International Instapundit

(A Filthy Lie)
Have you ever travelled to a foreign country and tried to ask where the bathroom was, only to discover that – in the native monkey-jabber – the words you used actually meant something entirely different? Like you just asked the guy if you could lick his elbow, and then he punches you right in the face and you have to get nine stitches?
I can’t be the only one that’s happened to.
Anyway, I know that if you go travelling, you’ll want to keep in touch with the blog world, so you’ll be tempted to mention to a native that you’re going to check Instapundit. However, I must warn you that doing so may be fraught with danger. So in an effort to prevent future international incidents, I thought I’d check on what “Instapundit” meant in various foreign languages. Before you open your mouth in some filthy, non-American cesspool of a country, check the list:


Arabic – Those camels are sexually desirable.
Chinese – I enjoy shoving rice up my nose.
Korean – Your hair is quite poofy.
Zulu – I offer three plump goats for your daughter.
Eskimo – My club is too small to kill that baby seal.
Klingon – I have dishonored your family by mating with your mother, who is quite ugly.
Hebrew – Is that shake made with kosher puppies?
Democrat – My taxes are too low. Please raise them with great haste.
Irish – Let’s drink and fight!
Kurdish – I miss Saddam.
Portuguese – Ricky Martin! Mmmm… FOXY!
Esperanto – I think we should resort to cannibalism.
Icelandic – With hindsight, I regret licking this flagpole.
Swedish – Are those real?
Thai – Enter my car and I will give you candy.
Italian – Your sister’s back hair is quite fetching.
Ukranian – $40 million is too much for such a small nuclear device. You must do better, or I will take my business to Belarus.
Scottish – Is that a bagpipe in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?
Canadian – Instapundit, eh?


I also tried it in French, but – like every other word I tried – it kept coming back as “we surrender”. I think the Google Translator might be broken.
If I missed any important languages, feel free to leave your translations in the commments.

A Story, Bit-by-Bit
Superego: Part 26 – Spiteful

BEGINNING OF STORY
PREVIOUS (PART 25)


When I first met her, she was just some bimbo red-head barely fit into a slinky green dress at a formal party. She succeeded in grabbing my attention for a moment, but I was focused on the man she was talking to, my target. Completely distracted by the woman, he wouldn’t even see me coming.
Then the slut flowered into a thing of beauty. In one motion she kicked the man to the floor as she ripped open the side of her dress to pull out a large blaster strapped to her leg. And, in one shot, their now was a headless corpse lying on the ground.
It was so inelegant, yet so dazzling. Everyone was shocked; I was even taken back for a second. She had the drop on the man’s bodyguard (or former bodyguards at that point) and ripped them to pieces with her blaster. With the speed and power she knocked others out of the way as she made her escape, it was obvious she had implants (and I don’t mean her chest… though those were obvious too). Soon, everyone had guns drawn and were chasing her, including me (why should I be left out?). Any that got close were killed, but then I got a clear shot of her as she turned down a hallway.
She looked at me, knowing she couldn’t turn and fire back at me in time – you should have seen the frustration in her face. She must have planned this massacre, but there was no way she would have thought someone of my caliber was there.
But I only chased her down for sport, and killing her for killing my target before I could seemed spiteful… and I am not a spiteful man. Still, I couldn’t not shoot at her, and I couldn’t purposely miss. So I winged her on her left arm (she was right-handed), burning her a nice scar before she leapt out a window.
The rest of her escape must have been a breeze, because apparently everyone outside guarding the vehicles were already dead.
I don’t know who hired her; the target was some idiot who managed to gain about everyone’s ire. She could have been Randatti or another group, or she could have been another Corloni hire for the same job (it’s a big criminal syndicate; sometimes there are mix ups like that). I never found out. I reported what happened, and got paid at least for the effort.
I wonder if she knew she was only alive because I let her live? I certainly wasn’t going to volunteer that.
Well, Diane, Morrigan, Verg (who seemed to have no idea he was among hitpersons), and I spent the day trying to profile me, figure out what I would do to try and escape (got some good ideas from that part), and also figured where I might go to scope out my hit and thus would be good places to look for a suspicious person like me.
When we were done for the day, Morrigan and I set a meeting point in downtown where there would be lots of people (which I already knew would not stop her from opening fire on me – same as it wouldn’t stop me from opening fire on her). Then I headed back to police HQ with Diane to wrap up and waited for the inevitable question.
“So what’s it with you and Morrigan?” she asked while pretending to be looking over a file on screen.
She was jealous! This was fun! “The feds came by our planet to scope it out a while back. She was one of them, and as stuck up and patronizing as you would expect. Couldn’t wait to be rid of them, though I’m sure they thought we were enamored by the presence of civilization.” I then smiled a little. “We didn’t do anything Jesus would disapprove of, if that was what you were wondering.”
“No, I just…”
“I’m still free if you and me want to go back to Rikar and have a bunch of kids.”
“I’ll pass.” She was irritated. The big bad detective didn’t like kidding, I guess.
When I got back to my hotel room, I made a quick check if Dip had heard from Vito (nope), and prepared for meeting Morrigan – both mentally and weapon-wise. In other situations, I’d be interested to talk to her and learn all about her, but now I just hoped to find a way to deal with her quickly – whomever she worked for.
Then again, I was starting to wonder if she had some answers to some questions I didn’t even know to ask. If history was an indicator, this was only going to get more complicated.
Well, I haven’t met a problem yet I couldn’t just shoot my way out.
NEXT

Oh wonderful. Now Progressives want to kill me.

According to Charles Krauthammer:

In less enlightened times there was no catastrophe independent of human agency. When the plague or some other natural disaster struck, witches were burned, Jews were massacred and all felt better (except the witches and Jews).
A few centuries later, our progressive thinkers have progressed not an inch.

I do believe the Simon Household will be sleeping with guns under pillows for the next few weeks.

Gah?!

Gutfeld is now on the Huffington Post’s front page! Is this some sort of attempt at reverse psychology?
I’ve always suspected Gutfeld of being some sort of Bizzaro World Rove plant…

Wasn’t That a Job For Aquaman?

Bringing you the news!Hello, Aquafans!
Some have been asking where have I been during the whole New Orleans crisis. With all the water and flooding, people seem to think that it just might have been a job for Aquaman.
Couple things here. First off, when the problem first hit, it was a hurricane. That involves not just water but also lots of wind, and I’m Aquaman – not Wind-and-Water Man. Hurricanes just aren’t my thing.
Second, I like swimming in water, so preventing flooding isn’t exactly to my interest. I’m not some construction expert; I can reinforce a levee.
Thirdly, the water in New Orleans got quite dirty, and it would just not be sanitary for me to swim in it.
Finally, as you may have noticed from my Aryan good looks, I, like the Bush administration, don’t particularly care for black people. In fact, my arch-nemesis is Black Manta. You see, I fight black people; I don’t save them.
Anyway, wasn’t this more of an ecological disaster? Maybe people should have called on Green Lantern.
Ha! I made a funny! I have to go tell my fish friends that one…

There Is a Troop Excess Problem in Iraq

Many have said we haven’t had enough troops in Iraq, but I have anecdotal evidence – the best kind of evidence – that there are too many troops. I got a call from my brother, Joe foo’ the Marine, this morning, and currently all he’s doing in Iraq is hanging outside of Fallujah watching DVDs. Every once in a while, he works on his tank, but he hasn’t even used it in weeks. He simply has nothing to do. This obviously means there are far too many troops in Iraq if my brother has so little to do.
BTW, keep him in your prayers as he has 24 more days to go. He’ll have plenty to do when he gets back to the states since he’s my best man and needs to write a good speech for the wedding… and it better be good! :: shakes fist ::

Nobody Likes Us!

According to SiteMeter, we’ve had zero vistors last hour. The most likely explanation is our site or their had an error, but I blame cats!
Is anyone reading this?
UPDATE: Apparently it was a SiteMeter error, as it now shows 450 for the hour that was said to have zero visitors.

Friday Catblogging

Since it’s Friday, I thought I’d spread the joy of humor-free, apolitical Friday Catblogging to IMAO.
Today, it’s the late Edloe staring at a jar of gefilte fish:


If you’re not sure how this absurd scene pertains to IMAO, since IMAO is famous for that “political humor” thing, it doesn’t. If you must have some semblance of politics or humor in everything you read here, just assume that Edloe is Democratic Party Chairman Howard Dean accusing President Bush of being a racist and the jar of gefilte fish is the National Baptist Convention.
(For more animal goodness, try The Friday Ark and Carnival of the Cats on Sundays.)

Arafat’s death

A lot of folks have been asking me what I think about all the reports of Arafat dying from AIDS, liver failure, a massive stroke, or being poisoned by the JOOOOOOOOOOOOS.
Well…

Continue reading ‘Arafat’s death’ »