You ground your child and they throw their 101 Dalmatians Snow Globe at you.
It shatters and you find out the defective Chinese product is full of flesh eating acid.
Your scream dissolves into a gargle as your body becomes a steaming puddle on the floor.
Strawberry Shortcake Doll
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How will this kill me?
You go to Toys R Us with your child looking for the latest fashionable Toy. When from across the store it calls to her. Faintly at first but then the cries grow deeper. Louder. Sweeter. You are oblivious to the fact that the Strawberry Shortcake Doll has once again claimed another victim. You buy the doll for her. Because she's your little angel isn't she? Ironic, the fact that soon you will both be in heaven.
You go home. She shows the doll to her friends. They're envious. Of course they're envious. That doll is evil. So once little Claire, and little Stacey, and yes, even little Bertha leave you put your child to sleep and say. "Goodnight sweety, I love you." You walk out of her room and turn off the light and of course as all good cliches go the doll's eyes turn bright red. Then before anyone knows what had happened. BAM. Little Stacey's back with an axe and you're all dead.
Why did this happen? Did the doll have evil powers? Did the jealousy overwhelm the little girl until she could take no more? Or did you just forget to switch to Geico to save lots of money on your car insurance?
Adobe Photoshop.
How many hours, how many weeks? how long have you lingered in front of that computer retouching photo after endless photo. Your face has gone gaunt, your skin sallow, and your body emaciated. you reach for yet another of the endless caffeinated drinks at you side but find none. By some twist of fate you didn't have enough of them. Slowly you try to arise but collapse for your legs have lost all strength and forgotten their purpose.
You call out meekly the only sound a raspy croaking. Your family abandoned the home early in your reticence. Numbly you crawl to the covered window. How did I become like this? you wonder with dread. With failing strength you fumble at the drawstring to the curtain. The sheets of darkness fall aside and in the sudden all-to-bright wash of light you glimpse briefly that fleeting beauty that you so disparately sought to create and capture permanently with the adobe photoshop. Your last breath escapes you as a sigh of contentment.
indestructible beach ball
The beach. You've heard of it time after time. Shark attacks, surf boarding accidents, death and turmoil. But you never thought it could happen to you. "It happens to other people, not me" You would think to yourself at night. But now as you lie on the sandy floor which has begun to cling dearly to your open wounds and blood stained body which only causes it to hurt more you wonder "why me?" And the truth, subtle but resounding settles. God hates you.
I was just playing beach ball… it was only beach ball. But what you didn't know, what you could not have known that day in which you had expected a day of fun in sun and instead gotten untimely demise, is that the beach ball you had so wistfully played with and bounced back and forth, that very beach ball you had hit repeatedly as if it had stolen your wallet or violated your loved ones… was pissed. One day that very ball while lost in the street had begun rolling. And eventually it rolled into a sewer line which went deeper and deeper and deeper until finally there was no more depth and the beach ball which you had loved so but treated so horrid, finally reached it goal of contentment. The ninth gate of hell. There is made a deal with the Devil and became…
Indestructible. So remember children, the next time you hit that beach ball or baseball or punching bag that these inanimate objects do indeed have feelings and they remember everything.
Welcome to the jungle baby, you're gonna die.
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