way.

McArdle: You're so right, Jonah. Conservatives had their chance and they failed. Liberals had their chance and they failed. Now it's our turn to fail.

Reynolds: Concentrate, people. Here are your assignments: Goldberg, you take the smoker. Malkin, take K-Lo's lecture.

Malkin: She didn't show up.

Althouse: Really? That's not like Kathryn Jean. She's usually so responsible.

McArdle: It's not like she has anything better to do.

Goldberg: Or anybody.

(Both snicker.)

Reynolds: Forget K-Lo. Cover Rich Lowry instead.

Malkin: (hopefully) Cover or smother?

Reynolds: Just get the ideas first, okay?

Malkin: (sighs) Whatever.

Althouse: What about me, Glenn?

Reynolds: You'll cover Katie O'Beirne.

Althouse: I don't know, Glenn, she's kind of scary.

Reynolds: Tell you what, Ann. Why don't you go to the bar first and ask the bartender to give you a nice glass of Merlot? It'll settle your nerves.

Althouse: Why, that's a great idea, Glenn. I think I'll do just that. Be right back!

Reynolds: Okay, McArdle, you---what the hell?

The Bloggers walk closer to the ship's railing and see metal grappling hooks attached to pink nylon rope fly through the air and grip the railing tight. Female voices rise from over the side of the cruise ship and very soon several young women clamber over the railing. They are dressed in voluminous short skirts and blousy white tops, and dangle cutlasses at their slender waists.

Goldberg: Is this a dream? Am I awake? Pinch me, please!

Malkin stabs him in the arm with a stiletto.

Goldberg: Oww! What is your problem? I said pinch, not stab.

Malkin: I just had my nails done.

Reynolds: Quiet, everyone, I think I hear their leader.

(Disembodied Female Voice): Shove harder, girls! You can do it if you believe enough! Heave!

(Disembodied Girls' Voices): Ho!

Goldberg: No.

Reynolds: It can't be.

(Disembodied Voice): For the Love Of Mittens, heave!

Malkin: But it is.

Everyone: K-Lo.

K-Lo pulls herself over the railing and falls to the deck. Several Pirate Lasses help her to her feet and straighten her tricorn hat.

K-Lo: Guess what, everyone! I'm a pirate! A Pirate For God!

Althouse: Hi, K-Lo! Why are you wearing a pirate costume?

K-Lo: I'm glad you asked, Ann. I've been hired by a secret group of SuperChristians called The Family to take over this ship and declare that the United States of America is now the United States of God. (sings) My country tis of Thee God, Sweet land of God's Mystery, Of Thee I sing. Land of the Goooood's Pride, Land of God's Countryside, From all God's Mountainsides, Let Gooooooood ring!

Althouse: That's funny, that doesn't sound like the anthem that I learned.

K-Lo: I'm here to establish a theocracy, with the Pope as king. And pope. It's a two-for-one, which will save a lot of money in these difficult economic times. And the best part is that we're in international waters so I'm not breaking any laws. Father Benedictine will be so proud of me!

Althouse: And who are these lovely young ladies?

First Pirate Lass: We're here to fulfill our service requirements to graduate from our school, Stigmata High.

Second Pirate Lass: She told us that we were going to be missionaries in the Philippines.

Third Pirate Lass: I told you that the Philippines already is Catholic. All you had to do was google, but nobody ever listens to me.

First Pirate Lass: I thought it would look good on my transcript and I'd get a tan. Father Stevens gives references to people who can get butts in the pews, not people who can climb ropes and swing swords.

Reynolds: K-Lo, the Republican party is the party of ideas, not the party of Jesus freaks. You guys lost a long time ago and you never even noticed.

K-Lo: I think Mr. William F. Buckley, devoted Catholic, would beg to differ. It's the party of Catholic ideas, just you wait and see.

Goldberg: You mean Judeo-Christian ideas, dummy. With the Judeo coming first.

Reynolds: Don't be stupid, Goldberg. This is a Christian nation and don't you forget it. (turns to K-Lo) Forget it, K-Lo. No theocracy. You lost, we won, end of story.

K-Lo: Oh yeah, Glenn? We'll see about that. Girls, attack!

The Pirate Lasses draw their cutlasses and rush towards the Extraordinary Bloggers. Malkin pulls back a little fist and drives it straight into the First Pirate Lass's nose.

First Pirate Lass: Owww! I can't believe how mean you are! I just spent a fortune on this nose. It's the Jennifer Aniston!

Malkin: And now it's the Rocky Balboa.

Second Pirate Lass: Who?

Reyonlds: (yelling) Get out now , and take this crazy woman with you or I'll heave her carcass overboard myself.

Third Pirate Lass: You don't have to be so rude. We're not your servants, you know.

The Pirate Lasses drag K-Lo to the railing.

K-Lo: You're making a terrible mistake, Glenn. I'll pray for you and your poor endangered immortal soul. Say you'll pray too, Glenn. Promise me you'll pray!

The Pirate Lasses attach a rope to K-Lo, tip her over the edge and lower her down the side of the ship. The Bloggers can hear the faint words of The Lord's Prayer float upwards.

McArdle: I need a drink.

Althouse: Don't we all.

Reynolds: Okay, let's regroup at the bar. I've had enough for one day.

Malkin: Buck up, Reynolds. At least you conquered the Phantom Menace and the galaxy is safe for another light year.

Reynolds: Stop trying to cheer me up.

Malkin: It could be worse, Glenn. You could be K-Lo.

Reynolds brightens and follows Malkin inside to the bar.