|-The Deluded Informer, Issue 1 of 2nd Edition [access our archive]
|Death Threats Against Me, Analysed|
\by jeremy brendan\
January 2nd, 2001: I was travelling alone on VIA Rail, a train service that runs straight across Canada. I was returning from a sojourn in the Gaspé Coast, where many of my friends and compatriots happen to live. I was in good spirits, having seen my family over the holidays, and basically just wanting to get "home". (It is somewhere on the island of Montreal)
I had smuggled some Milwaukee's Best Dry onto the train, hidden demurely in my carry-on suitcase. This is common practice by most train passengers, but nobody ever talks about it. Anyhow, after finishing much of the case, I began to make a public spectacle of myself in the "Bubble Car". This is the part of the train where everyone smokes cigarettes, drinks their smuggled booze, and tries to make conversation in both official languages.
I was largely inoffensive, mostly rambling on about where I lived in the city, and telling tales culled from my peer group, some of them being "thugs-4-life", and others as dorky as Newt Gingrich.
There happened to be some people that didn't enjoy my retelling of other's stories. One of them in particular began to trade insults with me, mostly of the "You're a poseur" and "Fuck off" variety. The booze went straight to my brain and I began to grow determined. Who was this Torontonian, and Why did he have a right to censor my voice? I responded to his comments with a few random insults, prompting him to grow angry. Eventually, he left the car, probably hunting and gathering or bashing his head against sedimentary rocks.
Around 6 AM, they opened the meal car. We were right outside of Drummondville and I was eating breakfast with two darlings from New Brunswick. Things were going great, and I was still able to use my throat muscles. I thought that I was out of the woods, so to speak. Sadly, this wasn't the case. He sauntered into the meal car with a look of hatred on his pimply face.
He began to stare vindictively in my direction, probably wanting to continue the conflict that had began hours earlier. I fanned the flame. "IS THERE A PROBLEM?" I asked, hoping that a tough approach would scare him off. "What a fucking guy," he said, before smashing his fist on the table. "You a big talker? Yeah? I'll fucking kill you," he warned. I kept my composure, although I was getting worried. The girls excused themselves and fled the scene. (One of them left her apple juice, but I brought it to her afterwards)
I wasn't about to show weakness. Monsters like him thrive on frailty. "I'll tell you what...I'll give you my address. Come over and I'll beat your head in," I said. He laughed and stood up. I was sure that my parents would soon be in the market for a gravestone. And then he said, "Ok...I'll see you when we get off the train." Another laugh. I swallowed and stole a fork from the dining car. I figured that any weapon is preferrable to bare knuckles.
I survived. He disappeared when everyone disembarked from the train, and I haven't heard from him since. Just the same, it was my first death threat of 2001.
Next Issue: "Jeremy's Second Death Threat of 2001, exhumed!"
Jeremy asked us not to publish his picture. We lied.
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©2001 The Deluded Informer. This is a Satirical publication, which is published twice a month, intended for humour only. All Rights Reserved. Ideas/comments? Contact Us.