Threaten Me With A Good Time Origin Story
Carl the Flamingo slowly gained consciousness. Only a faint hint of light filtered through the silky blindfold (or was it a sleep mask?) He wriggled in the extremely comfortable recliner, quickly realizing he could barely move. Was he being restrained, or was it the soothing heaviness of a weighted blanket? It was disorienting at first, but he felt cozy and unafraid.
A strange, distorted voice startled him from behind. “I see you’re finally awake. Did you enjoy your eight hours of totally uninterrupted, quality sleep, you piece of sh*t?!” It was obvious to Carl that the speaker was deliberately trying to obscure their voice so they could conceal their true identity.
“It was quite pleasant, thank you. I was having THE best dreams!!!” Carl responded.
“Oh yeah, well, the party’s over, a$$hole. It’s time to pay the piper.” The strange voice was menacing. “By the time I’m done with you, you’re gonna wish you were DEAD.”
“What? What are you going t-t-to d-d-to to me?!” Carl stuttered.
“First, you’re going to call out sick from work. And don’t even THINK about trying to tell them you’re in some kind of trouble because if you do…” The captor then mimicked the sound of a grape being squished, just like Mr. Miyagi in The Karate Kid. “Got it?!”
The captor dialed the office and held the cell phone to Carl’s head. Carl fully cooperated and called out sick, even though it was Friday. That meant it could be three whole days off in a row where no one would notice he was missing.
“Now, if you cooperate, we’re going to go get breakfast at your special spot and then spend the rest of the day at your favorite theme park, where you’ll be able to cut to the front of the line for EVERY single ride. If I catch you trying to make a sign or anything to let our server or a cast member know that you’re in trouble, I’m going to make your life a living hell. Understand?!”
Again, Carl nodded in compliance. He was starting to feel uneasy.
“Now, if you can manage to NOT screw that up, we’re going to hit up Jumbo’s Clown Room afterward for Happy Hour, where you can have all the free lap dances and free drinks you want. DO YOU UNDERSTAND?! And I better not catch you trying to slip a note into any g-strings indicating you need help. Behave yourself, OR ELSE.”
“OK, OK, I’ll do whatever you want! Just please don’t hurt me!” Carl sobbed.
“Shut the f*ck up! JUST SHUT UP!!! Or I’ll fly you to Las Vegas on a private jet, and we’ll spend all night gambling and boozing and partying with the likes of Celine Dion while hot showgirls fan you, rub your salty feet, and feed you as much shrimp as you want before you pass out in a luxurious penthouse suite. HOW WOULD YOU LIKE THAT?! HUH?! You disgust me.” The captor raged.
“Look, I appreciate this whole threatening, kidnapper vibe you’ve got going here, I really do. It’s actually kinda kinky, but I’m confused. None of these things sound bad. Are you literally threatening me with a good time?!”
“Uhhh, ummm. Shut up, man! You don’t know what you’re talking about!” the captor responded
Carl began to shake off the weighted blanket so he could stand up. Before he could remove the “blindfold,” he heard the front door swing open, the satisfying boi-oi-oing of the doorstop, and footsteps sprinting down the front walk. He was suddenly alone.
The only sign that anyone had ever been there was one of those voice-distorting kiddie microphones from the toy store.
Carl didn’t bother to call the cops, but he did spend the rest of the day fantasizing about what his captor might look like. He settled on a femme fatale out of a Russ Meyer movie. She’d have big, fluffy, hot roller hair and sick, retro aviator-style shades. Pink frames with brown, non-reflective lenses. He decided they should be called Threaten Me With a Good Time.
