Tuesday, April 10, 2012

101 Ways (NOT) to Kill Stephen King.

(My evil twin wrote this. I'm tied up in a chair and watching him destroy my online life.)

Number 101: drop a watermelon on his head as he walks down Rodeo Drive.

Number 100: substitute Ex-lax for his Viagra.

Number 99: publish that picture of Stephen sitting on the toilet eating an apple.

Number 98: mention that if it wasn’t for him, Jack Nicholson would be nowhere.

Number 97: tell him Steve Buscemi is going to play him in the movie of his life.

Number 96: close the Coney Island eatery around the corner.

Number 95: put him in a room with James Frey.

Number 94: put him in a room with Oprah and James Frey

Number 93: put him in a room alone with his thoughts.

Number 92: put him out in a big open field, with bright sunshine, and fresh air, and lots of open space, where deer and antelope play.

Number 91: tell him Charles Manson is his biggest fan.

Number 90: make him move to Sarnia, Ontario and write a book on Canada’s Oil Heritage District.

Number 89: tell him police psychological crime experts are using his work as college texts.

Number 88: put him in a room with no door.

Number 87: tell him he needs to redecorate.

Number 86: mention that he should have been a country western singer.

Number 85: cautiously inform him that he doesn’t even have a stalker.

Number 84: take away his morning latte.

Number 83: rip holes in his underwear when he is sleeping.

Number 82: hide his shoes—all of them.

Number 81: if he speaks to you, reply in French.

Number 80: tell him that people watch him.

Number 79: tell him that no one is watching.

Number 78: ask him for a photo for the tabloids.

Number 77: ask him to smile for the camera.

Number 76: ask him what expensive and stinky kind of cheese he likes.

Number 75: ask him if there is a vein of dark humour running through his works.

Number 74: if he says yes, ask for an example.

Number 73: tell him you have never seen one of his movies.

Number 72: tell him you are big fan of Dean R. Koontz.

Number 71: admit that you have not read the book you are interviewing him about.

Number 70: put a rattlesnake in his pocket and ask him for a light

Number 69: put an electric blanket in the tub for him

Number 68: ask him to upload photos of his dinner to facebook

Number 67: ask him to tweet something evil to his followers

Number 66: ask him for a critique!

Number 65: ask him if Google helped him write that

Number 64: ask him, ‘Conan or Tarzan?”

Number 63; talk French to him while sharpening a post-hole auger

Number 62: tell him he has poop stuck to his leg

Number 61: mention that certain classic books would be unpublishable by modern standards. (Fuck, that one even makes me edgy.)

Number 60: tell him he should self-publish an e-book

Number 59: ask him if he is in Wiki

Number 58: remove the rotating blade from his shaver and substitute 900 lbs per square inch of vacuum power.

Number 57: (my sentimental favourite,) the spike from the phone handset a la Dr. Phybes.

Number 56: tell him you once had a threesome with Vincent Price and Bela Lugosi

Number 55: tell him, “You can write a romance novel in about two weeks and some people are making quite a good living at that.”

Number 54: tell him your own mother won’t read your work, so you reckon he should.

Number 53: say you are his biggest fan and plan on being buried in a piano crate. (He might bust a gut laughing.)

Number 52: ask him if he was ever on CB radio

Number 51: tell him you picked up a pair of size six roller skates at a flea market and they had his name inside.

Number 50: mention that he hates flattery and sees right through it.

Number 49: note that he ‘fits a certain kind of profile,’ and then move on.

Number 48: always say, ‘I love what you did with that character, that what’s his name guy.”

Number 47: invite him to the Kabuki theater.

Number 46: mention that his characters smoke too much.

Number 45: ask if he’s ever done hard time.

Number 44: tell him he should go camping a little more often.

Number 43: put itching powder in his housecoat.

Number 42: remove the drawstring from his pajamas and then pull the fire alarm.

Number 41: offer him a big contract for a Regency novel but say he can’t use a pen-name.

Number 40: ask if he’s planning another teen vampire novel.

Number 39: put electric eels in this swimming pool

Number 38: bad brake job

Number 37: tell him he has big, hairy, hobbit feet

Number 36: ask him where you’ve met before

Number 35: stick him in a phone booth with fifty heavy people

Number 34: abandon him in the Serengeti, all covered in barbecue sauce

Number 33: poison ivy up the wazoo

Number 32: ask if he’s going to go it alone

Number 31: tell him his cello playing sucks

Number 30: show him this list before it’s done

Number 29: withhold his Letters to Santa privileges

Number 28: don’t let him pray to Satan before he goes to bed at night

Number 27: How are we doing here? Are we okay for time?

Number 26: note the resemblance to Letterman

Number 25: tell him you want to be his bitch

Number 24: provide him with an endless supply of peanut butter and jam sandwiches, free of charge as a promotion

Number 23: ask him what he’s doing for world peace

Number 22: tell him you prefer airport novels

Number 21: ask him what’s his favourite humour magazine

Number 20: tell him there are three Playboy Bunnies with Uzis and rocket-launching tits in the next room

Number 19: hide his Mennen Speed Stick

Number 18: offer to shave his scrotum with a rusty saber

Number 17: unscrew the light in the fridge, and then install a guillotine inside of it

Number 18: see above, only a big hammer instead of a blade

Number 17: ask if the Three Stooges was a kind of horror parody

Number 16: douse his driveway with Crazy Glue

Number 15: ask if that’s a hair transplant

Number 14: substitute plastic explosive for the tofu

Number 13: you know what, I’m thinking #14 should be higher up the list

Number 12: Are we there yet? Are we there yet? Are we there yet? Are we there yet? Ad infinitum

Number 11: there is no number 11, you’ll have to wait

Number 10; and so on and so forth, et cetera

Number 9: put a big mousetrap out with some cheese in it, but this will only work if he doesn’t have his glasses, hence the low position in the list

Number 8: ask him to ‘try this insulated vest on’ and then step back quickly, thereby giving him a heart attack

Number 7: a banana peel at the top of the stairs

Number 6: a banana peel at the bottom of the stairs

Number 5: spray-paint his socks fluorescent orange, I agree: not very effective

Number 4: switch all of his gotchies for ones slightly smaller, and do this once a week for however long it takes

Number 3: loosen up the nut that holds the seat on his mountain bike

Number 2: hide his Preparation H (didn’t we do that one before?)

Number 1: submit this story to his shadow website, ‘www.iamnotstephenking.com’

And there you have it, ladies and gentlemen, a hundred and one ways (NOT) to kill Stephen King. And I am a dead man, but it's okay, I have lived long enough for nature and for glory. Goodbye, cruel world.



  1. Thank you, Carol. Humour has its risks, like if Mr. King was to eviscerate me (figuratively speaking,) in all its luscious and gory detail in some subsequent work. Mind you, it would be a privilege. Not everyone gets that sort of treatment...

  2. If your not careful, you'll have Jack Nicholson coming after with an axe.


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