Death Threats Issued to The Prog Hall of Infamy!

The Curator is blissfully pleased to announce that- after a lengthy series of exchanges on the relative merits of certain very mainstream Prog bands- a certain miscreant by the name of Kevin Paul Rudd has threatened to "come to Seattle" and "beat the living shit out of you motherfucker". How this has come about I'll try to explain below, but let me say right out in front: The Curator does not fear death, and certainly does not fear it coming at the hands of someone who listens to Yes.

This has been an amazing few weeks with our hero Mr. Rudd. Let me assure you, unless he is the greatest troll in history, this guy absolutely LOVES most mainstream Prog- not coincidentally, music that I for the most part absolutely despise. The trio of mini-album reviews I posted a while back on Yes (q.v.) during a particularly galling and loathsome part of their career somehow filtered back to Mr. Rudd, and he did not take a liking to them. Indeed, he reacted in a way that suggests he may actually be Rick Wakeman's mother. He contacted me several weeks ago with his own reviews for every single Yes album, neatly arranged and typed, and for the most part containing only trivial incongruities of logic and grammar flubs. I was impressed; normally, someone so obsessed with something so shitty is a person of limited intellect and reasoning skills, and generally can be found listening to Emerson, Lake and Palmer records due to a particular kind of feeble-mindedness that makes addressing more complex and beautiful music simply beyond their own mass-market middle-mindedness. I couldn't have cared less about his album reviews, of course, because nothing this touchingly tendentious hack has to say about the "beauty" and "etherealness" of things like Tales From Topographic Oceans (stunningly, his favorite album- my god...) was going to unhinge me from my steadfast determination that Jon Anderson sings like a castrated parrot, and his musings on Eastern religion are enough for me to determine that maybe Buddhists aren't so cool after all. If, indeed, there is Karma and that Karma posesses a whiff of justice to its workings, Mr. Anderson will die and come back as a cockroach, and I will track down that helium-voiced roach and step on him.

But back to the death threat. Things have been getting a tad bit more "heated" over the last few Emails, and this is to be expected; anyone who knows me knows I wield a particularly vicious and acid-laced sarcasm, and that my insults are literate, cruel, and devastating to the recipients- I do vitriol right, man. As well, I do not suffer fools with infinite patience, and when I hate something, I tend to hate it with caterwauling passion and destructive glee; later this summer, I fully intend on following through with the public burning of Styx albums here in Seattle, and I again remind you that I am not kidding. So, with this in mind, as Mr. Rudd continued to defend Yes against all logic, I finally lost patience with him one night, and in a whisky-blitzed euphoria of discord and annihilation, imagined to him a scene in which Jesus Christ returned to Earth and was deep-throat fellated by Jon Anderson, the scene ending with the latter literally coated in demi-god goo from head to toe- and loving it.

Kevin Paul had already mentioned his love of god in one of his letters, and I just assumed he had a Jesus fetish as well; right, as I usually am about twits and their idee-fixes, I was rewarded for my efforts by receiving the first actual death threat I have gotten in years- not since my days as film critic for a Pittsburgh weekly rag, when I got a furious letter following my denuciation of Beverly Hills Ninja, said review which ended with me applauding the death of Chris Farley and proclaiming my joy that he would never foul a cinema screen again with his fat, oafish bellowing and cocaine-fueled "humorous" tirades. It's amazing what people will threaten to kill you over; first Chris Farley and now Yes, for Christ's sakes. Oh well, the death-spiral of the West continues, and I just happen to be here to laugh while it occurs.

Anyway, Mr. Rudd flooded my in-box today with three Emails demanding that I apologize for "mocking God" (I did no such thing; I merely imagined a second-rate magician from Galilee ejaculating buckets of joy into the face of the worst Prog singer ever) , warning me that if I didn't he was going to "find his way to Seattle maybe and we'll settle this shit" (good luck with the Mapquest, Kevvy-boy) , and finishing by demanding me and my "Jew buddy" (I assume he means Micah, who is, indeed, both a Jew and my good friend; and I can't tell you how perfect it is that this ass-clown is an anti-Semite on top of having absolutely no taste- he's the Bad Prog Goebbles, for fuck's sakes!!!) take down all of the offending references to Yes or he's going to "fucking kill U asshole. U took it to far with Jesus and that is the last straw!!!" (All spelling courtesy of Mr. Rudd- you can almost picture the whisps of steam coming out of his ears as he types, can't you? Ha ha, my "Jew Buddy"; fucking righteous, dude!)

Well, I've got news for one Mr. Kevin Paul Rudd: not only are the reviews not coming down, but I'm going to find ways to disparage and denounce Yes and all Yes-related side products for the remaining life of this site. AND, you scat-munching troglodyte, I am hereby DARING you to come up from Phoenix (IP search yielded this, again, absolutely PERFECT result) and "track me down" or whatever it was you threated to do, all in the name of Jon Anderson and Jesus's massive cock. Not only that, but since you want to play hardball, motherfucker (I can speak your language too, Tormato-face) I am going to invite visitors to the PRHOI to write to you at your Email addy and let you know how they feel about someone so pathetic they would threaten a human life over fucking Relayer!

kevin_paul_rudd@yahoo.com

Lastly, if this is one you guys playing a prank...I had better never find out about it. I am so thrilled today to have received an actual, honest-to-goodness death threat that any residual depression I may have had from our incredibly unending Winter here in the Emerald City has dissipated to nothingness; joy is my calling card today, Mr. Rudd, and your sorry ass has been the catalyst for this rising of spirits to such estimable heights!

God bless you, Kevin Paul Rudd; now go get your fucking shine box. Cheers, - The Curator