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TBS Likes is a strange place where anything goes. Like International Waters, or Christmas morning after the shine has worn off and the booze has kicked in. May the ugliness commence.

Approx Reading Time-8Unfortunately, we’re all going to die. Doubly unfortunately, we don’t get to choose the when, however in the spirit of Halloween, we’re choosing the how.


Welcome to the end, my friend. On this, the creepiest (and you could argue, needlessly sexual) day of the year, do you dare gaze into the darkened crystal ball of the abyss to see the cackling, chattering details of your demise? Do you want to know? Can you handle the poorest of truths, in which your once electric, meaningful, zipping life creaks down to a whitewashed hospital bed somewhere, where your relatives look at their shoes instead of at you in those final, exhausted moments when you barely remember who they are, and they are left remembering who you no longer be, as the final seconds drip by, to the moment when you may feel no-more, and the greatest fanfare of your passing is the rush felt by the OCD-addled nursing administrator who gleefully checks every box, as a once great existence is now carved in a few generic boxes on a scrap of A4 paper in a filing cabinet somewhere? There be no funeral dirge for you, my love, no weeping in the streets of the loss; just the incorrectly hummed Bieber chorus, as the remnants of your family discuss lunch, as not to discuss you, and walk the first steps of you out of their memories.

…Yeah, us neither. So, we decided to take a poll of the office, to see if people were given the opportunity to choose their idyllic death, what would it be? And to stop more grating waffle such as the above paragraph, we’ve kept it in the classic Cluedo format (it was x with the y in the z). See? Algebra was useful after all! All the times you wished you were dead in year-eight maths, has finally come around and (please stop – Ed.)


Grant Spencer – “It was the donuts with the celiac scars in the intestines.”

Nicholas Harrington – “It was Morpheus with the red pill in the Chesterfield.”

Pendlebury Wicks – “It was the spouse, with the bottle in the publican.”

Gay Mackie – “It was the disappointment in my grandson, in the heart, on my deathbed.”

Kate Turner – “It was at Burger Truck with the coronary heart attack by the foodstuff.”

Rob Idol – “It was Turnbull with the dagger in the Conservatory.”

Brenton Moore – “It was the Phantom with the candle in whatever his lair was.”

Jess Scully – “It was boaty mcboatface with a jar of Nutella in the bathroom.”

Jordan King-Lacroix – “It was a crazed fan with a shotgun on stage at the theatre.” (Theatre fans. Spooky lols. – Ed.)

Mathew Mackie – “It was the rope, on a platform, followed with a slow clap.”

Dave the Trucker – “It was  John Wilkes Booth with the derringer in the theatre.”

Mitchell Grant – “It was Martin Amis, with a pen, in London Town”

Loretta Barnard – “It would be from a surfeit of symphony in the concert hall. Perhaps the concertmaster’s violin bow slips from his grip, soars across the auditorium, dramatically piercing my heart. The soundtrack: Danse Macabre by Saint -Saens.”


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