(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.