Well the specific request was for interesting, while as everyone is going for gory…
Interesting (stolen from Roger Zelazney):
Getting stomped on by an elephant while having sex with a beautiful woman. (As the perfect way to go out.)
Gory:
…ewwwww… but no I’ll write it.
Suddenly the ground is covered with a stream of liquid nitrogen. As you move about, the souls of your shoes stick and crack off, layer by layer. Then the soles of your feet causing you to topple. Bits of you keep getting frozen and broken off with each squirm until you are a twitching pulpuous mass bleeding to a cold and painful death.
Going insane and commiting suicide by driving a burning magnesium flare through my own forehead.
Or, by shooting up on PCPs, using a Gigli saw to remove my own skullcap, and with a last burst of strength, reaching in and pulling out my own brain, my sudden death causing my limbs to freeze in position, so the person who finds my body finds my fingers wrapped around and digging into my grey matter, and my face in a hideous, inhuman rictus, with my bloodshot eyes bulging out of their sockets.
[url=http://www.tampabays10.com/news/news.aspx?storyid=12731]Somehow winding up in pieces in someone’s lunch.[/ur]
I think I’d like to rig a small lump of C-4 to the back of my neck, and have it detonate at the climax of a ripping solo on stage in front of thousands of fans.
I would start ripping out higher and faster licks, and when I get to the highest point on the guitar neck, i start bending the note farther and farther. And then my head explodes.
That would be cool.
Or I’d like to build an enormous trebuchet and hurl my naked body onto the center of the field at the Super Bowl from the parking lot. I’d sell ad space on my body to cover the cost of the trebuchet.
Getting sucked into one of the engines of a 747 ought to do the job nicely.
Otherwise, anything listed by Frank Drebbin:
Frank: A good cop - needlessly cut down by some cowardly hoodlums. Ed: No way for a man to die. Frank: You’re right, Ed. A parachute not opening - that’s the way to die, getting caught in a combine, having your nuts bit off by a Laplander. That’s the way I want to go.
Hugh Hefner takes the gun out of his safe and shoots me; I, unaware and already dead, fall onto a pile of spike heeled shoes (which his harem had so hastily shed, hours before), taking one through the eye.
Slow stripped of all flesh by a giant apple peeler. Then, at the very last, when there is nothing left save bones, my marrow is sucked out and replaced with nitroglycerin. Then I am blown up.
Aren’t you all worried that by typing these things you’re tempting fate? At least Lucretia picked an actual good way to die and mentioned it should happen at a nice old age.
Would be a pretty good plot for a horror movie that everyone who posted to this topic would die in the exact way they describe.
Back when I had a convertable I had this reoccurring vision of accidentally crashing my car into a roofing truck. The truck’s tank would rupture and the entire convertible would instantly be filled with boiling hot tar cooking me alive in the driver’s seat.
Being a big ol’ drama queen, I rather fancy a public beheading. Looking sexy in a ripped shirt, I’d toss a bouquet to an attractive fellow in the crowd, give a last speech in which I’d ask God to open the king of England’s eyes, then kneel before the block and throw out my arms wide for a last bit of theatrical flair.
This reminds me of the carpenter* who was framing the roof of a house when he shot himself with a nailing gun, then fell. He was working alone and in an isolated area. He knew that he wasn’t going to be rescued soon, and the nailer was still nearby, so he shot himself repeatedly in the head.
If that’s not good enough, how about the guy who drilled through his head. He survived, but others might not be so lucky.
*Predictably, I can’t find the news story on the web.
After BASE jumping from Manhattan’s 50-story building at 888 7th Ave. during the lunch hour, I descend to the lowest possible point before deploying my chute. It opens perfectly, just as a mighty gust of wind blows me right through the enormous 12th floor window, killing me instantly but depositing my body on top of the desk of MasterCard advertising executive Chris Montiero, who remarks:
Subway fare to the building: $1.50
Bribe to get on the roof of the building: $50
Cost of the parachute: $600.
Dead mutilated body of a BASE jumper landing on your desktop halfway through your Chinese chicken salad: Priceless
As gross and disgusting as all of these posts are, they cannot begin to match reality. Reality is: A man so distraught that he went into a grocers, got into the meat slicing area and managed to behead himself before startled employees could stop him.
This happened; not a fantasy. I did not know this particular man, but I did know the man who cut off his penis and one testicle and then passed out from loss of blood. He wound up in a psychiatric institution where I was employed.
Some ill -aqdvised professionals decided (after many years) that ruit was safe to allow him to leave the institution for short periods of time. The first chance he had he got hold of another butcher knife and completed his emasculation. This time, he died…
Suicide is truly not a joking matter, folks. There is more pain behind that than most of us are capable of contemplating…