My long time wish has been to die in a Zeppelin.
Can I change my mind?
Beaten to death by clowns; that’s the definition of a funny way to die.
I’d like to be stabbed to death with an ice axe in a climate devoid of ice, on the opposite side of the globe from where I was born.
Is this taken? 
Wait, damn. Trotsky was actually born in NYC.
Especially if they’re sad clowns.
No, that would be ironic. Or something.
At first I read that as “Eaten to death by clowns”… which was certainly an odd twist…
But if the balloon didn’t pop…
I’m not sure if this counts, but:
People who have seen and heard me sleep tell me I must have some form of sleep apnea. I do the whole stop and start breathing thing, snore/snort horribly, etc.
They tell me I should see a doctor and get it treated because I could, well… die in my sleep.
I say, “No, that’s how I want to die, in my sleep. Why would I want to reduce the chance of that?” You don’t need to explaiin to me the shortcomings in that logic.
I just don’t want to sleep with one of those Pulp Fiction torture masks with a rubber dildo stuck in my mouth to keep my air passages open. Well. maybe I do, but I want to be paying a classy whore to spank me while I wear it. I just can’t afford that on a nightly basis. 
Something like this would work for me. (Variations on the pudding theme.)
Ripped from today’s headlines: Marshmallow-stuffing contest at Ontario fair kills woman
Sadly, the story isn’t as funny as the headline, but still.
I’ve always wanted to die by getting so angry my head actually exploded. Complete with hysterical high-speed rant, turning bright red, and steam coming out of my ears and everything.
It’s my partner’s opinion that we should aspire to die of e. coli while eating healthful organic spinach.