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.

-louis