Whatever happened to the good old days, when I could walk down the block and clear out a whole magazine stand for a few bucks. I used to have everything from Better Home & Garden to Weird Pets Monthly. These days, magazines are either gone, or ten dollars for one issue of some flimsy thing that has more pictures of Harrison Styles than it does high-quality, large-fonted writing! So here’s why I’m peeved off. If print media is really dead, then that means cutting up magazines to make ransom letters is dead too.
Ever since this whole internet thing took off, it’s never been more difficult to threaten strangers anonymously. There used to be a real art to invoking fear, demanding ransoms, or sometimes just bragging to the so-called ace detective that still hasn’t caught you (Officer Michaels, I know it’s about a decade too late, but I wrote my address on the back of that letter in invisible ink and still hope you eventually catch me).
I used to take into account font mixtures, color palettes, and especially kerning. My letters were perfectly legible, everytime. I can’t think of a single incident where a wealthy businessman with a dark secret didn’t understand that I was demanding he deliver a large sum of money or face vague, unstated repercussions almost always spelled out using “or else.” I’ll tell ya, for awhile, Disney had a vacation ad that said “open the door to elsewhere” and that was a real beaut. You could get the whole threat off one cut.
I know there’s ways to threaten or boast on the internet, but you have to remember, I’ve been doing this since San Fran in the late 60s, and it was a different time then. Believe me, I’ve tried the modern approach. I went through and did screen captures of a ton of great text off of all kinds of sites. CNN, Washington Post, Cracked. I stole text from all of these digital magazines, but then when I move them onto something called Microsoft Word, the resolution gets too blurry to read. It makes me look like a friggin’ amateur!
Then, I tried some other pastier methods, like macaroni art, but it looked even worse. It looked like if the freakin’ Lindbergh kidnapping was committed by the baby. I’m out of options here. Literally, I’m using the last of my haul to write this op-ed. I’ve been cutting up my last remaining Playboys and Zoobooks, even though I kept both of those around to actually read. I feel the times shifting and leaving me in the past, and I’ve realized that if I don’t admit to what I have done now, I may never be able to. My legacy would disappear from time just like Nickelodeon magazine from the racks.
So, here goes. No puzzles, no threats, I just want to finally reveal myself and take credit for the 243 unsolved crimes I know I committed. First crime…
Oh no. No. The last Sports Illustrated left is the Swimsuit issue. That means it’s all pictures. I don’t think I have enough letters left to-