Predict the Death of the Previous Poster

Blonde was sick, SICK I tell you of all the jokes about her name and dumbness. She’d finally had enough! So she went to her local hairdresser and asked to become…

A redhead. A Titian-haired goddess!!

The hairdresser worked her wonders, and Blonde was transformed. The final results were even more stunningly gorgeous than she’d ever dared dream. Blonde was ecstatic, and ran home to sort through her wardrobe, tossing out colors that clashed with her new look, and planning the shopping orgy for a new set of clothes that would complement her now-fiery locks.

There was just one problem, though – her name. Blonde had been Blonde for so long, she didn’t know what to call herself now. “Redhead” seemed too coarse and plain; “Carrot Top” was just impossible; every candidate she came up with just wasn’t right. Finally, she decided to sleep on it.

The next morning, she awoke and ran to the bathroom to admire her new look – and discovered that her new name was “Baldy”!!! The dye chemicals were slow but powerful, and hadn’t been fully rinsed out. All her hair had frizzled and broken off during the night!

Blonde was utterly distraught. Her misery and embarrassment were so great that she lost her appeitite and became a recluse. It wasn’t until the newspapers had piled up at her front door for over a week that the police, alerted by the neighbors, broke into her house to discover the late Blonde, her body slumped before a mirror, hairbrush in one hand, SuperGlue in the other, and a dozen scalped Barbie dolls at her feet…

EddyTeddyFreddy walked by the creepy ol’ house everyday on her way to work and every evening as she walked back home.
It always gave her chills up her tri-kitty spine but that route was the quickest.

The house was ancient and decrepit, and looked gloomy even during full sunlight. The windows seemed like blackened eyes to her vivid imagination, the doorway a yawning hellmouth so dark that it ate up the light. No one had lived in the house for years upon years and it really brought the value of the neighborhood down. No one had the sense to tear it down and put up a new house in its place and EddyTeddyFreddy had always wondered why.

Tonight, she had stayed a little longer at work due to a staff meeting and she was dreading the walk home so much she almost asked a co-worker to drive her home but at the last second, had faltered. Now why would she do that, she asked herself. It wasn’t an unreasonable request because she did live kind of close… yes, close enough to walk. Nevermind, she told herself feeling silly inside, I’ll walk.

EddyTeddyFreddy rounded the corner and the old house came into view. The sight of it tonight filled her with such fear, she stopped in mid-stride. It was looking at her! She exhaled deeply and shook her head at the ridiculous thought. Ok, girl, she mused silently, time to get a grip! A house can’t look, it’s just a house. Why the heck was she getting so skittish right now? “Because… it is looking at me”, she replied in a small frightened voice.

That thought made her shiver and her knees weak. It was only a few houses down from her own and she’d made this trip a thousand times before. Damn it! She was being foolish, she cursed herself, angry that she was frightened. She began to walk again, approaching the rickety ruin of the house’s picket fence and hummed aloud to ease her mind.

EddyTeddyFreeeeeeedddddddy…

She almost screamed to hear a voice call out her name. She faltered, stumbling off the curb and hit her right knee on the pavement. “OW!”, she yelled and covered her mouth before she really DID scream. There had been no one else on the street with her as she had turned the corner but she had heard her name clear as day! Getting back up, she limped quickly onward wanting to get past the damn old house before anything else freaky happened. The wind started up right then, swinging open the rusted gate that led up the path to the old house’s front porch and EddyTeddyFreddy gasped. She was frozen in front of the gate, heart pounding like mad when the voice called again:

EddyTeddyFreddddddddddddyyyyyy…

She covered her mouth with both hands to stifle her frightened squeak and tried willing her legs to RUN! She felt like her heart would burst any second, her terror was so great! Unable to move past the squeaky gate, she slowly turned and moved toward the doorway instead, whimpering in the back of her throat. Reaching the porch, her feet scuffled up the wooden steps and into the dark, old house she went. The door of the house closed slowly with a creak and the night resumed it’s silence.

The wind died down to a soft breeze and only a few of the neighbors claimed to have heard a muffled scream sometime in the night when they were later questioned about EddyTeddyFreddy’s disappearance the following week by police. Although they searched well, she was never seen again. The old, gloomy house still remains standing to this day.

SanguineSpider had it all planned out. While others flung themselves into a frenzied orgy of post-Thanksgiving Christmas shopping, she’d stay snug at home, curled up with a steaming hot cup of tea and a good book by the fire. Ahhhhh… how relaxing, how soothing… ZZZZZZZZzzzzzzzzz…

On the evening of December 24th, SanguineSpider awoke with a start from what had turned out to be a very long nap indeed, as she’d caught the backwash from RotorHead’s corruption of ETF’s wish for a nap in another thread. Christmas Eve – and not a present bought!

SanguineSpider leaped into her car and drove madly toward the nearest mall. Too bad in her haste she’d forgotten to change out of her baby-doll pajamas! The officer who pulled her over for speeding thought she must be drunk (and SanguineSpider’s hysterical insistence that she must get to the mall immediately didn’t help), so she had to perform test after test of her sobriety.

By the time the now chastened and ticketed SanguineSpider got back in her car, she’d caught the mother of all colds, which quickly morphed into the flu, and from there to a fatal case of penumonia. And she never did get around to wrapping her presents, either.

You’ve saved me from Christmas actually, thank you!

SanguineSpider, for failing to report the death of the previous poster, no death for you. When come back, bring morbid tale.
EddyTeddyFreddy, you should have known better than to stick a spatula into that part of a grizzly.

RotorHead, my friend - you are destined for a quite splendid death indeed.

Hovering over um, Nevada in your helicopter on December 3, you will encounter brutal winds…luckily, your skill allows you to land the bird safely on a mountain wall. As you step out triumphant and breathing heavily, you will trip over your untied shoelace and fall to your death down the side of the mountain.

Blonde was sitting on the toilet, reading one of her favorite old issues of Cosmo (the one with all the Love and sex tests inside, already filled in, of course) and going over the questions in regard to the new fella in her life. Yes, he liked going on moonlit walks on the beach. Yes, he liked candle-lit dinners for two… your typical love/romance quiz when all of a sudden the lights went out.

“Crapola!”, she muttered aloud and fumbled for the TP so that she wouldn’t be all stinky when she got up to deal with the lights. She got herself decently unstinky, pulled up her pajama bottoms, and stumbled to the sink to wash her hands. Just because the lights had pooped out didn’t mean she shouldn’t try to be remain sanitary and wash her hands after going to the toilet. One must have manners after all.

Fumbling at the bathroom door, she unlocked it and got herself outside and into the hallway with little fuss. The hallway was dark but better than the pitch darkness of the bathroom… and fresher smelling, too. She held a hand up to the wall and used it to guide her toward the kitchen where she was pretty sure she had a flashlight handy for occasions such as this.

Blonde got to the kitchen in short order and rummaged in the utility drawer but no flashlight was found. “Damn it”, she growled under her breath and tried to find a candle instead. She was lucky this time around and got it lit with a book of matches after a moment. The small flame made a small ring of light, just enough to creep about carefully. She puttered around the kitchen, still hoping to find that darn flashlight when she heard a skittering, scratching noise behind her and whipped around startled.

“Bobo?”

Bobo wasn’t there. Bobo was probably hiding out under her bed, the silly ol’ cat. Or he was probably playing. He liked to run around during the night hours and liked playing with his furry mouse toy, which he would bat around with great delight. The skittering noise continued but Blonde ignored it and went into the livingroom, setting the candle down on her glass table. Silly cat HAD to be nocturnal, for shame. It made for many a long night when her mind was restless and his racing around was all she could concentrate on instead of finding the sweet relief of sleep. The noise was almost underfoot now and she smiled, looking down. The glowing green eyes of kitty dearest was what she expected to see gazing up at her but instead, a pair of viscious, red eyes made her cry out in alarm. “Fudge!” she croaked, completely startled and hopped up on the couch, heart racing. WTF was that!?

The skittering noise seemed to be coming from under the couch she was on and she felt the couch move as the noise got louder. She gripped a pillow to her chest, frightened. Bobo would never move the couch during even his most rambunctious playtime! Her instincts told her in a silent panic that this WASN’T Bobo!

Blonde felt the couch start to buck and she jumped off in pure terror, screaming as she ran down the hallway to her bedroom, hearing a low but wild growl right behind her as she got the door shut just in time! Something big bumped into the door and she backed up toward the bed as the growling got louder. She looked around, panting with exertion, for something to use as a weapon but saw nothing. Nothing!

The thing scratched and rammed against the door, growling and screeching. Blonde knew that it would soon get through the wood and get to her! The door was starting to break, a small piece of wood was splintering as the thing kept slamming into the door angrily. What the hell was she going to do?? She ran to the window and threw it open, peering down to the street. She could try climbing but her apartment was ten stories up and she was deathly afraid of heights! But she was more frightened of the thing breaking down her door and wondered belatedly what had happened to her poor Bobo. Oh, Bobo!

(sudden silence)

The door went still, the thing was quiet. Blonde didn’t move but she feared the thing could hear her heart pounding and her labored breath. Nothing. She couldn’t hear a thing! Trembling, she wondered what had made the thing stop and decided to try climbing down anyway. She slowly made her way to the window, lifting her leg up and out of the frame as she rested her hands on the edge. Something grabbed her ankle as she did and she let loose a blood-curdling scream, sure that the thing was now going to shred her to bits but it was only her beloved cat, Bobo!!

“Kitty! Oh, sweetie!”, Blonde yelped in total disbelief as her poor lil’ Bobo clung to her foot and calf with his claws for dear life! He was terrified, too, and if not for the pain of his sharp claws digging into her flesh, she would have been supremely happy!

“Come here, Bobo baby”, she cooed softly, grabbing for him and as as she did, she lost her balance and swung out of the window! The cat stayed attached to her foot the entire way down, yowling in kitty terror as her screams echoed into the night, only to end abruptly in a solid THUD!

Bobo was still attached to his beloved owner when the ambulance arrived and seeing this total display of adoring affection even unto death, the EMT’s left him that way.

I’m REALLY trying to make these short but they keep getting longer!! ARRRRGH! Don’t send the hamsters! NONOnonononoNO!!

SanguineSpider felt her toes going numb from sitting in the computer chair. But that was hours ago. Now, after Og-knows how many hours sitting there composing morbid tales of the demises of several board-denizens, both her legs had gone numb. But she was determined to continue composing. “If I can’t think of something new,” her weary brain exclaimed, “I will just make it longer and longer and longer.” The overcast skies created total darkness, causing the computer screen’s happy glow to coax her into a dreamlike state, pacifying her weakened urges to sleep, to metabolize, to eat.

Nothing mattered now, except that next line of text. Shortly before the first beams of sunlight would make their way to her window, consciousness faded. Her weakened, food-deprived state quietly drew her off this mortal coil, only a couple sentences from finishing the next tale.
“Ahhh,” the hamsters thought. “Much better.”

I’ll seriously stop since I’m killing(?) this thread…

The sign read: DO NOT PUSH THIS BUTTON. REALLY. WE MEAN IT. DON’T EVEN THINK ABOUT PUSHING IT. THIS MEANS YOU.

Curiosity got the better of RotorHead.

The funeral’s on Tuesday.

It was a lovely May day in Alaska when RotorHead invited SanguineSpider to go for a ride in his shiny new helicopter. Up, up, up they soared, over the countryside below, glowing with the fresh green of spring.

SanguineSpider spotted what looked like a doe and twin fawns at the edge of a lake. “Oh, RotorHead, can we get a closer look, please?” she cooed. RotorHead, ever the gentleman, complied, even tipping the helicopter slightly so that SanguineSpider could get a better view.

Just as SanguineSpider, having unbuckled her safetey belt, was leaning out to count the spots on the fawns’ backs, a sudden gust of wind yanked the helicopter up and sideways. SanguineSpider tumbled out the open doorway and plunged into the lake, striking her head on a floating log and sinking unconscious to the bottom.

RotorHead was frantic! He zoomed toward the lake shore, landed, and leaped out to run back and dive in. Perhaps it wasn’t too late to save SanguineSpider!

Just as he was about to dive into the water, a huge, angry grizzly bear, with what looked like the end of a spatula sticking out of an unlikely orifice, reared up and swatted RotorHead into oblivion.

From behind a nearby rock, there came the sound of quiet cat chortling…

Oh, and did I forget to mention that Gyrate was the name of RotorHead’s helicopter? It crashed and burned when ETF tried to fly it away and make her escape.

EddyTeddyFreddy found a peanut, found a peanut, found a peanut just now. Just now she found a peanut, found a peanut just now.

It was rotten, it was rotten, it was rotten just now. Just now, it was rotten, it was rotten just now.

She ate it anyway, ate it anyway, ate it anyway just now. Just now she ate it anyway, ate it anyway just now.

Then she fell over and bought the farm.
Moral of the story: Don’t eat crap you find on the ground! Ew!

SanguineSpider promised the hamsters:

But she just couldn’t keep hersef from killing off ETF yet again.

The hamsters, enraged at yet another broken promise, swarmed en masse from their wheels and fell upon the hapless Doper. Chomp chomp chompitty-chomp!

When the sated rodents at last returned to their wheels, all that was left on the ground was an empty peanut shell. But the board ran very, very well that night.

Is that a knock at the door? Yes, I believe so. Wonder who that could be. Is it… yes, it is! Ann Coulter. And what is that you’ve got behind your back? WOW! You’re strong to be carrying that big a chainsaw. Put the chainsaw down, Ann. Please. For the love of … NO! Run for it EddyTeddyFreddy!!! But watch out for the… :smack: Ok, you found the coffee table. No problem. There you go, get up and keep running. Ann sure looks pissed. You shouldn’t have ditched her after all you had been through together. As her personal pimp, you had a responsibility to look out for her. Run, Eddy, Run. Jump out of the window. Jump out and run to safety! JUMP OUT OF THE WINDOW! NO! Don’t even THINK of going to the basement! … There really is no point in continuing to try a door that you know is locked. Ann is getting closer, you better run. Quit screaming, and RUN! She’s right behind you! … :smack: Do you trip over everything?? Get up! Don’t try to bargain with her. She can’t be reasoned with! DUCK! NOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Rotorhead was enjoying the warm, summery day, sitting in front of a huge fan in his swimming trunks while sipping a chilly beverage in his bedroom. He was rockin’ out to his favorite Motorhead CD, bangin’ his head to Lemmy’s gravelly vocals and the heavy metal beat while trying not to spill his drink when a few of his long, luxurious locks got caught in the fan! *OH NO[i/]!

The fan eagerly tangled up his tawny tresses, pulling him out of his chair and spilling his icy cold drink all over him as he came closer, ever closer to the fan’s blades! The music pressed on, heavy and throbbing, as Rotorhead tried to free himself from the fan but to no avail! Lemmy sang of aces and spades as Rotorhead pulled and pulled at his hair but just kept getting tangled up.

Being all wet from his drink didn’t help the situation at all, making his hands slippery and his lap very, very cold (bye bye willy!). He tugged at the fan’s plug to stop his plight and instead got a nice, BIG shock ZZZZZZZT!!

His body was found hours later by his mum and dad, the smoke still rising from his tangled, tawny tresses, the music of Motorhead still bangin’ away in the background. He will surely be missed by us all.

I meant “stop” as in I’ll stop getting so long in my tales of horror and death, silly! I know you all love my stories!

SanguineSpider loved nothing more than having a nice piece of toast while soaking in the bathtub. However, it may not have been the best move to actually use the toaster there…

Gyrate was dancing in his bedroom alone (always alone sigh) again. His body was getting into the groove, though, and he was workin’ it hard. Gyrate watched himself gyrate in the mirror and grinned. The ladies would know how bitchin’ a dancer he was soon enough, he just wanted to learn a few more moves before going out to the clubs.

The music was pumpin’, Gyrate was gyratin’ and he felt GOOD! The song changed to a faster tempo and he kept whipping his hips about, gaining speed as the song did, matching its tempo. His tummy was getting tired, his lungs were working overtime, his lower body was starting to ache with the efforts of such extreme speed but he kept going. The ladies would LOVE this!
Gyrate felt a bone snap in his pelvis and went down in a heap, shrieking in pain, heart rattling around in his chest. But he didn’t expire… no, no he clung to life, stubborn as a mule. He reached for the phone to dial 911 and beg for help but he couldn’t reach far enough.

Just at that moment, several large and very pissed off chickens raided his bedroom, bursting in and trampling the poor guy to death since they couldn’t see him on the floor! Poor Gyrate! The ladies would now never get to experience “The Gyrate” and his sexy, sensuous dance moves thanks to those stupid, pissed-off chickens!