guns blazing, I’m taking as many of the sons of bitches with me as I can.
The ideal: massive heart attack after a good meal. No pain, jsy bam-and gone…of course, after age 90
In a pillar of fire, which leaves nothing behind but a greasy spot. No bones, no teeth, no nothing. Preferably in a field somewhere so no one else gets hurt, and after I’ve put my affairs in order. At a decently old age but where I’m still physically and mentally OK.
A guillotine would be good. Really quick and, I would think, painless (I only want one in good working condition, and freshly sharpened, of course). Plus I can find out for sure, however briefly, if there’s any time for thought after separation occurs. And people will go “Whoa!”
Failing that, an outrageously large dose of pentobarbitol.
I doubt that either of these will be anywhere near what actually happens, though.
Oh, I would also be satisfied dying in a super-volcano explosion, a major meteor strike, or a giant tsunami, provided I didn’t have any prior warning.
I would be peacefully sleeping, having had the appointed life, when suddenly a megaton of steel crashes down on me at its terminal velocity, smashing me flatly into paste and destroying me instantaneously.
I’d like to killed by the next Big Bang.
Some things are worth waiting for.
My ideal death would be to die (in any way, though my preference would be painlessly, in bed and post-orgasm as others have said) before anyone else close to me does. I’ve lost a child, lost a brother and a sister, lost grand parents, cousins and aunts/uncles…and I would like to die before anyone else I love dies. Thats my ideal death.
Of course, smoking a fine cuban cigar with a glass of 25 year old single malt whiskey while just finishing getting a mind blowing (literally) blowjob by my wife would also be nice…
-XT
Surrounded by the enemy. Down to my last magazine. The General Officer I am escorting is hit in his right hand and unable to fire his Army issue 9mm. I have only my M-16. Under heavy fire, I put down covering fire and carry him to the next point where I can take cover. I am shot in the chest in the process. I put down a few more rounds and move us both quickly to the next point of cover. As I see fresh wounds on my legs, I drag the General to a point of concealment. I only have two rounds left and the Landing Zone for the chopper is over 100 meters away. In a burst of strength, I lift him again and rush him to the LZ. I take several more rounds to the back as he we race across “no man’s land.” I know I am mortally wounded and refuse to enter the chopper to die. I make one final charge across the open field and take out two of the shooters with the butt of my rifle. I grab the picture of the General’s wife that has fallen from his pocket and race back to the chopper. I get two more of the enemy with my bare hands as I hand him the picture and then I breath my last.
Well, it could happen.
SSG Schwartz
Yossarian? That you?
There was a traffic accident in Salt Lake a number of years ago, and an elderly couple were killed instantly. I think something like that, where you both go together would be best.
In my sleep preferably, but if I have to help it along with barbiturates, I’m down wit dat too.
My sister and I were visiting my brother in the hospital. There was a woman in next room screaming in pain, and her daughter was standing outside the room crying.
Finally my sister walked over and asked her if she could help. The daughter said her mother was dying and the doctors wouldn’t give her additional pain medication because they were afraid it might kill her.
Just let me die somewhere outside a hospital with a minimum of pain and the dignity to at least minimally control my more personal bodily functions.
There’s something terribly wrong the medical / political system in this country. I hate the thought of someone suffering terribly, but someone somewhere should reap what they have wrought.
On behalf of the Congress of the United States and a grateful nation, the President of the United States is pleased to present the Medal of Honor, posthumously, to SSG Schwartz…
Of all the relatives we’ve buried in my life time, only two didn’t die of cancer. My vote is definitely not cancer. I’d rather something quick - being blown up looks pretty quick, so does decapitation. If it’s messy, though, hopefully it’ll be after people I care about are gone, or at least not around me when it happens.
How about when my superpowers finally fail after 20 years of living the superhero life and Epic Bad Guy just splatters me like an overripe pumpkin.
Of in the real world, something violent and dramatic with an otherwise happy ending, died of injuries suffered while plucking a little kid from a burning car, breaking up a bank robbery by stripping one guy of his weapon and killing 4 of his compatriots before the 5th one gets me, of course 3 seconds later he himself would die in a hail of gunfire from the police officers who just arrived.
Run over by a speeding hearse.
“OK, class”, said the third grade teacher, “Now everyone will tell a story, and then give its moral. Susie, you go first.”
"OK. The little girl told everyone she was going to get Malibu Beach Barbie[sup]TM[/sup] for her birthday, and she told everyone about all the fun she would have playing with her. But then when she opened her presents, she got Sparkle Beach Barbie[sup]TM[/sup] instead! And the moral is,
Don’t Count Your Chickens Before They’re Hatched."
“Very good, Susie. Billy, you’re next.”
"Well, the little boy couldn’t decide if he wanted to be a pirate or Darth Vader for Halloween. He worried and worried, but when he went to buy his costume, the store was all out, and he had to go as a ghost in a bed sheet. And the moral is,
He Who Hesitates Is Lost."
“Good story, Billy! Now you, Timmy.”
"My uncle SSG Schwartz’s plane was shot down over Afghanistan, and all he had was his carbine, a combat knife, and half a bottle of bourbon. He parachuted out, and on the way down he drank all the bourbon. But he landed right in the middle of a bunch of Taliban fighters!
He killed eleven of them with his carbine, four more with the knife, and the last one with his bare hands. When the choppers rescued him, he was wounded in three places, covered in blood and entrails from chin to knees, and he was still screaming for more people to kill!"
“That story has a moral?”, asked the teacher.
“Sure”, said Timmy.
"DON’T FUCK WITH UNCLE Schwartz WHEN HE’S DRUNK!"
Regards,
Shodan
::Edited out size::
That was really funny Shodan, did you create that joke or use the framework of one you already knew?
Thank you for the laugh,
Jim