“I’m so bored. I hate my life.” - Britney Spears

Das Langweilige ist interessant geworden, weil das Interessante angefangen hat langweilig zu werden. – Thomas Mann

"Never for money/always for love" - The Talking Heads

Wednesday, April 19, 2006


Recently, LI has noticed another blog trend that is passing us by. Apparently, if you are anybody nowadays in the blogosphere, somebody is threatening you with death. Ezra Klein published an account of how Malkin published the phone numbers of anti-recruitments students, and how these students got death threats. Then Malkin got death threats. On CT, some friend of one of the group is getting death threats.

And how about moi? Is LI chopped liver or something? Not only do we heartily approve of the anti-recruiting students, we heartily approve of the little tire slashing action engaged in by some of them. The spirit of the Boston tea party is not dead! Those who want to phone in death threats (no creditors please) should call us at 513-478-3699.

That said, it won’t do to just say, I want to kill you, or fuck you up the ass, or that kind of thing. So yesterday! Let’s have a little creativity among the death threat group. First, set the atmosphere. I’d recommend music for this. Black Rebel Motorcycle Club has an excellent death threat song with a spaced out male voice going “Little Girls. I like little girls!” But if you are going to play yesteryear’s NIN, you really aren’t even trying. Suggestion: the gorier the death, the better. Why not a little power tool action in the background to give it that Leatherface atmosphere? Nothing says fear like a drillbit. On the other hand, don’t go overboard, or the neighbors will definitely complain. You do not want to be standing there, power drill in hand, pants to your knees, Black Rebel Motorcycle Club on stereo overdrive, explaining to a cop what you are doing. On the other hand, those death threaters who live far from human kind, in rural areas, don’t need me to advise them. You all are the pros. After all, I’m doing death threats for dummies, here.

Second, personalize the death threat. Calling LI and giving us a ho hum death threat is not going to cut the mustard. We recommend doing a computer search beforehand. Remember, stalkers, research makes all the difference between the yawning and the shitting in his pants response. For this, you have to put on your thinking cap. For instance, knowing LI lives in Austin, we recommend some local color. Like, someday, fuckwad, you will be walking out of Mean Eyed Cat and I’ll be there with my favorite knife, Betsy.

Third, of course, is don’t hog the line. Other death threateners might be trying to call too, you know. Plus, the cops can trace it if you stay on for, like ten minutes. Or so I believe from various crime dramas I’ve seen.

This has been a public service message from your friends at LI!


Setholonius said...

You're a dead man, Gathman. In fact, Gath is the Philistine city where Goliath lived, so I'm going to kill you with a fucking SLING, bitch! How's that for personal?

roger said...

I like it. Creative, the name play, I dig the whole death scenario going on here. Unuaul death weapon, check. But there needs to be a hint of giallo -- so I hope you are strappin' razor blades to those missiles, bucko. Otherwise the essential puddle of blood shot just isn't gonna come off.

Rev. Dr. Harpagus Vramin said...

Barton Springs. May 15th at 3 PM. You, me and Mr. Flenser. When you hear this, you'll know I've come to keep my appointment.

Bwa ha ha ha ha ha!

roger said...

I can't seem to get that link to play for me, Mad Dr. Vramen.

Maybe I'll try my mozilla/firefox browser...

Rev. Dr. Harpagus Vramin said...

That's Vramin, not Vramen. I am not a noodle package, sirrah! And the link is to a file that must be downloaded, not streamed.

Your suffering will be intense.

But not from the file, which I rather enjoy myself.

Amerigo Sciurofascista said...

Oh, Roger, I too will phone in a "death threat", though as you undoubtedly know they are not my thing. I consider the threat the mark of the poseur, to be perfectly honest. But before I do, why not try happiness? Courtesy of the improbably named Salmon Rushdie-Hayek-Bisque.


I am going to beat you to death with all three volumes of Marx's Capital.

I have absolutely no material interest in this act, other than the hefty pay-per-view fees I will receive, and in order to ensure that you feel as little pain as possible during your death, I am going to first read aloud to you from The Fountainhead to put you to sleep. I hope you can provide me with a choice of dates/times so that I may make an appointment to do so. I wouldn't want to inconvenience you unduly.

Sincerely yours,

roger said...

Mr. Assassin, that is the coolest death I have ever been offered!

Unfortunately, the law setting up the International War Crimes Tribunal specifically outlaws the reading aloud of "any and all works written by Ayn Rand between 1930 and 1965" as cruel, barbarous, and inhumane treatment, subjecting the perpetrator to a sentence of not less than 3 and not more than 20 years in a Dutch prison, and mandatory enrollment in a bad taste therapy program (where the prisoner will be encouraged to read aloud from a la recherche du temps perdu, as well as joining Edith Piaf sing-alongs). Surely, though, the sleep inducing tome -- and I am touched by your humanity -- could be something else, perhaps by Michael Crichton? Or perhaps just reading Levitus will do. I look forward to my corpse having that spiffy M and E design embossed upon it -- at least, if you are going to use the standard Marx and Engels edition of Das C. I'd recommend it for beating to death purposes. At forty five thousand pages or whatever, weighing in at three pounds per volume, these babies pack a mighty punch, and give the beater a nice range of blows that can be comfortably delivered underhand, overhand, and -- especially good for breaking ribs -sidewinders.

Downside is resale value. Alas, Marx and Engels have fallen mightily in the used book department. I think, however, Das Kapital can still be traded for a pretty well preserved hardback edition of Valley of the Dolls.

Amie said...

LI, this is SO bogus! How can one phone-in a death threat when one is writhing on the floor, dying of laughter, after reading your post!? Do you think the good folk taking the time and trouble to phone-in death threats have no sense of humor!?Bah!
Besides, you say nothing about whether you will accept collect calls in this delicate matter? As soon as you provide a toll-free number I am phoning in a recording of the STAR SPANGLED BANNER on tape loop. Not quite sure which version to use, but am reasonably sure that, beyond being a mere death threat, it should kill every sentient being within hail.

roger said...


My God. I didn't think things would get this drastic. Please, though -- I'm begging you -- not a country and western version. NO, NOT DOLLY PARTON....


New York Pervert said...

roger--Don't you say too much bad about Miss Rand, I like the movie with Pat Neal and Coop; I believe they both really knew the importance of a fine building and knew what one was--or they did after Miss Rand explained it to them... And you watch out when you talk about Dolly Parton, how dare you, don't you remember when she sang 'Jolene..Jo-leeeen..Joleen Jooooooo--lee-ee-eeen...' Well, you are just asking for it, because that is a spotless woman, and you have to learn to respect your roots. That is not like right after 9/11 when they let people who can't sing go ahead and try to blurt 'God Bless America' (like Mary Hart at a baseball game, Lord that was awful) for about a month, before they started getting back to pros, including over-the-hill personnel.

I am not telling you anything those exquisite personnel at the press breakfast wouldn't...

roger said...

Mr. NYP, you don't fool me for a second. You want to be frogmarched by Dutch police to the Edith Piaf singalongs, don'tcha? Visions of those prison theater troups doing Sam Beckett plays are dancing in your head. First, you'll throw in a little Jacques Brel, you'll organize the prisoners, and soon it is off for the European tour.

No and again no! You cannot piggyback on my death via the America's funniest death threat home video to fame and fortune, sir! Goddamn, I think of one miserable way to get my fifteen minutes, and you are already taking seven of them. With my dying breath I'll be trying to point out the M and E tattoo, but the camera will already be on your damned prison chorus of Serbians, Croatians and Objectivists. Life isn't fair!

New York Pervert said...

Touche,monsieur--I happiry to sprit rimeright with fine ferrow rike you.

Anonymous said...

Have you no shame, Mr Gathman? At long last, have you no shame? This is a transparent attempt to throw the future smarket in harvested organs into chaos. As you well know, market models for organs depend upon the occurance of deaths following a Poisson distribution while the salvagable organs are extrapolated from the historical record of autopsies. By arranging the time of your death in advance, you've introduced an externality that will wreak havoc with the known distribution of deaths—but on top of this, you encourage an exotic and “out of band” type of death, where your salvagable organs will likely not conform to the historical record. Firms that insure market efficiency will have to fall back on their capitals and even insurance; and this in turn could cause a catastrophe in the re-insurance sector!

Think of the children with congenital heart defects who will die because of your desire for celebrity, Mr. Gathman. Think of the dialysis patients who need kidneys; and think of the unfortunates on the heart transplant list.

—Ludwig von Mises van der Rhode-tuo-Surphdom.

roger said...

Dear Mr. Mises-I-forget-the-rest,

Well, you have me there. I was so caught up in getting clobbered by Marx that I totally forgot about my duties, vis a vis our organ demanders. Especially our successful class -- as Robert Novak has so aptly named the entrepreneurs of this era of liberty and freedom around the world. I notice, on tinyrevolution, http://www.tinyrevolution.com/mt/archives/000883.html that there have been many kindly suggestions about the retiring CEO of Exxon's upcoming face transplant. So perhaps the damage I'll sustain to the internal organs can be made up for by my own contribution, however hunble, to reconfiguing Lee Raymond's face.

I leave it to you, Herr Doktor, to negotiate a fair price for me. My niece and nephews could use the dough. Of course, your 40 percent commission will come off the top, no question.

Amerigo Sciurofascista said...

Here's the wattle link from A Tiny Revolution.

Roger, I can't help noticing that you haven't been murdered yet. Stout fellow! As you may know, the condition of not having been murdered is one to which most aspire. Your achievement in this regard is praiseworthy, the solicitation for death threats notwithstanding. I hope that will continue not to be murdered and manage to resist the numerous, highly creative offers from the citizens who have offered to help, or "help".

Le Colonel Chabert said...

So a whole shtetl is wiped out by some cossacks and arrives at their judgment before God simultaneously.

God takes his place at the bench and looks down upon them.

"So? Who wants to go first?" asks the almighty.

A nervous discussion ensues, and as is their wont, the dead put the decision to the rabbi.

"I'll go," says the learned and holy man, and steps up.

"Well, rebbe, what have you to say for yourself?" asks the Lord.

"Oh Lord, you are all, and I am nothing."

God Almighty purses his lips, rocks his head thoughtfully and seems satisfied, and asks the rabbi to stand to the side.

The richest man from the shtetl, whose son is married to the rabbi's daughter, has observed this and volunteers to go next.

"Well, Mr. Macher? What have you to say for yourself?"

"Lord of the Universe, you are everything, you are the great all, and I might have thought I was something on earth, but I am nothing before you greatness. I am nothing. Let me repeat that, I am nothing."

God nods again and waves for him to go stand with the rabbi.

The dead remain nervous and as there are no volunteers, they push forward the shtetl beggar, who steps forward and regards his judge.

"Well, sir?" Asks the Lord. "What have you to say for yourself?"

"I am nothing," says the beggar, shrugging.

Whereupon the rich man leans over and whispers in the rabbi's ear, "Look who thinks he's nothing."

And Now I Will Watch Mercilessly Calmly As You DIE LAUGHING.

(Heheheheh. Heartless I am.)

Student of Tunnel of TeeVee Studies said...

arpegeleh...did you act like a bitch when JULIA ROBERTS won 5 GOLD MEDALS!? My roommate's bf is New Orlinian and half jewish half christian fundamentalist, and he wants to do a study of Southern Jewry. I told him you were a TALMUDIC SCHOLAR.

btw, I've decided to cast Jeremy Irons in the part of Myself, because I imagine when he works out the character he will listen to Ravel while writing dissembling blog comments...

Apologies, woggia, but don't think your asphalt and blacktop on a 110 degree day went unappreciated. Anyway, you acted a lot more like Dolly when Mary Hart interviewed her. Dolly said: 'Maaayyyy-ri, you jes' like Barb'ra Walters, nothin's ever enufff fer you..' Mary Hart said: 'That's a compliment.'

Dolly had not meant that to be a compliment.

When Barbara Walters interviewed Dolly during her cosmopolis impingement in the late 70's, she got a little too overt for Miss Parton's taste, talking about the 'easy, pleasant feeling...even though we're VERY DIFFERENT women...I don't know whether you feel it...' Dolly said: 'Well, yeah, I think we both pos'tive, wark haard.'

That's why you got 8 minutes and I only got 7.

roger said...

LCC, I see your devilish plan. It isn't to make me die of laughter, but of shame -- because your joke is the first move in playing the Jewish Joke dozens. And well you know that only a hardened Manhattanite can play that and win -- not a yokel from the sticks and fringes, such as me.
And you are right! I've been racking my brains for a responding joke, but I can't come up with any. Well, there is one joke about a priest and a leprachaun-- but it isn't exactly the same thing, is it? And golf, the priest is playing golf and... oh, screw it.

So I am withering. You are heartless. But hey, that joke about the priest and the leprachaun- while not exactly funny in itself, I was told that joke, long ago, by the man who cut Georgia O'Keefe's hair in Abiquiu. Actually, the man wasn't that impressed with G.O., remembering her mainly because he'd been asked about her. His most vivid memories were of being a prison guard during the riots at the state prison -- which is how I learned about the beheadings back then.

Now I'm going back to dying of shame...

Le Colonel Chabert said...

I been to albuquerque. I didn't see you there. For shame, you hearing orfeus' instrument tell a note untruly [four letters]. Now you will what sounds from seashells the imperial gets in decline!

- Cryptotor, the Fiendish English Crossword SuperVillain

student of passive-voice misogyny in Julia Roberts said...

It's rude and misogynist not to be impressed with Georgia O'Keeffe, even though she wasn't as talented as TONYA HARDING.

student of passive-voice misogyny in Julia Roberts said...

It's rude and misogynist not to be impressed with Georgia O'Keeffe, even though she wasn't as talented as TONYA HARDING.

roger said...

I don't believe death threats can be made to this old barber. For one thing, he was a tough old nut who'd been in a prison guard too, and, when I met him, was delivering papers. I imagine, however, that he can still be found drinking at the Liquid Company, for those who desire to roust him out -- however, warning: I have a strong suspicion that death threatening, here, will entail getting a pool cue upside the head. The Liquid Company is no place to fool around.

student of hot air said...

There are no death threats. Not ever. There never have been.

'Noo Yawk Tiiiiimes, honey...Nyoo- yawk, tiiiimes....'

student of hot air said...

Death threats have to be mediated by offline existence to be pool-cued. They do not exist online. They never have. Not ever.

'Noo Yawk Tiiiimes, honey...nyoo-yawk tiiiiimes...'