I would stick that knife into your toe and make you bleed..David.P wrote:
The way i would do is so horrible i cannot describe it because of the likely ban.
run him over with foreign cars... again, and again, and again. All with different cars, foreign of course.
Make you eat a shotgun..eaglecorps wrote:
run him over with foreign cars... again, and again, and again. All with different cars, foreign of course.
Replace an airplane's front landing tire with him.
i would hire a assassin whos a goose
shove my fist up his ass slowly
Weld him to the front of an Icebreaker.
Take a scalpel and slice all the webbing of his hands and feet and the sides of his mouth and his eyelids...
How would that kill me?Ben0 wrote:
Take a scalpel and slice all the webbing of his hands and feet and the sides of his mouth and his eyelids...
I'd snuggle him to death.
I need around tree fiddy.
Blood loss ftw. Plus.. not having any eyelids would be REALLY annoying. I'd ANNOY you to death.Fenris_GreyClaw wrote:
How would that kill me?Ben0 wrote:
Take a scalpel and slice all the webbing of his hands and feet and the sides of his mouth and his eyelids...
shovel
Furnace
Saw I style
Saw I style
I silently speak to you, as your memories of the long-lost sensual visage of our antebellum romance flutter in with the wind and out again. The thought of me has you reach for your quill and ponder the finite well from which it draws the ink. Without the indistinguishable blackness, the quill is worth but a prick on your finger or a stroke on the cheek. As your fingers anticipate the first word to scrawl on the parchment, the wind once again sweeps me away from you.
The inkwell yearns for your blessing. To be carried away and used, given meaning, separated from finite black and given infinite existence within a word. And again I come in on the wind.
I come in and taunt you when you look at the ink, I tempt you to write to the wind, to tell the wind your concerns. Tell the wind to stop sweeping me inside with the leaves. Tell the resigning sun to wait with you through winter. Snowfall lands amid spilled ink, an awkward purgatory of impossible desire and impossible resistance.
Just as the snow falls, the wind carries me away.
Seeing you reach again, slumped forward, agonizing, grasping the quill and grabbing your ink. Seeing a stack of the parchment, scribbled upon and sorry by your side. Seeing you makes me rap the window with the wind and snow.
By candlelight you fall asleep, and as the wind I come in under your door and carry the parchment to the wick.
Then, the sun stays with you, and you will sleep forever, reminded of the warmth I gave you before the wind carried me away.
The inkwell yearns for your blessing. To be carried away and used, given meaning, separated from finite black and given infinite existence within a word. And again I come in on the wind.
I come in and taunt you when you look at the ink, I tempt you to write to the wind, to tell the wind your concerns. Tell the wind to stop sweeping me inside with the leaves. Tell the resigning sun to wait with you through winter. Snowfall lands amid spilled ink, an awkward purgatory of impossible desire and impossible resistance.
Just as the snow falls, the wind carries me away.
Seeing you reach again, slumped forward, agonizing, grasping the quill and grabbing your ink. Seeing a stack of the parchment, scribbled upon and sorry by your side. Seeing you makes me rap the window with the wind and snow.
By candlelight you fall asleep, and as the wind I come in under your door and carry the parchment to the wick.
Then, the sun stays with you, and you will sleep forever, reminded of the warmth I gave you before the wind carried me away.
Last edited by djphetal (2008-02-04 03:46:58)
I'm going to kill you by explaining that no-one read that whole thing and that was such a waste of your time that it personifies your whole life, you realise how everything you do is worthless, and you commit suicide....djphetal wrote:
I silently speak to you, as your memories of the long-lost sensual visage of our antebellum romance flutter in with the wind and out again. The thought of me has you reach for your quill and ponder the finite well from which it draws the ink. Without the indistinguishable blackness, the quill is worth but a prick on your finger or a stroke on the cheek. As your fingers anticipate the first word to scrawl on the parchment, the wind once again sweeps me away from you.
The inkwell yearns for your blessing. To be carried away and used, given meaning, separated from finite black and given infinite existence within a word. And again I come in on the wind.
I come in and taunt you when you look at the ink, I tempt you to write to the wind, to tell the wind your concerns. Tell the wind to stop sweeping me inside with the leaves. Tell the resigning sun to wait with you through winter. Snowfall lands amid spilled ink, an awkward purgatory of impossible desire and impossible resistance.
Just as the snow falls, the wind carries me away.
Seeing you reach again, slumped forward, agonizing, grasping the quill and grabbing your ink. Seeing a stack of the parchment, scribbled upon and sorry by your side. Seeing you makes me rap the window with the wind and snow.
By candlelight you fall asleep, and as the wind I come in under your door and carry the parchment to the wick.
Then, the sun stays with you, and you will sleep forever, reminded of the warmth I gave you before the wind carried me away.
...And so does your mum
I'd shoot you in the face with a pirate cannon. Bloody ninjas!
I would creep up behind you and shock you with my shock paddles, which were also used to revive this thread.
I like this thread, is it ok if I bump it please?
I like this thread, is it ok if I bump it please?
Strychnine
Make him shoot himself, after I hit him in the head.
I'd take a pic of it and use as a sig too.
I'd take a pic of it and use as a sig too.
just repeatedly hit your head against a wall and you why your headbutting the wall.
Dear God please let my karma one day reach 100, whether it be tomorrow or 1000 years in the future i want it to happen.
Rofl.TheAussieReaper wrote:
Make him shoot himself, after I hit him in the head.
I'd take a pic of it and use as a sig too.
Top above poster.
Force to smoke every cigarette in a cigarette factory.
I don't know who is above me so I wouldn't feel bad about covering him with gasoline in the middle of a room with candles scattered across the floor
_______________________________________________________________________________________________ 
send you to mecca wearing an American flag.
M16A2
youve forgotten the depiction of the prophet muhammed aswell.usmarine2 wrote:
send you to mecca wearing an American flag.
Dear God please let my karma one day reach 100, whether it be tomorrow or 1000 years in the future i want it to happen.