Predict the Death of the Previous Poster

Miscellaneous and Personal Stuff I Must Share
661

EddyTeddyFreddy skipped merrily down the 25 flights of stairs of her apartment building just like she did every day. She skipped fast, she skipped merrily, she loved to skip! Today, on the 13th level, sat a small, sulky dog of mixed breed (although, one might say he was of terrier stock) and mixed disposition. He sat, he sulked, he loved to sulk as he sat. Upon reaching the 13th level of the stairwell, ETF stopped skipping and stared at the small, sulky dog. He stared back. ETF blinked away her confusion slowly (this had never happened before and she wasn’t quite sure what it meant, if anything) and tried to skip around him. The small, sulky dog gave a yippy bark and lept up to snap at her heels, oh my!

ETF lept up into the air as the dog lept at her heels and yelped! What in God’s green earth… ? Luckily, she found her footing as she landed on the stair but the small, sulky dog wasn’t quite finished with her. He yipped again… and then again, yipping louder each time and between the yips, he snapped at her heels! Oh, my! Oh, dear! He snapped and yipped, and ETF lept up again, barely catching the next step with her feet as she clumsily made her way down the stairs but now, the small, sulky dog was in tow!

She tried to keep skipping as the dog, he kept yipping and snapping as she skipped. She kept up for twenty steps or so before the small, sulky dog gave the loudest yip yet and startled her ever so badly. Down the stairs she fell, over and over… rolling and bouncing all the way down, the dog still snapping as she fell. By the time, they had reached the bottom of the stairwell, poor ETF was dead, neck broken by the bouncing. The small, sulky dog sat beside her battered body, sitting and sulking when some neighbors found her. Stupid dog! :frowning:

662

Summer story to fight the cold.

** SanguineSpider ** was enjoying a beautiful summer. Resting in her nicely decorated livingroom, helped by hours HGTV gazing, she was sipping a nice Pinacolada in her couch, flipping some magasines, enjoying the sweet moment of calm, enjoying life.

After a couple of pages, a faint sound came to her attention. Very slowly, but steadily the sound increased… “What was that? The fridge was fixed last week, it can’t be that”. The sound gained definition, and seemed more like a buzz now. ** SanguineSpider ** was beginning to be annoyed, but that was only the beginning. The buzzing suddenly stopped. A wave of relief went through ** SanguineSpider ** and she went on with her passionnate reading, sipped a little ice tea, adjusted the little blanket to protect her from the mild AC draft.

The it hit her. In the back of the neck. A nasty itch at the beginning, and then the buzzing resuming. In a flash, she understood : a mosquito! “For a spider, I should eat mosquitos, not the other way!”. Rolling the magazine and waving it in the air she tried an improbable kill. But the invisible buzzing machine was out her reach, out of her sight, humming back and forth to her hears. Aggravating! Exasperating! Irritating! Vexatious! Something needed to be done.

In a jump she was in her basement, finding numerous pesticides and bugs killers, Raid, Ortho, Hyponex, Spectracide, Mosquito Attack, the old grandpa DDT vaporizer. " I’ll kill y’a, y’a devil beast!". Gathering everything in a box, she went up and her hears still buzzing began a crazy frenzy of spraying, up and down, right and left, back and forth, crannies and nooks.

After this half-hour of pure spraying dementia, all the cans empty, out of breath, ** SanguineSpider ** rummaged through the box, sure that she would find another powerful solution to this nightmarish sound. And then she found those incence insect repellents, and decided to light one to crown her decisive battle against this winged evil.

Ah! But what a mistake… All the propellant sprayed in the room just had reached the perfect explosive mixture. As soon as ** SanguineSpider ** cracked a match a huge explosion rocked the neighbourhood, the house roof burst into splinters, showering and shattering 3 blocks all around. It was horrible. The whole area out of fear, out of suprise, became silent.

And in this silence we could hear : * Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz… *

Only female mosquitoes bite

663

Why is it that french frog has such a compulsion to look beyond facades, under rocks, behind the curtain; to open the “Do Not Enter” doors; to drive past the “Road Closed” warnings? What rebellious impulse, what contrariness, what deep-seated need to know impels him to boldly go where no one with a lick of sense would ever venture?

Darned if I know. And we can’t ask french frog, since he just discovered why that door at the zoo had a “Keep Out” sign on it.

664

EddyTeddyFreddy whirled like a dervish, twin katanas flashing silver but just a blur to the untrained eye. Hundreds of would-be assasins lay at her feet, bodies piled up to her knees, blood slicking the floor. It was no problem for ETF as she simply danced lightly on a new flooring of death, crushing the occassional head that stirred to look at her with a swift kick.

But still her attackers poured forth. Attacking six and eight at a time, sometimes killing off one of their own, but invariably meeting their doom after a trading a few feints with her.

Then they stopped. The doors lay ajar, creaking ominously, but the doorways lay empty. The air had a stench of blood, thick with death, and heavy on her lungs. She stooped and gasped, inspecting at least a dozen cuts that she could see and arching her back against a few more that she couldn’t. Her own blood dripped freely from her scalp and landed on a nameless face at her feet.

Then she heard footsteps. She glanced up, unable to determine where they originated. It was more than one person, and they were coming from different directions. The confident stride she heard weighed on her will, but she groaned and stood straight.

Six men, covered with green and blue and red cloths with only their black eyes and scarred hands, simultaneously arrived at six different doors. Each carried a samurai sword, ground to a diamond edge and able to split a breath in two. The silently advanced towards the center of the room. ETF tensed every muscle, quickly spotting advantages and memorizing them.

She attacked the one to her left suddenly, just before he was in range. His defense was lightning quick, like nothing she’d encountered before. He riposted, driving her back into more enemies. She sucked in her own blood and flew into her rage, thought and motion becoming one.

The men fought off each attack, way too easy for someone of her skill. The times her swords did meet flesh, they seemed to bounce off as if striking metal. “This isn’t good,” ETF mused. She raged on, trying to create an opening to escape through.

The six suddenly attacked simultaneously, each driving their weapon straight at her. She dodged what she could, but knew she couldn’t avoid them all. Steel penetrated her, then again, and again. It seemed it wouldn’t stop, but suddenly she was still. She twisted slightly, aware now that the swords were still through her, adrenalin alone keeping the pain down. Yet she felt somehow weightless.

The six stood stock still, swords still thrust out. EddyTeddyFreddy hung limply, suspended by six silver blades thrust at various angles. She was held at about head height, as if she were placed prone on a funeral pyre. Her blood ran down each sword, dripping off at the hilts.

A final spasm, and she sagged.

665

Ah, Horseflesh - I’ve got a special death in mind for you.
Good news: A beautiful woman will be traveling with you to this year’s Mardi Gras celebration. She has astounding…um, eyes.

Bad news: As she lifts her shirt, the multitude of beads thrown in her direction put out your eyes - blinded, you stagger and collapse to the ground, and are trampled to death by the crowd.
Sorry 'bout that! :smiley:

What’s with the font change? MY EYES, MY EYES!

666

Blonde stood on the balcony overlooking the cacophony of the Mardi Gras parade below. She heard the sliding glass door open behind her and she turned. There stood the man she had thrown several beads to below, a strand each time he showed her more skin. He had at least a dozen around his neck now, dangling and catching the colored lights from the parade.

She had many beads herself from various exposures to complete strangers below. She beckoned to him with body language and he took a few steps closer. She held out her arms and he stepped into them. They embraced tightly, heads moving to close on each other. She felt her body temperature rise.

He moved his hands to the railing to shift his weight. She interlocked her fingers behind his back, pulling him towards her and feeling his muscular chest bared through his unbuttoned shirt. The metal creaked under their weight.

He brought his head down to nuzzle her beads and heard a sudden loud sound of metal rending. Years of leaning on this spot by many other would-be lovers and exposure to the elements proved too much for the welds, and Blonde felt herself slide backwards. The stranger grabbed at her, and she at him in a desperate attempt to gain her balance.

A woman screamed in the crowd as both of them tumbled over the balcony. The crowd parted at their ultimate destination, the hard sidewalk below littered with forgotten beads and plastic ups mostly drained of alcoholic drinks. The cupped scattered as their bodies hit the unforgiving cement, Blonde’s skull taking a direct hit. The man groaned and pushed himself up off his lifesaving cushion. One look at the pool of blood that quickly formed under her head told him to make haste in his getway. He ran blindly in a random direction.

A woman screamed again and the crowd cleared away quickly, shouting for help as they backed away.

667

“Horseflesh! Horseflesh!! HORSEFLESH!!!” The crowd chanted, swaying in rhythm to the beat of the big brass drum, while the sea of “Horseflesh for President” signs waved wildly throughout the massive auditorium.

Horseflesh stepped back from the podium and wiped the sweat from his brow with a theatrical flourish. How he’d dreamed of this day all through the nitty-gritty years of climbing the political ladder: the grubby scutwork in others’ campaigns; the long hours as a legislative aide; the first, failed run for local office; the gritty comeback on his second try; the give and take, wheeling and dealing, of being a state legislator; the policy minutiae and battles with special interests as governor; the excitement of his first year as a Senator – all of this flashed through his mind as he drank in the adulation of the nominating convention.

At last, here it was, the crowning moment – save one – in his political career. He was his party’s nominee for the presidency, and the polls showed him leading the incumbent by a surprising margin. His ultimate goal, the Holy Grail of the presidency, had drawn him on, ever on, sustaining him through thankless labor and grueling campaigns; through media savagings and personal tragedy; until now, with the election only a few months away, the prize was nearly within his grasp!

His acceptance speech was wowing the crowd. Horseflesh could feel the electricity surging through the cheering throngs. Even hardened, cynical political reporters mingling with the excited conventioneers seemed caught up in the buoyant mood. He had them! He had them all in the palm of his hand! Now for the windup of his speech, the battle cry that would surely carry him to victory in November!

Horseflesh wiped his hand across his streaming brow once more, then strode forward and grabbed the microphone. "My fellow BZZZZZZZZZZZZT!!!

The crowd screamed in horror as Horseflesh jerked and thrashed, then pitched sideways off the podium and tumbled from the stage into the media pit below. The stunned reporters who reached him first saw tendrils of smoke seeping from his ears. Paramedics had to fight their way through the hysterical throngs to reach the stricken candidate. They bore him off to the hospital as swiftly as they could, but it was too late. Horseflesh was DOA.

The hall emptied slowly, the crowd mired in confusion and despair. When the last stragglers had stumbled out, the maintenance crew filed in to clean up the debris. The foreman looked over the crew and said, “Where’s Smacky? He was supposed to be in charge of the sound system. Where the heck is he?” “I dunno, boss,” said Bill. “He said something about a possible short in the mike, and I think he said he was going to the supply house for a new one. Guess he musta got sidetracked to Roxie’s again, huh?”

668

That’s quite good, EddyTeddyFreddy! Heh.

On April 14, 2005, you will suffer a panic attack because you have procrastinated, and have no idea how to calculate your owed income tax for 2004. “Deduct this/multiply by that/consult table 5, paragraph 3, page 17…I just can’t do this!” ETF wailed. “I must consult my local tax-help-in-a-box store,” she thought. “Surely, I’m making this more complicated than it needs to be.”

Upon entering the H&R Block store, armed with her W-2, 1099, and a shoebox of receipts, ETF noticed that something was amiss. She expected a long line of taxpayers, of course…but why would they all be carrying scythes?

Oh, y’all thought there was only ONE Grim Reaper?
On the bright side, ETF won’t have to worry about her 2005 taxes!

669

Blonde was on her way to my half birthday party. Dressed to the fours, she was, with half of her hair pulled into a ponytail and the other half let lose. She was admiring the decorations as she walked up the pathway half covered in spanish moss. Cut-in-half streamers and half-painted balloons hung from maypoles. Half of the curtains appeared to be up, and half of the door was covered in the same colored lights that half covered the shrubs that lined the pathway. One of the shrubs behind Blonde rustled. Blonde 180’d and knelt down to look at the shrub. She parted the branches with her half French, half Vietnamese manicured hands. What a creative idea, cutting the light strings in half, she thought as—

ZZZAAAAAAPPP!
Later that day, a half singed squirrel was seen, strutting through town toting all that remained of Blonde—the ponytail half full of her invincible hair.

670

Drat, Bella took advantage of the boards’ mischevious ways with my computer and killed Blond off before I could post my story. Then I had it all typed up and the boards went down as I posted. Double-drat. I’m gonna post it again (it’s too good to waste) and include BTI in it for good measure.

Blonde sat impatiently in the salon chair, glancing around to see where the hairdresser had gotten too. She had made it clear in no uncertain terms to the she-troll that the color job she had done two weeks ago was absolutely wrong, wrong, wrong. There was way too much copper in it. She was supposed to be BLONDE damnit, not some wet dream for slobbering geologists.

She glanced over the other waiting patrons. Most were reading a magazine picked at random from a pile on the low table. One was arguing with what sounded like her daughter, telling her that she absolutely would not be going on a date with her new boyfriend on a school night, while another woman corralled her two-year-old son and desperately fished through her purse for something harmless to take his attention away from the nearby display stand.

The hair-troll came around the corner, victoriously brandishing her trophy. “Here 'tis, Miss Blonde. Just what you wanted: Ultimate Blonde Goddess. We had to special order this from Europe.”

Blonde examined the packaging, verifying that it was indeed what she had read about. “Fine, yes, this is it,” she retorted. “Let’s get started then.”

The salon specilist began her hair coloring ritual. When it came time to apply the dye, she started humming to herself. Blonde relaxed in her chair, but had she turned to look at the she-troll she would have seen an evil, toothy grin in front of the humming sound.

A tingling sensation came soon after the first application of color. Blonde smiled inwardly and thought of how the sunlight would catch her hair as she walked, dazzling anyone who dared look upon her. Her grin took physical shape as she envisioned her new look.

The tingling intensified, running filament fingers of slight pain throughout her scalp. She half-turned quizically. “It’s supposed to feel like that, Miss. It means it’s working it’s magic,” she assured and turned Blonde shoulders to face forward again.

Blonde shifted uncomfortably as the sensation reached her neck, then down her arms and chest. The pain grew and throbbed, making her muscles spasm. She bolted upright and tore off the apron. The she-troll cackled behind her, “Oh, it’s working NOW, Miss Blonde. Everyone will notice you,” and she backed away towards the wall she had originally appeared behind from.

Blonde slapped at herself, trying to stave off the invasion of evil blondage. The pain shot right through her now, completely engulfing her, making every muscle twitch and jump. She saw her stomach start to bloat, swelling an inch every few seconds and stretching her tight black sweater until it constricted her. Her muscles ached as they tried to adjust to the new size, and her limbs popped and crackled as the jumped out of their sockets and grew several magnitudes in size. Her skin started to split, spilling tissue and bone a shade of blonde never seen before. She looked like some grotesque Pokemon metamorphing into it’s next level of power.

The pressure proved too much for her skin to take. It ruptured, spewing forth fragments in all directions like a blonde shrapnel grenade. The other patrons looked on in horror before diving for cover or heading for the door. Only the woman on the cell phone, BellaTellaItalia, was oblivious to the scene several feet away. Her body was pierced a multitude of times by sharp blonde spikes of hair, glistenly wetly from the body of their previous host. Her phone clattered to the floor, her daughter’s voice still faintly audible arguing her case for a date tonight.

The troll that had set the events in motion watched from behind the wall in a mirror that reflected the bizarre death scene. She walked slowly towards the back room, relishing the screams of those still in the salon. She hummed to herself again as she punched her timecard out, cackling as she thought again about causing the ultimate blonde moment.

671

Aaaahhh… ** horseflesh**'s computer… Built around the lastest 3200 Mhz AMD, overclocked to unknown human speeds and linled to his freezer for better cooling… More has always been the word… MORE power, MORE speed, MORE performances…

Once more **Horseflesh ** is is head in his computer, handling tiny screws and small parts, sometimes even welding a couple points on the motherboard. Today’s project is taking apart the DVD drive and link it to a small electrical powertool’s engine, a drill. Yep. More RPMs, more performances! Horseflesh loves the challenges! After an afternoon of clipping, welding, assembling and tweaking, the beast is ready to go.

Hoseflesh turns the machine on, check the hardware recognition, so far no problem. He nows carefully put the lastest edition of Walt Disney’s Alice in Wonderland DVD into the carrier… shut it down and wait for the performance indicator he installed to show how good he is.

500 rpm… 1000 rpm… 1500 rpm… we’re doing good, the equivalent of a 48x Cd drive!.. 3000 rpm… 5000, 8000… the sound is now very high… we’re faster than the high end hard disk drives… 10,000! yes ! 15,000! 20,000! yes! yes! oh yes! it’s good! faster! faster! 25,000! ooooooohhhhh! yeeeeesss! 30,000! AAAAAAAhhhh!

When suddenly the big bang came in, but not the one expected by Horseflesh: the DVD disintegrated at high speed, sending shrapnels and splinters all around this machine of death. ** Horseflesh** hugging the machine at the time was struck instantly, millions of tiny plastic and metal pieces piercing his body, worse than the lastest fashions in downtown London.

Bleeding to death he tried to reach the phone and dial 911… but… no… the modem is on… he can’t dial…

He shouldn’t have been so cheap and should have taken this long desired T1.

672

No! No, don’t, french frog! Please, please don’t push that big red button marked “Emergency Reset”!!! Please, I beg you, don’t

KAWOOOOONNNNNNGIEEEEEEEE

Aw, darn it, french frog! That time the board was down for three days. :eek: I hear the hamsters were mighty upset about losing all the nice new shavings and plump cushions and Baccarat water bottles.

… french frog? …

Hamsters – what did you DO to him?!? :eek: :eek: :eek:

673

Ah, EddyTeddyFreddy. You just keep coming back for more. :smiley:
Bye bye,
You’ll have a fun way to die.
You wrote your verses driving hearses
But the end is now nigh
And us good old dopers are drinking whisky and lye
Singing this will be the day that she dies
This will be the day that she dies…

You really shouldn’t drive your Chevy to the levy…

674

BOO!
Blonde got jumped at the local bar for singing karaoke while a football game was on the Tv. Many angry fans tore her to pieces for an act of which they considered to be in bad taste and in bad timing. If only she could have waited a bit longer…
she had lovely pipes though.

675

Four lovely ladies named SanguineSpider, Blonde, EddyTeddyFreddy, BellaDellaItalia, and an epilectic french frog with sticky feet walk into a bar…

Recognizing the start of an incredibly bad joke, and for the good of humanity, Horseflesh immediately leaps out from behind the bar and stomps each of the ladies with one hoof. Crushing them all at the same time. The sticky footed french frog cannot escape and is lacerated to death by another appendage*.

The crowd in the bar is aghast. “What are you doing!?” they ask the demented Horseflesh. He begins to tell them why he had to kill four fine ladies and a clearly diseased amphibian. He simply says that “I heard the worst joke that starts like this: ‘Four lovely ladies named SanguineSpider, Blonde, EddyTeddyFreddy, BellaDellaItalia, and an epilectic french frog with sticky feet walk into a bar…’, ‘Oops…’”

Recognizing the start of an incredibly bad joke, and for the good of humanity, Horseflesh immediately leaps into the air and crushes himself with all four hooves AND any other appendages* he can bring to bear. The bar is renamed 'Doper’s Door fo Death’ and becomes a huge success.
*As I am still on restriction, I hereby disavow any sexual inuendos contained in this post. I maintain that the aforementioned appendage is the tail of the equine. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

676

pervert hits “Submit Reply” and his missive of death flies through cyberspace to the SDMB. As he waits through the “Thanks for posting!” screen for his multiple Dopicide to appear, a niggling little worry pops into his appendage: Is there an error in it? He’d proofread it so carefully; used “Preview”, and yet…

The hamsters are running wild and free in their new wheels; pervert has scarcely had time to begin his thought when his death drama flashes onto the screen… and YES! There it is, in one of his favorite bits, too: 'Doper’s Door fo Death’!!!

Why, oh why, he cries, is there no “Edit Post” function in the vB update? Drat his clumsy appendages! All ten of them! With a sob of rage, he contorts himself into a position whereby he may indulge his infantile habit of frustration relief: chewing on his appendage – the big one, on the left appendage.

But there is no surcease in this. pervert releases his appendage (which requires placing an appendage on the floor to leverage himself back upright), grabs a coat, and races out the door even as he’s still thrusting his appendages into the sleeves. He runs down the street, his appendages pumping furiously, shrieking his angst to the frozen world about him.

Unfortunately, one of his appendages hits a patch of ice and slips out from under him. pervert throws out an appendage to try to break his fall, but it too slides as he slams into the sidewalk, and he skids helplessly over the edge and down an ice-coated embankment. His appendages scrabble frantically, fruitlessly for a hold as his slide gathers momentum; he begins to tumble, appendages flailing wildly; at the bottom, alas, he slams appendagefirst into a mighty oak. There is a horrific CRACK! as his appendage breaks.

And so passes pervert, appendages and all.

677

ETF was having a blast. All her life long savings went into this vacation trip to Taiwan. Ah! The marvels of an other culture! The food! The temples! The people! The colors! That was worth it. Then, as she was shopping in Tainan to get a couple of toys to bring back for her cats a big trailer came up the street… and BAOOOOOM !!!
Good bye [ETF], you had a blast…

  • That was just to share this amazing Taiwanese story! It made my week :slight_smile: I like the last paragraph :slight_smile: :slight_smile: :slight_smile: *
678

frenchfrog:

One night in Bangkok, you’ll come to see
The bars are temples but the pearls ain’t free
You’ll find a your death in every golden cloister
And if you’re lucky you’ll go pain-free

We can feel an angel sliding up to thee…
You really shouldn’t have eaten those oysters…

679

[sidetrack]
French Frog dying: I didn’t know that the oyster shells are not edible…
Blonde : Well, French Frog, it’s like eating nuts!
French Frog : That’s how I eat nuts… Argh!..
[/sidetrack]

You can go back to predict ** Blonde**'s death.

680

Oh, french frog, mio caro french frog, have you ever been to an Italian funeral? You have, don’t you remember? You went to my grandfather’s last spring. No, you needn’t have worried about the large man in the red and black jacket. I’m sure it wasn’t a gun in his pocket, probably a portable DVD player or something. Was he staring at you? I don’t think he would have recognized you from anywhere, no, not unless you…
but, no! french frog tends to stay away from mafioso gatherings, don’t you, bello?
Perhaps I’ve said too much…
Oh no! I’m sorry! I really didn’t mean to let it slip! But you see, no one must know… we really can’t take any chances with this type of thing. No, no, I shall call some men over here right away. They should be there around 5 o’ clock to…well, you know. Mi dispiace, my friend. And rest in peace.