Blame it on Zigzackly. This post reminded me of how long it's been since I've posted one of my World's Worst lists, so here goes:
World's Worst Threats / Vee haff vays of making you laff (*evil talk*)
1. Talk. Or else your ex-wife gets it. (What's that you said? Ali- who?)
2. See this oven timer? If you haven't told me what I want by the time that display gets to 20, your lasagna will burn. It will char! It will die a horrible, meaningless death! You wouldn't do that to your lasagna would you? (What's that? Odie knows? Why didn't you say so before? We'll soon loosen his tongue)
3. See these little white pills I'm holding in my hand. Three of these and you won't be able to operate heavy machinery for the rest of the day. (What's that? You're phenylketonuric? Oh, all right, I'll bring out the thumb screws)
4. I'm now going to ask you a few questions. Every time I don't get an answer, I'm going to trim one of your toe-nails. If I still haven't heard what I want to hear by the time I get to my 10th question, I might be forced to give you a pedicure. (Don't make me bring out those little cotton balls!)
5. You see what this is Larry? It's the Google website. If you won't tell me what I want to know I'm just going to have to use this. Do you want me to do that Larry? Do you want me to Google it? (Are you feeling lucky, Larry?)
6. Dear Sir. We have blocked all mails coming to you from email@example.com. If you ever want to hear from your favourite online pharmacy again, place one million dollars in unmarked bills in a brown manila envelope and...(P.S. We enclose the first line of their latest mail as proof that we mean business)
7. Think about it Mr. Bond. Either you let me carry on with my plans to rule the world (using a particularly addictive brand of potato chips), or I'll have Morris here machine wash this suit and make you wear it unironed. (Every woman who looks at you will be shaken, not stirred).
8. Tough guy, huh? Listen a**hole, if you don't tell me what I want right now I'm going to have to start re-arranging you CD collection. (See, threatening them with the 'rack' always works)
9. Lalitaji, either you talk now, or I'm going to wash all your white saris with this nameless yellow detergent. (See, I knew you would come clean)
10. Ha! Now shall you feel the Wrath of Rabah, the Fiscally Profligate. Men! Take him away and throw him into the pit full of tax accountants. And don't let him come out until they've disallowed at least half of his deductions. (Xana-duh: The Land of No Returns)
 This is because no one ever expects the Spanish Inquisition!