Good one. 
“They say you never hear the one that kills you, Sarge”
“That just a load of bullsh…”
As the energy pulse from his immortality experiment faded, the scientist felt his body being pulled apart cell by cell. It was at that point he realized two things … each cell was individually aware … and the experiment worked.
“Now that I’ve taken my immortality serum,” he thought to himself, “I can survive any method of execution!”
“You are hereby sentenced to life imprisonment without possibility of parole.”
David sighed as he climbed the steps to the attic of his childhood home, which had stood unoccupied now for nearly twenty years. This would be the fortieth year that he came seeking, but his sister had clearly found the best hiding place that day.
Nice. Very “Mistletoe Bough”. I once wrote a game around this theme.
HIM: What’s on TV tonight?
HER: Looks like a “Sex in the City Marathon!!”
“First time on a plane, huh? Well, I tell you what: Ritchie, Buddy, and me are gonna sing to you to help settle your nerves.”
(No one said I can’t apply liberal use of semicolons):
The fog of unconsciousness lifted like lightening from Tom’s brain to severe, burning pain coursing unrelentingly throughout his body and he could sense movement from the right side of his fixed-gaze field of view. Dr. Dillon opened the patient chart, cleared his throat and addressed the five residents, “Thomas Turner, a 36 year old white male in no apparent distress; found unresponsive at the wheel of his crashed automobile three months ago with severe head trauma; blood alcohol level 3-times legal limit; wife, two children and family dog killed on impact; pedestrian nun carrying a basket of abandoned kittens, all killed on impact; diagnosis: traumatically induced persistent vegetative state; prognosis: may remain in current vegetative state for months or years on life support."
Ohhh, I got one more:
John’s bewilderment upon awaking in dark unfamiliar surroundings and seeing his wife prone atop his naked body, grinding her groin hard onto his rigid penis, turned to red hot anger as he noticed the form of someone, someone large and hirsute in shadowed form, mounted on his wife from behind, and he screamed, “you will sodomize my wife over my dead body, you scoundrel!” His anger turned quickly to terror as the beast pulled his wife’s lifeless head aside by the hair, revealing its dead black eyes and wet, hot breath, growling, * "I appreciate your approval, but to be precise, I’m sodomizing your wife over both of your dead bodies.” *
Lurkers began to wonder why Tibby or not Tibby’s posts on the SDMB always seem to be thread killers. Is it because his posts are so erudite and awesome that no one dares try topping them…or, is it because he’s something more ominous than just a killer of threads?
*I tell ya, Betty, I picked up ol’ Goldie in my arms, drove her to the vet, placed her on the treatment table and held her paw while Old Dr. Cataract injected her slowly as the poor girl passed away peacefully without even waking up—how the hell do I know how the dog got back here…ALIVE?
*
Were you shit-faced again, Bob, and just imagine you took the dog to be put down…and where the hell is Annie?—last time I saw her she was taking a nap on the couch before going out Trick or Treating in her Old Yeller costume?
I lie in bed and hold you in my arms and whisper: my darling, I will love you forever. And why not?—though as the years roll by, my dear, you are getting so very, very thin.
An innocent post waited on a message board, unexpectedly violated in the most unimaginable, unspeakable way…
[Spoiler]
This post has been graped by The Grapist.[/spoiler]
I’m baaaaaack! This second sentence is rather superfluous.
It was the best of times; it was the worst of times. For humans, it was about to be the end of times.
It was a dark and stormy night. The zombies had no umbrellas and they were pissed.
“Call me Ishmael.” “Nice to meet you Ishmael, I’m Mr. Dick, but you can call me Moby.”
“Toto, I’ve got a feeling we’re not in Kansas anymore.” “Dorothy, remember that rabid mouse I ate before the tornado hit?”
- “Houston, we have a problem.“ “Jim, the problem’s worse than you think—remember that psychopath who threatened to stow away on your ship?” *
He looked into the abyss and the abyss looked into him. Then, he heard something squeak…
Ok, this is my last post in this thread. Or…is it?
It had been exactly four weeks and three days since that one-night stand with Gilbert Gottfried, and I’d struggled daily to forget the sound of his strident voice raised in drunken “pillow talk.” As the sound once more tore through my memory, I shuddered, lowering my eyes–and beheld in horror as a second blue line slowly formed in the window of the white plastic strip on my bathroom countertop.
OK, I don’t get that one at all.
Pregnancy test. The horror!
We’d all missed her so much during the seemingly interminable summer she’d spent abroad, of course we all responded enthusiastically to her husband’s invitation to a “Karen’s Back!” party. While we waited for her to make her usual dramatic entrance, he herded us into his studio to view his latest hand-crafted screen: a beautifully carved oak frame surrounding the distinctive spaghetti monster tattoo that had formerly adorned Karen’s back.
I probably shouldn’t have pulling that fridge up the stairs while my wife lifted. The load was heavy and my hands were wet.