Predict the Death of the Previous Poster

Miscellaneous and Personal Stuff I Must Share
681

When the stone hits your eye
Like a big pizza pie
Thatsa morte
When the gun in your back
Shoots its bullet with a CRACK
Thatsa morte!

Ah, Bella – they’re playing your song! Now, now, don’t worry. I won’t let that big guy near you. You know, the one your daddy did a little business with. The one who accused your daddy of cheating him. The one who swore he’d…

There, there! You’re safe here. Why, yes, I do know the big guy, but I’d never betray a friend – you know that! Now, why don’t you relax with a nice cup of espresso and a slice of this pie I just made. Yes, I made it especially for you! Here, let me cut you a second slice. Mmmmmmmmmmmm, good, huh?

What’s that? Your stomach feels kind of funny? Maybe it’s just gas. Oh, now you’re getting cramps? Must be that time of… Here’s a basin, you can heave into that. Ah, poor girl, why don’t you lie down until the pain goes away. Yes, just close your eyes…

… forever. Bwa-hahahahahahaha!!!

682

EddyTeddyFreddy saw boob on the boob tube (heh) and sucked in her big cud of bubble gum she was gnawing on noisily, while eagerly watching the Super Bowl. Down, DOWN went the huge chunk into her windpipe and she choked helplessly as Miss Jackson played innocent and covered her exposed teat. ETF didn’t care about that, she was too busy dying on the livingroom floor to wonder if the exposure was planned or not. She did care about Miss Jackson’s outfit, which she didn’t like at all. Nope, not in the least…

683

And then one day it came to pass. The great pet uprising finally began. It started in a simple unassuming thread. Posters to something the humans used to call the SDMB were playing at the game of kill your friends. The wise pets of several of these posters watched (unobserved by the humans) and took mental notes. Many of the ideas were simply silly, of course. It was a human game after all. But many ideas for causing the demise of humanity were in fact quite enlightening.

ETF found her cats had be come the leaders of the cat cabal. Her house became the underground meeting place of the resistance. Unfortunately, many of the posters never noticed that the cats had place her into a kitty carrier and continued to use her SDMB account for several weeks. They kept her alive for many months forcing her to perform amusing tricks. Eventually when the pets took over she became the revered first pet of the leading litter of the planet.

SS, of course was one of the first victims of the coup. She is overcome by one of the dog gangs roving throughout Arizona. Many of her “parts” are used as toys given to the few humans kept as pets.

Amazingly, FF turns out to have been one of the philosophical leaders of the new animal rights fighters. He lead many species out of ignorance and taught them to fight the humans. The animals surely would have revered him above many others. Unfotunately, he became a target for the human defenders early on in the war. They thought they could hold him hostage and stop the war by threatenting to vivisect him. Eventually they were forced to carry out the threat.

684

pervert watched the Super Bowl impatiently, waiting for the tedious galumphing of the helmeted behemoths to be over so he could see the halftime show. Janet Jackson would be singing! He’d had the hots for her since way back when her brother Michael looked human.

At last, the reams of commercials had abated (temporarily) and his personal goddess was there on the screen of the giant TV he’d bought just for the occasion. pervert watched greedily, so engrossed he forgot to chew that mouthful of nachos. His heart beat faster as he ogled her sinuous sexiness, and then…

OHMIGAWD was that her breast? Her nipple? Was he seeing Janet Jackson’s TIT??? pervert lunged off the couch toward the screen for a better look.

Alas! When he leaped forward, he tripped over the cat who’d been dozing in boredom at his feet. As he fell, he gasped, and the wad of half-chewed nachos was sucked back to lodge in his windpipe.

Poor pervert discovered, too late, that you can’t do self-Heimlich.

But at least he died with the vision of JJ’s boob in his brain.

685

EddyTeddyFreddy ached to receive a special Valentine card this year…and so, out she went to the mailbox, day after day in early February 2004. “Nothing! Junk mail, Enquirers with Janet Jackson on the cover…oh, where is it? How could have he forgotten me?” she sobbed.

On Feb. 14th, ETF stumbled down to her mailbox, tears rolling down her cheeks as she opened it with a shaking hand. And…there it was. A red velvet envelope - diamond-encrusted, no less. ETF felt her heart skip a beat, for she knew her lover had remembered…trembling, she opened the card.

“My dearest EddyTeddyFreddy” the love letter said…

Roses are red, violets are blue,
Happy Valentine’s Day, my love
From the Grim Reaper to you.

BOOM!

686

Blonde street racing capabilities are astonishing, even for herself.

It all began one day on the set of lights outside Target, after a fructuous afternoon of shopping (fructuous for Target). She was waiting for the green line, in her file, calmly, resting for her shopping frenzy, thinking of all those pleasures, exhaling slightly, like after a good glass of Bordeaux.

A loud raspy noise made her to come back to her senses : vroupvroupvroupvroupvroup… One of those little punks with a highly tuned and huge-winged Honda Civic just parled alongside her minivan, on the ‘right turn only’ lane. Apparently the show-off punk wanted to illegally pass her, waiting for the green light to unleash all the little horse power he had and swing along. ** Blonde ** could recognize the typical vroupvrOApvroupVroupvrOAaaapvroupvroup of the impatient drag-racer ready for a dash.

What it was, nobody would know. The intoxicating repetitive exhaust noise?The head lightening fumes? Her new Jean Naté perfume? Was she too fast? too furious? As soon as the other traffic lights hit the red, she lauched her minivan in high RPMs and when the green went on a couple of seconds later she dropped the clutch like Mario Andretti never did. The tires spinned a little bit, enough to squeal and burn, got a grip and the minivan was launched like a rocket, at the surprise of the dropped-jaw Honda Civic hoodlum.

Everything went well for the first 20 yards… then she hit the central concrete divider : the minivan jumped on it and skidded on it with numerous sparkles and scattering broken parts until it stopped, balancing on 2 tires. ** Blonde ** went out, unharmed.

Oh? How she died? Of shame, when the story was brought into the regular hair salon gossiping.

687

French Frog went wonderfully in a nice light curry, served with wild rice and a '94 Rioja.

688

dutchboy208 had had it. He was fed up. He just couldn’t take it any more. All those jokes about windmills and wooden shoes; all those trite japeries upon his name and the fair Netherlands, by benighted idiots with more hair than wit.

So it was that, late one night, with one too many under his belt, and the memory of yet another tired joke ringing in his ears, he stood beneath a streetlight and screamed to the world: “I DO NOT STICK MY FINGER IN DIKES!!!”

Too bad he did this at closing time in front of the favorite hangout of the local Dykes On Bikes club.

689

What a way to go…

690

Dr. Roberts has always been a skilled practical joker; however the hospital ethics bureau decided that the “change-the-enema-for-concentrated-hidrogen-peroxide” prank was a bit too much and after some strong arguments made him promise to never ever did that again, except for Xmas parties.
On the other hand everyone agreed that Dutchboy208 looked like the Rocketeer when he flew off the hospital´s 27th floor window leaving a thick trail of smoke behind him; unfortunately we don´t know if Dutchboy208 found it funny at all.

691

Deciding to test the old adage of “before you judge, walk a mile in a man’s shoes,” Ale chose the first pair with extreme caution. Unwittingly, they happened to belong to a gentleman fresh out of the leper colony.

His death was slow and painful, but he took minor solace in the fact that his feet had long since fallen off prior to his demise. His corpse was doused in lighter fluid and set ablaze on a pyre of logs, around which other men and small muppets danced and sang victory songs.

…Sorry, I think I just mixed up Ale’s death with the end of “Return of the Jedi.” Anyway, he croaked.

692

Chastain86 was almost beside himself with excitement. Somehow, he wasn’t quite sure how, he’d been given front-row, center-ice tickets to the St. Louis Blues’ game against the Canadiens. The Blues were on a winning streak that seemed destined to pull them out of the funk they’d been suffering for most of the season. As the players took to the ice and zoomed around, warming up, Chastain86 slugged down his beer and hunched forward in his seat. This was going to be great!

The game was hard-fought, fast, and exciting, with superb defensive play thwarting brilliant offensive moves on each side. Going into the third period, the score was tied 1-1. Chastain86 was still making his way back to his seat (the line to unload beer had been long and slow-moving) when the puck was dropped into the opening face-off. He tried to hurry as Pavol Demitra took the puck down the ice, stick-handling with almost scornful ease as he swept past Darren Langdon and passed off to Eric Boguniecki.

Chastain86 twisted to look over his shoulder as he flung himself into his seat, even as Boguniecki unleashed a tremendous slapshot at the Canadiens’ goal. He groaned with the rest of the crowd as Mathieu Garon knocked the puck away with his stick. A knot of players scrummed in the corner for the madly bouncing puck; then Francis Bouillon dug it out and shot it to Niklas Sundstrom, who began racing toward the almost unprotected Blues’ goal. Reinhard Divis slid out, trying to cut down the shooter’s angle, while Aris Brimanis skated furiously toward the flying Canadien.

SMASH!!! Brimanis slammed into Sundstrom, and the two went down in a thrashing heap that quickly turned into a brawl. In a trice, both benches had emptied, and battles raged up and down the ice.

Chastain86 was screaming with the rest of the crowd, jumping about in a beer-fueled rage at the rampaging Canadiens. When Yanic Perreault sucker-punched Keith Tkachuk, Chastain86 lost control and leaped over the boards, lunging toward the nearest man in a Montreal jersey. By Og, but those cowardly Canadiens would pay!

Well, yes, they did pay. Major fines for the brawl, and funeral expenses for the crazy fan who’d thrown his head right into the path of Saku Koivu’s swinging stick.

693

Well, seeing as how it’s Valentine’s Day and all…

EddyTeddyFreddy died under rather unusual circumstances today, I’m afraid to say. The coroner wasn’t quite sure whether it should be ruled death by sex…or death by chocolate. :wink:
Happy Valentine’s Day!

694

“What?” said ** Blonde ** “Not a death in a week? That must mean only one thing… Everybody’s dead! No way! I killed everybody!!!”
Out of despair she climbed the 72 stories of the Bank of America Plaza building dowtown Dallas, open the roof hatch and jumped along the green lights falling faster and faster, the 921 feet of space between her and concrete disappearing in a lightning.
Just when she was to hit 901 main street, the President exited the buiding, after a quick campaign speech. Their meeting was beyond wording, I would say explosive. They both died instantly. Secret Services, CIA, FBI, local police forces, Oliver Stone, everybody was in turmoil to understand what happen, again, to a President in this cursed city. Nobody will know for sure, films will be make, countries will be attacked, controversy will hit the media, conspiracy therories will be imagined and fancied but nobody will ever know the truth, and this date will be remembered as a dark one in the US history.
Way to go, ** Blonde **.

  • Well, I killed a cat, and now a US President? Where will I stop? This is unfathomable!*
695

As the Master Chef of a Denny’s somewhere in Florida looked over his catch, tied to the table with jumper cables, he thought, “Hmmmm. Should I make French fries… or Frog legs…”

He made french fried frog legs, though they tasted like chicken.

696

yoyo3500, your demise is scheduled for next Friday, flesh-eating bacteria, have you heard of it?. It´s written, can´t be changed, so be a good boy and smear some sauce over you, flesh-eating bacteria prefers red enchilada sauce, but if you´re in a hurry some mustard caper should do.

697

yoyo3500 hums under his breath as he strolls up the walkway to the gates of Graceland, the Shrine of The King. Sometimes he’s channelling Marc Cohn; other times it’s Paul Simon. But most often it’s one of The King’s immortal ouvre that sets his vocal cords to thrumming and his steps to dancing.

But what’s this? The gates are closed! They’re never closed at this time of day – never! What could be wrong?

He cranes his neck to see over the gathering crowd of frustrated worshippers. Then a rumor sweeps through the throng – Lisa Marie is there! Could it be true?

yoyo3500 doubts it, even as the pilgrims begin to chant her name. He’s about to turn away and walk back home through Memphis, when the frong door of Graceland swings slowly open. And there – there, framed in its great doorway, is…

Lisa Marie!

People cheer, shriek, sob, moan, as this living link to Elvis steps forward. The joyful cries cut off sharply, though, as the shadowy figure behind her comes forward, and the crowd recognize with horror…

Michael Jackson!

yoy3500 is as stunned as the rest of the throng. He staggers back, slips on a spilled Vanilla Coke, and falls to the ground, even as the crowd mills about in confusion, then begins to stampede – where, it doesn’t know. The hivemind knows only that it must bolt from this shattering reunion! The screaming, wailing mob tramples anything in its path.

Including, unfortunately, yoyo3500.

Still partway through the doorway, “Michael Jackson” whips off the mask and stands revealed as… Ale! He doubles up with laughter to see the frenzied reaction to his little joke. Still giggling, he turns to “Lisa Marie”, as she whips off her mask to reveal… Blonde!

The two Dopers are still howling with amusement at their successful caper when the Graceland guards free themselves from their inexpertly fastened bonds and charge out of the cellar, guns blazing. Ale and Blonde are cut down before they can run more than a few steps.

A large orange cat watches the carnage with mild interest, then turns to the far more absorbing task of grooming its whiskers.

698

EddyTeddyFreddy is mistaken for a secrent agent while visting Canada. After being captured by the mountys, he is starved, beaten, drugged, and torutured to death for secrets. All on account of his abusive alcoholic guardian angel.

699

shakes head sadly

JoeSki, JoeSki, JoeSki.

Don’t you know the rules of the Death thread?

a. Don’t kill cats
b. Don’t mistake ETF for a guy.
c. Don’t touch Blonde’s hair.

Okay, so there aren’t many rules, but still. I’m very sorry, but violation of these rules means we have no choice but to…
kill you?
Wait a minute. This doesn’t work out. We’re supposed to kill you whether you break the rules or not. Damn it, I KNEW there was something wrong with this thread! This is going to take some consideration…

Walks away scratching head. Steps on button that in turn pulls lever that stretches dental floss that flings fork that hits dartboad that sinks into wall that swings open to a secret passage that hits JoeSki on the head.

Well, at least we don’t have to think anymore. Arsenic peppermints, anyone?

700

BellaDellaItalia died from a papercut she received while opening a few piles of Doper valentines. Little did she know that as she sucked on the tip of her finger, the poison from Blonde’s card was seeping into her bloodstream AND digestive tract! Alas! She died quickly, the only tell-tale sign of foulplay being the color of her lips… mottled purple. The moral of my story? Beware the valentine curse and never suck your papercuts!