Apparently this is an ancient alter ego of Chihuahua Grub.
I met with him recently during his crazed and lengthy trek across the continent. He was passing by Vegas and alerted me to the possibility of a meeting. Perhaps a quick lunch while he sped through my state on his way to visit with friends in Arizona. I agreed, for we had shared some delightfully ribald conversation in the Cbox and I was positively frothing with envy at the NYC bunch and all their glorious fun.
He requested a meeting time and place. I suggested the Crown and Anchor as a bistro that boasted both good food and convenient proximity to my place of employment. So here I was, off to meet a complete stranger whom I had first contacted through the internet. I had done this once before with little repercussions other than a miffed klingon.
Previous successes aside, I was concerned that I was swiftly setting myself up to be the subject of an after school special. It's all well and good to reveal the intimate details of your colon surgery to someone in the anonymous realm of the internet, but the situation radically becomes less anonymous when you agree to meet that person in, well... in person.
I had no idea what this guy was like. Hell, I didn't even know with any certainty that he was a guy. It very well could all be an elaborate charade to harvest my organs and wear my ass as a hat in some strange Orwellian ceremony of vengeance. I wasn't prepared to give my precious organs away to just anyone. I needed my ass. I'm a young man and I still have a lot of sitting to do.
And so I landed upon the idea of using the poor mans Magnum, P.I. to gain a little info on this person with the odd name. I did a Google search on his E2 alias. I was immediately rewarded with thousands of returns from the same domain. That was all E2 info and I already knew all of that. A few domain restrictions later and I was rewarded with a few positive hits.
The more quick witted of you will quickly realize that checking some ones background based upon an assumed alias of a person you believe to be involved in a hoax of doom, may not be the best kind of detective work. I'm not Batman. Regardless of the dubious nature of my investigation I was rewarded with small amounts of information that would possibly yield diagnostic information on the personality of Mr. Chihuahua Grub.
Of course it did not. I was presented with several sites that had messages from a man calling himself "Chihuahua Gilliam Fnordling (with an umlaut over it) Grub." These were usenet messages from groups like alt.religion.kibology and alt.folklore.computers with titles like "Dentists for Manatees and Christians with Guns." I was not reassured.
But I was intrigued. The text I found was clearly the work of the same fevered mind as my pouty lipped E2 sidekick CG. IF not the same fevered mind then at least the same fevered maternity ward. I had not eased my mind but I was more curious than ever. I had also failed to uncover a clear photo so that I may recognize my dining companion and avoid any embarrassing and uncomfortable restaurant searching. Fortunately he had described himself as having "Spiky short red hair and Elvis Costello glasses." I figured I would be able to find with little trouble.
The meeting was without slaughter or even the slightest hint of maniacal laughter that would indicate a criminal mastermind bent on turning my lungs into sausage. I did ask him if he knew anyone named Gillian Fnordling. He laughed, one of those little chuckles you belch out when someone pulls forth hauntingly embarrassing memories from a past you thought well buried. The same kind of laugh that accompanies your mothers gallery of naked baby on a bear skin rug pictures.
"Yeah, I've heard of him. He's proof that I was in high school. What, did you do a Google search on me?"