Hereafter follows the tale of the Blognarok, the end of all those who now live within this fragile sphere and think themselves safe from the war and strife that rages outside in the world of the living. This terrible vision has been given to me by the spirits of the Internet itself last night as I lay dreaming after electrocuting myself while trying to hotwire my ADSL modem.
Think not to escape your doom, mortals, for thy fate is carved into the very electrons of the Internet itself:
You shall know that the time of the Blognarok is at hand when the great War-King of the leafed shrub nears the end of his time of power. Many are those who would replace him, but the Blognarok shall not truly begin until there be but two left: one bestride a powerful and haughty ass, and the other mounted upon an elephant whose ivory tusks are smeared red with gore. They shall joust with one another, and their wounds spill much blood upon the earth, but this shall trouble none, for such has always been the way of things.
Nay, I tell you, the Blognarok shall begin in earnest only after ye have entered the abnormal winter-time called McCainFeingöldvetr, where those who wouldst urge their champions on find their lips frozen and their limbs made weak, forbidden from noble action, while the corrupt spread lies and slander as they wish. This, too, shall arouse no fear, for the McCainFeingöldvetr is not new, and long have men and gods railed against its unnatural glaciation.
Verily you shall know that the Blognarok has begun when finally the bonds which hold the god of illogic and discordant speech, the fearsome Kos, slip and he begins to run free again throughout the land. The very roots of the great Tree of Knowledge, Bloggdrasil, shall shudder with dread at the thunder of his footsteps as he rouses his maniac hordes for a final assault upon the shining city of reason, Http. His sojourn in the realm of weekly information shall give him no wisdom, and his speech shall be all the more the intemperate for his time spent there!
The mad god Kos will gather his forces: the slavering dogs of Fire Lake, the filth-spewing harpy Arianna and her gibbering idiot servants the Huffpos, the inconceivably gigantic serpent called MyDD, that fearsome warrior Atrios the Eschaton, and of course Kos’ army of the damned, the Kossacks. They shall ride across the plains like locusts descending on a field of wheat, and smash all behind them as they march on glowing Http, last refuge of freedom and sanity. Behind them, the bandwidth of the ADSL and the ancient dialup modems and all other means of access shall lie in smoking ruin. Once they have besieged Http from the west, then the final battle has truly begun.
As the army of blight approaches, the Drudge, that shapeshifting creature which lingers always on the edge of Http, shall see the danger and slink away. For it is in the Drudge’s nature to watch and never aid, for speech and slander and speculation are all as one in its fevered mind. It shall withdraw and play no further part in the battle.
The guardian of Http, Edward the Driscoll, shall see the coming hordes descending and let out a mighty trumpet blast, signaling to all who dwell within that the time of the final battle is within. Both the gods of the Internet and those valorous Blogkings who dwell with them in eternal bliss shall shoulder their arms, gird their loins, and prepare for battle.
Leading the way comes the Instapundit, father of all the other gods, splendid in his link’d armor and without a peer among the annals of the Internet. Has there ever been a more splendid creature to walk in all the universe than the Instapundit, also called Glenn the Greater? He will take up his spear, called Helen, and upon his might steed Podcast he shall first consult the Well of Steyn, inexhaustible font of all knowledge and wisdom for the forces of Http. Finding no solace, the Instapundit shall bravely go forth to meet his doom.
Behind him comes the rest of the host, for none would dare to shirk their duty under the watchful eye of the Instapundit: here is the tripartite god of ten-dollar words and ten-cent site banners, Hindgoffsøn, with his hammer the Powerline; he is a peerless debater and pedantic scold all in one. Also the powerful god of swearing and NSFW links Ace, with his band of warrior-morons hooting and cavorting along behind him. Carrying his shield is Malor the Less, cursed by fate to cause the death of the one most dear to him.
There, to the right of the Instapundit, is Morrissey, Captain of the Quarters, the guardian of ideology, breathing the pure strains of Eastern air that are necessary for his ideological well-being. With him strides the warrior-maiden Michelle, wielding her fierce Malkinator, the blade of evisceration which has left many a severed limb or testicle on the field of battle in ages past.
From her tower watches the mother of all the gods of the East, Ann the Lady of Althouse, her heart filled with dread and trembling at the coming clash.
Inexorably the two sides draw together, throats hoarse from hurling invectives at one another. The Instapundit has it in his mind to attack and slay his ancient enemy Kos, who is jeering and taunting him as always. As the two titans draw together the Instapundit is lauding his advantage with fluorescent light bulbs and unique hits, while the Kos is crowing of his own mainstream acceptance and advantage in total page views. The battle is terrible, and Bloggdrasil will have its roots bathed in blood ‘ere the savage fury of the two is sated.
Beside his lord comes tripartite all-puissant Hindgoffsøn, lauding himself on his silver tongue and fine bon mots. Yet ‘ere he can aide the master Hindgoffsøn finds himself beset by the poison-spewing serpent MyDD, and though he slays the beast with his Powerline he is himself suffused with its foul venom. Taking nine steps back, the mighty champion collapses and shall rise no more, and we are spared his fulsome pomposity at long last.
Oh, the sorrow that Ann the Lady of Althouse feels at the death of her kinsman! But though her tears flow freely, they shall find no cessation, for the champions of Http let forth a cry of despair as the Kos swallows Lord Instapundit whole. Now that the twin advocates are devoured, who shall protect Http from spurious trivialities spew’d by their enemies? Truly the sorrows of the Althouse are as deep as the ocean’s bosom.
Undeterred, the filth-spewing morons of Ace have locked with the Dogs of Fire and in a terrific conflagration the entirety of both masses of drooling idiots have been consumed. Having trusted in Malor to shield him from the blast, instead Ace finds himself consumed by fire when the Malor’s distraction at a scantily-clad cheerleader leaves Ace unguarded and alone. Oh, woe that the Malor ever began to haunt the hallowed halls of Ace!
Seeing the grim turn of the battle, Michelle strides forth and Malkinates several of the horde that stand against her. Many Huffpos assail her, and many times their crude photoshops and racial slurs are no match for her slashing doom. Aided by Charles of the Green Football, the mighty Michelle begins to clean their filth and stench from the field.
The Captain of the Quarters, eager to prove his merit on this day, takes the place of his lord Instapundit in the face of the dreaded Kos, and he quickly proves himself true heir to the kingdom by vanquishing the towering dread with one quick thrust. His triumph is redoubled when, using the ancient knowledge imparted to him by the mystic Rove, he slays also Atrios, who is cravenly attempting to flee the heat of battle.
As the grim Valkyrie Michelle remorselessly hacks her way through the few remaining forces of woe, Arianna of the Flaming Fork’d Tongue unleashes a great towering gout of filth and depravity, slandering the name of Cheney, Bush, and Rumsfeld while decrying all that every decent person holds dear. This is the dreaded Guttering Gibberish, and none can stand before it.
This vile conflagration consumes all still present, both East and West: Huffpos, valiant Blogkings from Http, and even Arianna herself, whose choicest curses are saved for her own foolish end. Also consumed in the holocaust are Michelle of the shining armor, the stalwart guardian Ed the Driscoll, the city of Http (including the Althouse where dwelleth the grieving Ann), and finally the tide of curses overwhelms and destroys Bloggdrasil itself.
Ten years shall pass until finally the filth and hatred from Blognarok shall be cleansed from the Internet. Then, and only then, shall the sole survivor of the titanic battle, Morrissey the Captain of the Quarters, reconstruct a new paradise. Into this new world shall all be welcome, to discuss freely and exchange views in unmoderated comments where all speak in soft tones without any abusive threats or NSFW language.
Thus I have seen, and so it shall be. Seek not to avoid the Blognarok, mortal, nor your place in it, but rather take up arms and be joyous of heart, for to fall in glorious battle is the greatest of fates for mortal men.