If they were accurate, who’s getting sued? All the posters? Or just me?
BellaDellaItalia, something tells me that, if they were accurate, getting sued would be the least of anyone’s worries. 
LOL…good point ** perotrochoid ** . . . .
For one thing, I’d have to learn to belly dance.
So I ask myself: self, who have I not predicted the death of? And the answer is - BellaDellaItalia, who started this wonderful (creepy) thread. So…
BellaDellaItalia has always enjoyed New Year’s Eve - and this year is no exception (no, actually it is the exception. Heh.)
Champagne! One simply cannot celebrate New Year’s without the bubbly, so BellaDellaItalia heads out on December 31, 2003, around 6pm to her local wine store. As she ponders over exactly which bottle of champagne to purchase, she hears a low voice…"Bella - pick ME! Looking around in confusion, she decides that she did not hear that whatsoever.
It’s time for the big party - the bottle of champagne nestled lovingly in her arms, Bella strolls up the steps of her friend’s house. Music fills the air -
Damn! What the…Bella trips on the sixth step and breaks her head open.
The bottle of champagne remained intact - and was snatched up immediately by the mutant dwarves lurking in the shadows.
There’s champagne for us, and there’s champagne for THEM. You wanna be careful to pick the right one!
***** peritrochoid **
But maybe I should learn to type first.
Yes, Blonde, you reminded me that I too have yet to predict BellaDellaItalia’s death.
Hmm … for starting such an entertaining thread, she deserves only the best of my efforts. This will require some thought. I’ll get back to you … if we’re still an open thread.
Prepare to die, Bella.
Peritrochoid went outside to get his mail one fine, sunny afternoon and it was fine. It was sunny and he did get his mail…
Opening the mailbox, he slipped his hand inside to collect the letters and LO! he collected many. Slipping his hand out of the mailbox, he clutched the many letters to his chest and looked up into the bright and sunny sky. Ahhh! Sighing deeply, he remarked to no one in particular just how fine and sunny a day it was before returning to his house.
Upon entering his domicile, the letters he collected spilled forth from his hands, the many collected letters raining down onto the floor from his hands. Oh drat, he thought all annoyed and pissy. Pissed at the many letters spilling forth from his hands, he cursed pissily. Drat!
Kneeling and cursing, he collected the previously collected letters back into his hands and as he did so, a red envelope caught his eye. What, what, he asked no one in particular. He eyed the envelope that was so richly red in hue it reminded him of a word he’d seen previously. Sanguine. It popped into his head rather comfortably and all at once his cursing dropped away to a silence.
Picking up the richly red envelope, he breathed in a heady scent silently. It was rich! This scent filling the air, heady and rich. It teased his mind and tickled his nose most pleasantly. He sniffed the envelope with gusto! MMMMM, he murmured to no one in particular. This was most pleasant!
Standing, he turned the richly red envelope over to the front to see what was written on it but alas! Nothing but his name and address were addressed on the front, written in the deepest black ink he’d ever seen. In the ink, so black, was written his name and address in an elegant script elegantly.
Inhaling the pleasant scent again and rereading the elegant black script, he puttered over to his big, comfy chair and sat. The chair held him, quite big and quite comfy and sitting in it, he decided to open the richly red envelope with elegant blank script.
What a mystery, he announced outloud to no one in particular. What fun this shall be on this fine, sunny day!
He slipped a finger into one of the corners of the richly red envelope and started a tiny tear which turned into a bigger tear and bigger and so on, until the heady-scented envelope was open. More of the pleasant, heady scent bloomed in his nostrils and he sighed again. MMMmmmmmmmmm…
Pulling the richly red, scented envelope wide, he saw within a paper, matching in hue the richly red, heady-scented envelope and pulled it out he did. In the same black ink and the same elegant script, the paper was addressed to him, to a Mr. Peritrochoid, the very same Mr. Peritrochoid who was right then reading the elegant script.
*"Dear Mr. Peritrochoid,
I cordially invite you to attend a private meeting of a most private nature at my manor this Friday next, at the hour of 2 of the clock, pm"*, it read.
“I have been wanting to make your acquaintance for quite some time”, it read.
Peritrochoid, upon reading the letter, sat and pondered for some time. I wonder who would send to me such a letter as this, he mused to no one in particular. He brought the richly red letter back up to his level gaze and continued reading.
“I am quite hopeful that you, Mr. Peritrochoid, will do me the honor of attending this private matter, privately”, it read.
He nodded to no one in particular and smiled. Of course he would! Reading on, he discovered within the body of this letter the address of the manor and instructions on how to find his way.
Friday finally came! Peritrochoid was excited and anxious to have the mystery finally revealed. He made his way excitedly to the manor as described in the richly red, heady-scented letter at the appointed time, on the appointed day, and anxiously rang the doorbell. He waited anxiously, excited by the mystery the mysterious letter had provided him. At last, I shall have this mystery revealed to me, he bubbled excitedly to no one in particular. The door swung open before he barely finished his bubbling, swinging open slowly and with a creak that made him more than nervous.
He eyed the door of the manor nervously, waiting for it to stop swinging and creaking. He eyed the darkness beyond anxiously. The heady scent of the envelope, the heady scent of the letter drifting past him as he nervously decided to enter the manor. The door swung closed, slowly and with a creak that made Peritrochoid even more nervous and anxious as he stood in the darkness of the manor, awaiting his mysterious hostess.
Outside, it was a fine, sunny afternoon. The birds sang, the sun shined, the day was bright and fine but no one in particular ever heard from Peritrochoid again…
i can’t live up to such an excellent post. but you’ll be tickled to death.
danixa is seated at the keyboard composing the latest post to the SDMB when there is a loud pounding on the door.
“Open up in the name of the Reich!” is shouted in heavily accented English.
**danixa **is afraid to open the door as the pounding and shouting continue. All is quiet for a moment, then the door blasts into the room, shattered and splintering. Two men dressed in black enter, covering both ways with evil-looking assault weapons. A tall man, dressed in a gray uniform with a commander’s cap, enters the room next and peers through his monocle at danixa.
He strides over to the computer, and points at the screen. “You did not expect a visit from zee Grammar Nazis, did you? It’s obvious by your lack of capitalization that you have commited a crime against the Reich. You are under arrest. Guards!”
danixa is dragged out of the building into the street, forced to kneel with hands bound behind the head. After an interminable wait, the officer walks up behind danixa and pulls his Luger fom the holster…
The sound of the shot echoes in the shocked silence.
***It’s hard to write with no sex-related pronouns!
Related by marraige or by blood?
The Steelers lose to Cleveland in the Wildcard game.
Steelerfan loses “it” and goes on a four day shooting spree in all the AFC stadiums. (Stadii?)
A very surprised space alien (who just landed at Mile High) beats him to death in an attempt to communicate. It appears this species communicates by pummeling eath other with heavy iron rods.
I have to say (to no one in particular) that SanguineSpider’s post was pure genius.
We’ll shorten the name to SS, and let’s talk about that favorite childhood book, The Cat in the Hat.
SS opened to door to find Thing One and Thing Two,
“Hello!” "Hello!’ said SS - “I am so glad to see you two!
What fun things will we do today?
Did you bring the Cat in the Hat to play?”
“Um, no - we’re quite sorry” said Thing One and Thing Two
“Your time has come, and there’s nothing you can do.”
"No, said SS, I am am as smart as a fox,
“You cannot put me in that red box!”
Thing One and Thing Two pondered through the night,
And then decided SS was right.
But the Cat In The Hat had the last say -
And SanguineSpider watched the world fade to grey.
Blonde, that RAWKED! That was a cool way to go, thank you!
Your story was funny/creepy to the max - if you’re not a writer by trade, you should be. As for mine - I just turned the Cat in the Hat into the Grim Reaper. Not to mention the typos. For that, I’m sure there’s a special place reserved for me.
To no one in particular - have yourselves a fine Sat. night.
I’ll be going to bed now (and I’ll be very careful to not let my foot dangle off the edge of the bed.) :eek:
I fancy to no one in particular that I am a writer, thank you and good night. Don’t let the bed bugs… oh shit! :eek:
Blonde… uh… she didn’t make it. See previous post.
My tale is a sad one,
Of death and of sadness,
Nefarious doings,
Killing and madness.
Each evening my wife,
(You all know her as evil)
Makes war on the cockroaches,
Emmets and weevils.
Now pity the poor little
Sanguin-ish Spider
Crushed because she
Had a notion to bite her.
Encinitas, 0230 hours, 15 March 20XX
The staccato filled the air as the police opened fire at MonkeyMensch when he poked his head out from behind the old Pinto he was using for cover. He quickly put his head back down beneath the broken non-safety glass window. Damn it, he thought, I never bargained for this. He checked the clip in his battered old Kalashnikov. He still had bullets. Fuck this, he thought, taking his gun, popping out, and letting loose into the police for all he was worth…
…which was approximately fifty cents, since the police pulped him with their automatic rifles at point-blank range before he could fire off more than three rounds, all of which hit the police car right next to them. As they review the damage, the sergeant scowled. “The review board’s gonna be all over our ass on this one,” he mutters as he goes back to his radio to report in.
Androx_X had always thought of himself as a handyman sort of guy (you had better be a guy, dammit!) and decided it was high time that he patched that hole in the roof. The ceiling in his living room was developing an ominous dark stain, and he thought: “I’ll just get up on that roof - how hard could it be?”
Androx_X made it up the roof, with tools in hand – and immediately heard an unusual sound. Almost like the sound of a sleighbells…
BLAM!
Lightning struck him down in July of 2005.
Alternative death:
“Well, hello there” - said the Cat in the Hat - “Are you ready?”
And he tipped his big red hat to reveal the machete.
Blonde reads the stories about the man who went over Niagara Falls and survived – without a barrel! – and is inspired. “Hey, if that doofus could do it, so can I! And look at the great new career he’s got now with the cirucs. I always wanted to join the circus…”
So our heroine rushes off to Niagara, New York, full of dreams about the exciting adventure she’s going to have, the guys who’ll flock to worship her, the media attention, the guys, the fabulous new career, the guys…
She arrives on a November Friday morning, only to find, to her disappointment, that in the gray drizzly weather, there isn’t a soul out to view the Falls and see her thrilling escapade – and it will cost her ten bucks just to park her car near the Falls, anyway.
As she’s looking about disconsolately at all the deserted tourist traps thronging the river’s edge, she notices an observation tower on the Canadian side. “That’s it!” she thinks: “I’ll go to the top of the tower and parasail off it to the Canadian Falls, where I’ll slide over and down on a surfboard!”
So Blonde scurries off to the nearest sporting goods store where she buys all the necessary supplies. She has a bit of trouble getting through Canadian customs at first, since she answers the agent’s query of 'How long do you plan to stay in Canada?" with “About 20 minutes.” But she passes it off as a joke, and explains the gear as gifts for her old figure skating buddy in Mildmay.
Blonde gets lost at first, trying to find the entrance to the Skylon tower in the jumble of twisty streets and entertainment centers abutting the Rainbow Bridge. Finally she finds the almost-deserted parking lot and heads for the elevator to the observation deck.
She has a hard time conning the staff into letting her take her gear up, but she convinces them that she’s a photographer for a sporting goods catalog, planning to shoot the equipment against a dramatic backdrop. And besides, it’s a drizzly November day and there isn’t anyone else visiting the place anyway. So they let her ride up to the observation deck.
Our heroine goes out to the observation deck and pretends to ready her stuff for the shoot. As soon as the elevator attendant starts chatting with the clerk of the souvenir shop, Blonde straps the surfboard to her waist, slips her arms into the parasail handholds, climbs over the protective fence, and, even as the Skylon employees shriek in horror, she launches herself Falls-ward!
The surfboard dangling from her waist tends to slew the parasail to the left, and the aerodynamic drag is more than Blonde had bargained for. To her horror, she realizes that she’s going to land short of the Canadian Falls – indeed, she’s headed for the jagged rocks at the base of the American Falls! She struggles desperately to steer back toward her original goal, but no use! All she succeeds in doing is to tangle herself in the control lines of the parasail, which causes it to collapse upon itself – and she plummets toward the rocks and thunderous flood below!
And lands on the deck of the Maid of the Mist, which happens to be passing below. She’s saved!
Except that, since she doesn’t have a ticket, the crew heave her overboard. Fortunately, she’s still got the surfboard, and she manages to scramble aboard it and ride the rapids down the gorge. She eventually surfs into a quiet eddy, wades ashore, and heads back upriver toward the crowd (thin, but it is November, after all) that has gathered to see the latest Niagara stunt. Fame at last!
Blonde is so absorbed in enjoying her newfound fame and musing upon her future fortune that she fails to notice the SUV driven by a bewildered American lady of a certain age, who’s searching for the QEW highway to Walkerton. Alas, the two searchers meet at the lights on Ferry Street – and only one emerges alive.
Why, yes, I did happen to go through Niagara Falls on my way to visit a friend in Canada this weekend – why do you ask?
BWWAAAHH!
ETF, there’s a certain death I could predict involving your horses…but it’s not printable in this forum.
Bravo!