Falling off a building. Guaranteed.
I will be riding all hell down a steep mountain rode on my bicycle and have my brakes fail or take the wrong line through a turn. I will hit a barrier and do an endo that sends me down a sheer cliff.
Ditto.
Best case scenario: Protecting loved ones.
Most likely scenario: Alcohol related accident/complications. I don’t drink very often or heavily right now (probably less than average for a college student), but I have an extensive family history of alcohol related deaths and accidents. When I do drink though, I can go overboard. But hopefully I’ll grow out of that.
Worst case scenario: Doing something that I’m ashamed of or is embarrassing. I don’t want to be remembered as the guy that died while _______.
I would be highly surprised to find myself dying of anything besides cancer. Seriously. And that’s not because I live a high-risk lifestyle, either. It’s a combination of genetics and the fact that I lived with smokers for at least 24 years of my life.
Im pretty sure that in my case it would probably be by being trampled to death by lust crazed women trying to get to my body .
Though I must confess to just the teensy weeniest bit of optimism here that might have slightly clouded my judgement .
Helium. It displaces air from the lungs but has no other impact - it’s non-irritant and chemically inert. It keeps the CO[sub]2[/sub] content of your lungs low enough that you don’t realize you need to breathe, and it doesn’t turn your blood (and hence skin) a funny colour the way carbon monoxide does. Plus you get to say your famous last words in a funny voice. How can you lose? 
I didn’t know Colbert was a Doper.
Kidney failure is my best guess. I have only one kidney, after the other was removed(stones and multiple infections) I’m afraid of the other developing problems, going on dialysis, needing a transplant, with none available. And if one was, I’d feel guilty because someone else had died!
The ironic twist being that you’ll be killed in your own home when a car crashes through your wall. I’ve watched enough episodes of the Twilight Zone to know the oracle always manages to getcha.
For me, I’m assuming pneumonia, or I just stop breathing, I guess. Or stroke from sloppily managed diabetes.
There is a history of heart disease in my family, so that could be the way.
There is a history of depression on both sides of my family so I could off myself which wouldn’t be * that* bad since it would be quick and relatively painless.
I also drink a lot of vodka so liver disease could do me in.
I’d like to die by spontaneous combustion. That would be cool. Maybe when I decide to commit suicide I’ll down a bottle of vodka and then through a match down my throat.
Cirrhosis if my current habits keep up. Or death by drunken accident (not necessarily driving, god knows how many times I’ve gotten or nearly gotten fucked up)
On that note though my friends and I have decided that I’m going to die spectacularly, since that’s how things go for me. Not just a car crash, but a car crash under an overpass involving a full oil-tanker. Stuff like that.
Or I’ll be nibbled to death by goldfish.
I’m 28 and exceedingly healthy, so it would have to be some sort of accident (being hit by a bus while in a crosswalk, plane falling out of the sky, etc.) or perhaps the aneurism that killed my maternal grandmother at 47 will randomly show up. Though in her case, I’m sure the smoking, uppers/downers, and tendency toward migraines (and living during the '60s) didn’t help. With the exception of that grandmother, people on both sides of my family seem to live a long time if they exercise and eat well. Yep, I’m going with hit by a bus.
I hope to God I don’t know about it whenever it happens. Otherwise I will die in terror.
Skin cancer, gay bashing, hit by a car (just metro-boy’s luck), freak library accident.
No offense meant, but if you’re slimmer than Don Quijote, as described by his maker, Cervantes, you are either anorexic or bulimic. They simply don’t come any thinner that the windmill-tilter himself.
Is there a chance you might be confusing him with his trusty (and pot-bellied) side-kick, Sancho Panza*?
*Panza = big-belly, in English. Just one of a thousand instances of Cervantes’ wit in just that one book.
To the OP: Doubt I’ll last twenty years. Fifty already and a family history filled with heart attacks, brain aneurysms, and the cherry on top, cancer.
No matter. If I died tomorrow, I can already say that I’ve lived life to its fullest. If anything, what keeps my going is the fact that I have a seventeen year old son, and I’d like to be around to see him make something good out of himself.
In 20 years, I’ll only be 35.
So… my guesses would be either car accident (yay for me being 16 at the end of the month!), complications from anorexia, or suicide.
I can just see me on April 4, 2027… not dead yet, watching the clock… and then just getting fed up and jumping off a bridge or something.
I’ll be eighty in twenty years.
I’m guessing cardiac arrest. (Fits the family pattern.)
Pneumonia is a pretty good contender, though.
I’d prefer to just not wake up, you know?
But I really don’t much care. Not looking forward to it or anything, just don’t much care. Eighty would be fine, unless I start really falling apart before that.
Tris
The Homemade Sheckapult that I’ll create to celebrate my 50th birthday will have something to do with it, I’m sure.
Actually, “panza” just means “belly”, although its nuanced meaning ranges from the equivalent of “stomach” to the equivalent of “tummy” depending on the dialect. (In Baja California you might say it to your gym partner, but in Buenos Aires you would only say it non-ironically if you were under 5 years old.)