A Spooky Story for My Conservative "Fans"

All right, America, I know it seems like just two weeks ago, I abandoned you for the majestic beauty of Colorado. And now, even before Rex L. Camino gets back, I'm leaving you again. But I'll be back before you know it. Still, it has come to my attention that there are a few of you conservative bloggers quietly reading Tiny Cat Pants and I hate to leave you without anything to ponder late at night, as you're lying awake wondering if I'm just one lone crazed lunatic or if I'm just saying what a vast ocean of liberals think but can't articulate. So, Nathan Moore, Bob Krumm, Glen Dean, etc., put on your pajamas, settle in here next to me, and let me tell you a scary story in honor of Halloween. Once, there was a conservative blogger--Nabob Dean, let's call him--who lived in a nice house in a good suburb, let's say Brentwood, with his wife. One evening, when his wife was at a PTA meeting and he had the house to himself, he sat down to blog about something important, let's say "reserving judgment on judicial nominees." Just as he was getting to the meat of his argument, weighing whether we ought to trust the President's decision-making skills or whether we ought to throw our hands up in despair, something on the TV caught his attention--a liberal blogger had been sighted in Brentwood. Well, of course this unsettled Nabob and he got up, checked the windows and locked the doors. Then, he got back to work on his polemic. All of a sudden, his IM screen popped up. Hello, Oppressor of the Working Class. Who is this? He typed. There are poor people in the world, nay, in this very state, who hate you. This is not funny. He typed. We both know your opposition to the estate tax is based solely on greed. It's a death tax, you idiot, he typed, furiously. Taxes have already been paid on that money. You haven't paid taxes on that money. I could argue that tax has been paid on every piece of currency in my purse, and not pay any taxes. But I don't. I accept my responsibility to chip in for the greater good. First, your argument doesn't make any sense. Do you think this shit, excuse my foul language, out before you type it? Second, "greater good"? What kind of hippie liberal bull... And then Nabob knew. He knew precisely what kind of hippie liberal bullshit this was. This was the hippie liberal bullshit of a liberal blogger. Ma'am, he typed. Good day. I'm not going away. I said 'Good day,' he typed and he exited out of his IM program. Just then, another instant messenging window opened, another program. He would have to remember to talk to Nabob Jr. about cluttering up the computer with this crap. Women are not just vessels for your seed. "Enough," he yelled into the empty office. He reached over and unplugged the broadband connection. A Word document opened and he watched "George Bush doesn't care about Black people" appear before his eyes, as if typed by ghostly fingers. "That is it," he said and he called Comcast. He explained the situation and they assured him they could have someone out to look at his broadband connection in two days, between 8 and noon. After he yelled and threatened to call his lawyer, the woman offered to see if she could tell what was going on. She would call him right back. He looked up at his screen. It now said "Gay marriage is not going to kill you." He stared at the screen for a long time, not quite knowing what to do. Just then, the phone rang. He about jumped out of his skin, but he answered it. "Sir," the voice said, "This is Debbie from Comcast. You need to get out of the house right now." "What?" "Right now, don't turn off your computer. Just get out of the house." "Okay, I'm leaving. What's going on?" "Sir, I ran a trace on the activity on your computer and..." "And?" "Sir, the liberal blogging is coming from your upstairs!"