100$ monopoly bills. The gangbangers are too busy laughing to get off an accurate shot (not that they ever could in the first place) and all manage to shoot each other.
After becoming ashamed of the things I'm forcing it to think of, my brain finally gives up and climbs out of my ear canal in order to find someone who'd appreciate it better. The lack of a heart and lungs kills it. The lack of a control center for my heart and lungs kills the rest of me.
And you cease pining once you discover your love for combs.
After braving the Eye of Terror and slaughtering the heretic scum for a thousand days and a thousand nights I meet my end at the hands of Khorne himself.
At which point, your DM ends the session, but moves away before running the next one, where you actually die. Your character is forever stuck in limbo.
I am bitten by fifteen black widow spiders, twelve brown recluses, and fifty-seven different types of pit vipers, most of them deadly poisonous.
Which jams and grinds to a halt milimeters from your face. The frustrated farmer sticks his hand in to try and unjam it and loses three fingers (so many true stories of this out in rural idaho).
I'm pushed into a room of hungry zombies and the door locks shut behind me as an experiment in survival gone wrong.