Blonde died today at age 89 having been stepped on by an elephant in the courtyard of her palace while fornicating happily with a 24 year old.
On a late night drive through Boulder City, into Arizona, Nvme77 marvels at the beauty of the night sky. Such clarity. Such wonderment. Driving across Boulder Dam (renamed just last week, 07.April 2009), a disconcerting vibration shakes the car. “Nah, couldn’t be,” thinks Nvme77, denying the inevitable. Right at the midpoint of the dam, Nvme77 realizes that maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to cross tonight. Rumors had long circulated about the alien population in Rachel, Nevada having been employed by the dam’s engineering crew, since they couldn’t find work elsewhere. Too bad for Nvme77 that the composition of alien concrete (which was used to repair the massive 25’ crack back in '06) was incompatible with earth concrete. Boulder Dam splits right in the middle, with our friend, Nvme77 riding one gnarly wave downstream. The recovered vehicle and body resemble a crushed tuna can.
I say again… DEATH by SQUIRRELY WRATH!!!
I’d be happy with that ending, Scylla!
Your destiny: as you’re running the final leg of your 17th marathon, one of the people on the sideline will toss you a bottle of water. What you didn’t know is that the water is laced with a deadly poison - your throat closing up, you gasp and lurch toward the finish line. You come in 1st!! A couple of seconds later, you collapse and die. (On the bright side, your ankle feels pain no longer.) 
peritrochoid was sentenced before the High Court for conspiring to overthrow the Golden Chancellorship on May 18, 20–. The sentence in question was determined to be death by hanging.
Having run out of appeals, he went to the gallows on July 12, 20–. His last words, before the hood was placed over his head, were “This ain’t half-bad”.
After 35 years, nobody had yet to see nothin’ like the “Mighty Quinn” and he just faded away.
Governor Quinn, your brief reign as overlord of the Isles of Langerhans will be brought to an abrupt end on February 29, 200_, when an enraged mob, infuriated by your ceaseless demands for nubile virgins to warm your bed, drags you mewling and shrieking from your palace down to the docks, where you are liberally smeared with rotten fish guts and tuna blood, then hurled to the sharks thrashing about in a feeding frenzy just offshore.
Precisely two years and three days from today, Nine times Nymph is lecturing to a hall full of Genetic Engineering majors at Syracuse University. She is the world’s first to design an army of squirrels for combat use, and she is detailing the less-than-classified aspects of the research. Nine notices that a few students are nodding off, but she had the presence of mind to anticipate that. Slowly, carefully, she reaches beneath the lectern to uncover a cage. A rather strong cage that is keeping one of her prized killer squirrels. She nods to him, makes some sort of hand signal, and releases the squirrel into the hall. It takes less than 5 seconds for the squirrel to dash about and remove the heads of the sleeping students. She hands him a treat, and opens the cage door for him. But as she is doing so, she feels something like a sting on her right hand. Quickly turning her hand over to investigate, she shakes loose a massive spider, coincidentally, the very SAME spider that bit her best friend Peter Parker so many years ago. Unfortunately for Nine, she has a deathly allergic reaction to genetically engineered spider venom, and her fingers begin falling off one by one, soon followed by her hand, then her forearm, and so on. Sadly, the room clears very quickly upon sight of this, so there is no one there for the squirrel to feed on … except for what remains of Nine times Nymph.
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOooooooooooooOOOOOOOOOooOoOo! I * love* it!!
ETF - when your cats don’t know you’re looking, quickly hide Stephen’s King’s book Cujo under the bed (No! wait - not under the bed. Try high up on the shelves… hmm. Burn it!) Because we all know cats are craftier than dogs…and you never know when they’ll decide that you bought the wrong catfood and must DIE! 
For New Year’s 2004, Blonde invited EddyTeddyFreddy to come down to Texas and get away from all the snow in Exurbia. ETF has packed the essentials (being Eddy, Teddy, and Freddy) into a station wagon resembling the one belonging to the Griswold family. The trip was rather uneventful, especially considering the travel temperament of most kitties, but the Dallas heat, even in the midst of winter, unleashed the beast within the kitty brains. As Blonde and ETF were preparing to hit the town for the New Year’s celebration, Eddy, Teddy, and Freddy were formulating a plan. Now they were close to the border, and being cats, they arrogantly knew they were adorable and could have as many latin women as they could handle. But ETF would stand in their way. So, while Eddy and Teddy distracted ETF and Blonde, Freddy went out to the car and removed the coil wire. ETF and Blonde headed out for the evening. But the car wouldn’t start. “Hmm,” thought ETF “I know I have plenty of gas.” After a few more tries, Blonde suggests that ETF open the hood. They both inspect the engine compartment, and ETF notices the coil wire is loose. She re-attaches it, closes the hood, and both she and Blonde are startled to see three pairs of evil eyes staring at them from inside the car. Freddy starts the engine and grabs the steering wheel. Teddy shifts into gear. And Eddy jumps with all his might onto the gas pedal.
THUMP
THUMP
Poor Blonde and ETF never stood a chance. Eddy, Teddy, and Freddy made it all the way into Mexico City where they all had a falling out. Eddy took over all of South America, Teddy returned to the states, and Freddy became a Colombian drug lord.
By the by I wasn’t complaining about the death given me by Eats_Crayons, rather I was trying to make a note about how horrible the death ones. Thousands of slimy winged insects dancing their way across me. shudder
Followed by ticks & guinea hens presumably followed not to far behind by a fire! My poor mother.
peritrochoid - I am speechless, which doesn’t occur often. On a scale of 1-10, you get a 12 and some catnip!
As for YOUR demise: you know that favorite towel, the very fluffy one? Approximately seven months from now, you’ll reach for it as you step out of the shower. Imagine your surprise when it morphs into a giant rendition of the your former significant other and hurls shampoo bottles at your head. It’s a clean kill!
BWAHAHAHAHA!!
A clean kill!! I love it!
And thanks for the catnip!
I am drunk and I am only posting here because I am interested in how I am going to buy it, so don’t expect anything special from my prediction.
peritrochoid (assuming no-one posts while I am typing this) will meet his/her end in the following circumstances.
he/she will get hit by the landing of a bullet shot almost directly upwards by a crazed lunatic named iain sipcar who demands that everyone who doesn’t have a pencil on his ear should be covered in mustard and made to expose himself to margret thatche.
…r, Margret Thatcher.
[sub] does this feel familiar to anyone? http://boards.straightdope.com/sdmb/showthread.php?threadid=137738&highlight=obituary+game [/sub]
Lobsang will be enjoying a beer at a cook out when a drunk clown driving an SUV while talking on a cellphone will mow him down in the prime of life. The clown, upon going to prison, will be summarily killed by another prisoner for “looking at him funny.” Everyone will declare it karmic justice.
Lobsang, being too drunk to know what he was doing, carried his laptop computer upstairs to the bathtub, to see if he could drink, bathe, and post on the SDMB all at the same time. However, a piano fell out of an airplane and crushed him before he could even make it up the stairs.
Speaking of mustard. Lobsang, on a visit to the US in the spring of 2004, pays a visit to Lynchburg, Tennessee. Home of one of the world’s most famous elixirs … Jack Daniels sour mash whisky. Lob’s eyes light up in sheer delight when he discovers that they’ll take him on a tour of the place. He sees the process from beginning to end, and he’s standing on a catwalk above an open fermentation vat. Of course, Lobsang brought some of his favorite drink from the UK in a lovely pewter flask. Much to his dismay, he realizes it’s nearly empty. As he tilts it up and tries to coax out the last little drop, his foot slips and he loses his balance. Lobsang wavers precariously on the edge of the catwalk for what seems like an eternity, but in his inebriated state, he just can’t regain his balance and plunges head-first into the open vat, drowning in the Jack Daniels. Poor, poor Lobsang.
elfkin477 will be killed when he (she?) trips on a crack in the street, falls, and is unable to dodge a fully-loaded green backpack tossed out a fifth story window by a criminally insane student. Oh, and there are rats involved. And spiders. Lots of them.