Tag Archives: death rays

kickstart my black heart

Recently, several FOE bands have created Kickstarter campaigns to fund their projects. In case you don’t know, Kickstarter is a kind of online clearing-house for donations toward a new album, van, installation piece . . . whatever you want to ask people to give you money for. If your project doesn’t meet the funding goal, no one’s bank account is hit. If it does, your donators are charged and then showered with rewards in this and, surely, the next life. Like a picture of me as the cover of your album. Hint hint, Modern Skirts. I suggest this one:

Or one free bank heist using the van your small contribution helped to fund. (Looking at you, the HEAP.)

Who knows what the Kickstarter people get out of this. As one who invokes “karma” only as a tool of grudging acceptance when he is cornered into performing some act of goodwill, the Evil chooses to believe these Kickstarter folk aren’t doing it for the joy of seeing artists and whatnot fulfill (the financial elements of) their dreams. Probably something involving skimming microamounts of cash off the top to fund some sort of death ray. Because that’s what the Evil would do.

Really, the only dilemma is whether to mount said ray on a satellite locked in geosynchronous orbit ‘round Earth or in the scooped-out guts of a dormant volcano. Maybe it seems obvious, from a funding standpoint—even with advances in budget rocket technology and the availability of private launches, getting a satellite-mounted death ray into space isn’t a cheap proposition. But then, you try building the pneumatic lift needed to hoist the death ray over a steaming caldera for less than ten million bucks. Six of one, half a dozen of the other, no?*

* “Six of one, half a dozen of the other” is, by the way, a brilliant phrase. It nestles snugly in that perfect zone of cliché-ty. On the one hand, it can be said so often and in so many situations that it has been rendered virtually meaningless. Just try it. Someone asks you where you want to eat lunch? Shrug and spit, “Eh, six of one . . .” You will be lightly scorned for sucking down precious oxygen to spew into the world yet more conversational filler. On the other hand, this cliché hasn’t become so infuriatingly ubiquitous that your friends will yearn to punch you in the face for uttering it. Perfect.**

** For an example of a cliché worthy of a public pummeling, see “It is what it is.” Or “Not so much.”

Anywho. The Evil isn’t ready to Kickstart the ol’ death ray campaign. But when he is, just know that he appreciates your contribution with all his black heart. And that you will be among Lil’ Deathy’s first targets.