The Top Five Ways I Intend to Kill Susan Boyle Come Midnight
With A Shovel
I admit it. I stole this entire article idea from a single track title on a Patton Oswalt comedy performance CD about killing George Lucas with a shovel. So, in an effort not to be sued for plagiarism - which I want you to know I spelled correctly on the first try! - I'm going to just pay a little homage to the man (Patton, not George. We broke up, remember?) and steal his 'kill with shovel' idea. Just because this idea isn't the most original way to kill a celebrity, doesn't mean it wouldn't be a fine way to finish off the haggard visage of one of my most hated pop stars, one whose popularity I find to be so dumbfounding and infuriating that it makes me despise the Internet more and more with each passing day that I have to see endless, non-news drivel stories about Susan Boyle's newest makeover or her favorite brand of adult diaper.
Seriously, I'm at the end of my rope with her. Fantasizing about her demise currently comprises my only, albeit tenuous, grip on sanity.
First, I'd probably invite her over to have rousing show tune sing-a-long around my piano. Then, hopefully before she cackled out 'Try To Remember' from the Fantasticks, or 'McAvity' from Cats, I would jab her in the kidney area with the shovel's splintery handle, and then go flat side down onto her already Dick Tracy villain-looking noggin. I killed a rat like this once because a girl made me, being the dude and all. I proved my shovel-lethality then, and I have little doubt that I'd succeed in this murderous venture as well.
As a brief aside here: Cats is the worst thing ever to be crapped out onto a Broadway stage. It is also proof positive that the plot of The Producers is 100% plausible. If that steaming heap managed to stay so popular for so long, then a musical about Hitler has every chance in the world of winning a Tony Award. So, for that matter, does a musical in which the entire cast simply farts in key for the entire second act.
With Fire
I was kind of struggling for a while as to how I would succeed in dousing the old gal with a flammable liquid - much less get close enough to spark a flame. But then it hit me: the old 'flaming arrow shot from the wings of the stage into the pile of hairspray and teased hair' trick would be perfect here.
With really not all that much practice, and a minimum amount of equipment, I could totally make this happen. There's an archery range in Golden Gate Park where I could practice, and I have seen a variety of compound bows and/or crossbows for sale at the Daly City Big Five store. Boyle's - no doubt highly freaking depressed about her choice of cosmetology school at this point - stylist has already provided the fuel in that last, pathetic attempt to correctly place the proverbial lipstick on the pig. More like a perm on the pig. You get the point, I'm sure.
Oooh, something just hit me. If Suzy were to continue singing while her hair was on fire, the hot wind being propelled past her horrid British teeth would stoke the flame even more. This might have a good chance of setting the entire theatre on fire. Think of all the reality TV fans that would perish! We'd all be saved!
Honk if you know deep down that the fire at the Great White show that killed all those people wasn't so much an accident as it was divine intervention.
With A Smart Car
What I like about this idea is the challenge, and the very real danger of using a Susan Boyle-sized and shaped mode of transport to take out the person its design was clearly based upon. There's something just so wonderfully Shakespearean about it: the offspring killing the parent to take her place on the Pop Throne.
Plus, and you really can't argue with me here, it'd be an exciting fight to watch. Though equipped with a few more horsepower and a metal roll cage, there's no guarantee that the Smart Car would triumph. The deciding factor could likely be the ability of the stereo inside the vehicle to mask the shrieks of random Les Miserable tunes emanating from Boyle's exhaust... err, mouth.
We could make this a pay-per-view thing with the right financial backing. MMA's days would be numbered if we marketed this bad-boy correctly. Trust me. Soon Tito Ortiz would be fighting eight midgets with spears. I would SO rather watch that than a UFC fight, in all honesty. I can't be alone on this one. MMA has become highly boring. It was much more fun when the people fighting still didn't really know what they were doing. Now it's all back waxing and steroids. Snore.
With Detroit's International Airport
Before you start scratching your head here, let me show you the following picture...
With A Shovel
I admit it. I stole this entire article idea from a single track title on a Patton Oswalt comedy performance CD about killing George Lucas with a shovel. So, in an effort not to be sued for plagiarism - which I want you to know I spelled correctly on the first try! - I'm going to just pay a little homage to the man (Patton, not George. We broke up, remember?) and steal his 'kill with shovel' idea. Just because this idea isn't the most original way to kill a celebrity, doesn't mean it wouldn't be a fine way to finish off the haggard visage of one of my most hated pop stars, one whose popularity I find to be so dumbfounding and infuriating that it makes me despise the Internet more and more with each passing day that I have to see endless, non-news drivel stories about Susan Boyle's newest makeover or her favorite brand of adult diaper.
Seriously, I'm at the end of my rope with her. Fantasizing about her demise currently comprises my only, albeit tenuous, grip on sanity.
First, I'd probably invite her over to have rousing show tune sing-a-long around my piano. Then, hopefully before she cackled out 'Try To Remember' from the Fantasticks, or 'McAvity' from Cats, I would jab her in the kidney area with the shovel's splintery handle, and then go flat side down onto her already Dick Tracy villain-looking noggin. I killed a rat like this once because a girl made me, being the dude and all. I proved my shovel-lethality then, and I have little doubt that I'd succeed in this murderous venture as well.
As a brief aside here: Cats is the worst thing ever to be crapped out onto a Broadway stage. It is also proof positive that the plot of The Producers is 100% plausible. If that steaming heap managed to stay so popular for so long, then a musical about Hitler has every chance in the world of winning a Tony Award. So, for that matter, does a musical in which the entire cast simply farts in key for the entire second act.
With Fire
I was kind of struggling for a while as to how I would succeed in dousing the old gal with a flammable liquid - much less get close enough to spark a flame. But then it hit me: the old 'flaming arrow shot from the wings of the stage into the pile of hairspray and teased hair' trick would be perfect here.
With really not all that much practice, and a minimum amount of equipment, I could totally make this happen. There's an archery range in Golden Gate Park where I could practice, and I have seen a variety of compound bows and/or crossbows for sale at the Daly City Big Five store. Boyle's - no doubt highly freaking depressed about her choice of cosmetology school at this point - stylist has already provided the fuel in that last, pathetic attempt to correctly place the proverbial lipstick on the pig. More like a perm on the pig. You get the point, I'm sure.
Oooh, something just hit me. If Suzy were to continue singing while her hair was on fire, the hot wind being propelled past her horrid British teeth would stoke the flame even more. This might have a good chance of setting the entire theatre on fire. Think of all the reality TV fans that would perish! We'd all be saved!
Honk if you know deep down that the fire at the Great White show that killed all those people wasn't so much an accident as it was divine intervention.
With A Smart Car
What I like about this idea is the challenge, and the very real danger of using a Susan Boyle-sized and shaped mode of transport to take out the person its design was clearly based upon. There's something just so wonderfully Shakespearean about it: the offspring killing the parent to take her place on the Pop Throne.
Plus, and you really can't argue with me here, it'd be an exciting fight to watch. Though equipped with a few more horsepower and a metal roll cage, there's no guarantee that the Smart Car would triumph. The deciding factor could likely be the ability of the stereo inside the vehicle to mask the shrieks of random Les Miserable tunes emanating from Boyle's exhaust... err, mouth.
We could make this a pay-per-view thing with the right financial backing. MMA's days would be numbered if we marketed this bad-boy correctly. Trust me. Soon Tito Ortiz would be fighting eight midgets with spears. I would SO rather watch that than a UFC fight, in all honesty. I can't be alone on this one. MMA has become highly boring. It was much more fun when the people fighting still didn't really know what they were doing. Now it's all back waxing and steroids. Snore.
With Detroit's International Airport
Before you start scratching your head here, let me show you the following picture...
All you got to do is drop her off in the middle, turn off the moving walkways, and there is no frakking way in hell that Susan Boyle will manage to plod her way to safety before dehydration and eventual exposure kicks in. Have you seen how slow she is?
This plan isn't without its risks though. If she managed to belt out a high note in that enclosed space, there's a very real possibility that your head and/or testicles will simply explode before you get to safety.
With the Severed Left Leg of Simon Cowell
Talk about your ultimate two-for-one. That snarky twit has had it coming for a LOOOOONNNNG time now. I defy you to cite any evidence suggesting the contrary. He's pretty much one of the driving forces for every bit of television that I despise. And, for this transgression, I can offer no quarter and no mercy. If really great TV shows like Lucky, The Job, and Firefly (just to name a few) can be cancelled before their first seasons are complete, there's proof positive here to suggest that American Idol and Britain's Got Talent are the literal work of Satan himself.
The God of Entertainment has to have an archangel, and I'm comfortable taking up such a mantle.
In the interest of preserving the theme of good taste and family-friendly reading that is this article, I shall spare you the details involving the chainsaw and the handcuffs and the lemon juice I would use in order to remove Mr. Cowell's leg. It's sufficient to note that it'd sting considerably. Then, I'd simply use it as a bludgeoning device - a messy one, at that, to dispatch Boyle.
What I won't spare you is this: I would force Rush Limbaugh to eat the leg afterwards, but I don't think I'd need to do any more than ask him to and maybe provide one of those bibs with the lobster on them.
Honk if there's somebody you know who you'd be happy to purchase Great White tickets for.
This plan isn't without its risks though. If she managed to belt out a high note in that enclosed space, there's a very real possibility that your head and/or testicles will simply explode before you get to safety.
With the Severed Left Leg of Simon Cowell
Talk about your ultimate two-for-one. That snarky twit has had it coming for a LOOOOONNNNG time now. I defy you to cite any evidence suggesting the contrary. He's pretty much one of the driving forces for every bit of television that I despise. And, for this transgression, I can offer no quarter and no mercy. If really great TV shows like Lucky, The Job, and Firefly (just to name a few) can be cancelled before their first seasons are complete, there's proof positive here to suggest that American Idol and Britain's Got Talent are the literal work of Satan himself.
The God of Entertainment has to have an archangel, and I'm comfortable taking up such a mantle.
In the interest of preserving the theme of good taste and family-friendly reading that is this article, I shall spare you the details involving the chainsaw and the handcuffs and the lemon juice I would use in order to remove Mr. Cowell's leg. It's sufficient to note that it'd sting considerably. Then, I'd simply use it as a bludgeoning device - a messy one, at that, to dispatch Boyle.
What I won't spare you is this: I would force Rush Limbaugh to eat the leg afterwards, but I don't think I'd need to do any more than ask him to and maybe provide one of those bibs with the lobster on them.
Honk if there's somebody you know who you'd be happy to purchase Great White tickets for.
