Blonde, ever the money saver, spied a great deal on Diet Coke whilst grocery shopping in late June, 2004. She purchased a 24-pack and hummed a tune as she carried it out to her SUV. She greedily ripped into the packaging as she walked, determined to have that first sip before she dropped off her precious cans of liquid into the back.
Little did she know that Thomas Beansnitcher, of Rottenville, WV, had been fired from the local Coke bottling plant just last month, only 6 months away from his retirement and benefits.
He had spent his time since then making several 24-packs of a special blend of Diet Coke: 99% evil Coke, 1% Anthrax-Ebola-West Nile virus. He had perfected 5 cases so far, and was eager to see how his handiwork would fare. He loaded them into his Gremlin and took off for the southwest.
None of this even entered Blonde’s wildest imagination as she wrinkled her nose at the odd taste. Even the evil Coke couldn’t quite hide the bitter taste of the trilogy of death about to overcome her.
She was found 7 minutes later, slumped against her BMW SUV, keys in one hand, and a spilled can of Die Coke in the other.
Horseflesh, your safari trip has taken a turn for the worse…despite your efforts, you can’t seem to escape the hungry tigress who is determined to eat you for dinner.
She wasn’t a carnivore…but, for you, made an exception. Hope that didn’t hurt too much!
Blonde couldn’t believe it! Here it was, halfway through March, and a freak snowstorm had just dumped a foot and a half of the white crap all over the town!
And, more to the point, all over her driveway and car.
With many curses and imprecations, Blonde rummaged through the detritus of her garage till she found the snow shovel she’d heaved in somewhere when the last of the evil stuff had melted at the start of the month. Feeling as put-upon as a third-grader who’s been told he can’t have a monkey for Christmas, she trudged out and began shoveling.
Three hours later (that snow was wet and heavy!) she stood panting, sweat-drenched and aching at the end of her driveway, the miserable job accomplished. Time to go inside, have a long hot shower, then get dressed and head out to her favorite restaurant for a reward!
Blonde was so engrossed in contemplating what she’d order that she never even noticed the gigantic plow bearing down upon her until it was with a foot. She shrieked, jumped forward onto the snowbank, and missed being swept up in its plow by a few terrifying inches.
Her temper totally gone now, Blonde slid back to the street, shook her weary fists at the retreating vehicle as she howled insults after it, and totally failed to perceive the followup plow that ran her over and shoved her mangled body into the snowpile it made across the end of her shoveled driveway.
Hey! A funny thing happen to me today. I was walking to the grocery store and I found this wooden box with a red button on it. Just a simple cube with a red button. I shook it, nothing rattled. Overpowered by curiosity and defiying any common sense of self-preservation I pressed the red button. Nothing happenned. Rather disappointed I threw away the box and resumed my grocery shopping. I found good strawberries.
Meanwhile, and at the same time ** French frog ** pressed the red button, ETF just vanished. poof
french frog, determined to find the best carton of strawberries in the store, ran into a wee bit of a problem on April 1, 2004. While attempting to duck the flying fruit and veggies of the “April Fools!” promotion, french frog was forced to retreat to the meat and seafood section of the grocery store.
The mutant zombie woman serving freebie samples perked right up when she saw french frog…and brought out the little grill and napkins.
Sliced and served
on little crispy chips
french frog passed on
and shall be sorely missed.
Blonde was lurking through the SDMB message boards when she came upon this lil’ gem of weirdness ----> http://www.cremaster.net . Whoa, thought she and pondered the decision to click around on the strangest website she’d ever seen. And click she did…
She was never heard from again but neighbors say two blimps were sighted hovering over the general vicinity of her home for a few hours.
SanguineSpider woke up to a beautiful spring morning. Feeling energetic and industrious, Sanguine sets about doing a little spring cleaning. She had noticed a wasp earlier in her attic, but dismissed it as a dirt dauber looking to build its home there.
On her second trip into the attic the wasp attacked and stung Sanguine repeatedly. Sanguine had never known of her fatal allergy to wasp stings and she could only gasp in agony as her tiny attacker retreated to a higher position to watch her slowly die.
But alas, this was not the end of the story. It just so happened, this was a spider wasp female, and she proceeds to lay an egg on SanguineSpiders lifeless body. The young larva hatches an eats away until it reaches adulthood.
Blaster was awaken by his son, the child was affraid “there´s a monster under my bed daddy!” he said. Being a caring parent he assures his child that there isn´t a monster there, there´s no reason to be scared. So off they went to the childs room, Blaster lifts the blankets and says:
“See, there is a monster in there…
WHAT!!!???” :eek:
Ale, chuckling to himself at his clever death tale (after FIVE long months of no fatalities), settled himself in for a long Labor Day weekend. Beer!! Whoo-hoo!
Who would have thought there were sharks in the water of the lake nearest his home? Not he, having tempted fate and dangled his legs over the side of the boat.
Open Water wasn’t a good choice for the last movie he saw, either. :eek:
Blonde’s nightmares were getting worse. A deformed man with claws threatened her every night in her slumber, disappearing in the last possible second as Blonde awoke, heart racing and covered in perspiration.
The nightmares were getting worse. Psychological analysis, support groups and heavy, heavy drugs all did no good. Blonde was getting desperate. She even considered ending it all herself before the claw-man could get her. But she held on.
The nightmares were getting worse, and Blonde was sleeping less and less every night. Any excuse she could find to stay up late, she took: less time for her antagonist to torment her unconsciousness.
The nightmares were getting worse…
Luckily, Blonde accidentally stepped in front of a bus one day, and her nightmares went away.
In a darkened basement, amongst archives on two story shelves in an all but abandoned storeroom in an agency warehouse, sits a dust-covered crate long forgotten. In this crate, in an entirely unremarkable jar with no label, floating in formaldehyde, is the shrunken decapitated head of Nightwach Trailer. Corresponding to that jar, on a single typed sheet lying in the bottom of that crate, reads the innocuous entry: “#38, subject uncooperative”
Fuji Kitakyusho, having commited the evil act of not naming the deathee in question, was banned to the Death Predictor’s Underworld, and suffered a rather brutal death when attacked by posters armed with sharp swords.
Sweetie, if I had a dime for every time I’ve been peroxided to death…
There’s a closet in your room…and you might want to shut it tonight, for your own personal sense of safeness. That simple act won’t prevent your gruesome death, but it’s always best be optimstic, isn’t it? When that door creeks open late tonight, your first reaction might be to hide under the bed. This act would prolong your life by about 30 seconds, but what a price to pay for that time!
“Little”? May I point out that Eddy is sleeping on a double bed? And that he measures some 16 inches from withers to tailhead? And that it is a wise idea to don a hernia belt before picking him up?
Or, in other words, he’s frickin’ HUGE. And Freddy’s about as big, and even Teddy is large in normal-cat terms.
You mock the Orange Boys at your own risk, O Foolish One. Blonde still bears the scars of one by-mere-inches foiled attempt on her hair.
The cat fight was horendous. It was the most awful thing it is possible to see.
Unless you see it in slow motion with a beer and some chips.
Slow circling of one another with several bluff attacks. Puffing up. Sizing up. And then contact! Fur flying. Sharp claws scratching. Teeth knashing. Lower appendages grappling with the victim’s torsos. Extending said torsos in luxuriously savage arches. Desperate grappling attacks which slowly but surely disrobe one opponent after another of their defenses. Facial grimaces of pain, frustration, concentration, and exhileration passing accross first one then another of the contestants. Bodily fluids mingling from each of the combatants. Continuous effort exhilerating all participants. Desperate panting. And. Finally. Climax. Exhaustion. Cesation of activity in a heap of limp appendages.
We could sell tickets. And if EddyTeddyFreddyBlonde and Kythereia had thought to turn off the webcam before the fight began, they might not have expired from embarassment. The cats, BTW, pured contentedly throughout the whole affair. Eminantly satisfied that their plan to take over the world had just completed stage one. Stage two would involve marketing the video around the world. For this they may need my help. To the editing room Robin!
