by The_James March 25, 2008
Get the death mug.The term Red Shirt refers to security personnel from the USS Enterprise in the original Star Trek series, sent along on Away Teams, presumably to protect the more familiar characters. Unfortunately, they usually just ended up being killed, often times off-camera, by whatever was menacing the ship and crew in that particular episode. Thus, to suffer a Red Shirt Death is to be killed quickly, pointlessly and ignonimously.
by Ozzwepay May 13, 2009
Get the Red Shirt Death mug.Related Words
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What are you talking 'bout mate? It's the great seagull migration death of the southern hemisphere! Fascinating, really.
by Superwogfan June 20, 2021
Get the great seagull migration death of the southern hemisphere mug.Microsoft's most successful program
by Carl November 20, 2003
Get the Blue Screen Of Death mug.Did you ever hear the tragdey of darth plaguise the wise? I thought not. It's not a story the Jedi would tell you. It's a Sith legend. Darth Plagueis was a Dark Lord of the Sith, so powerful and so wise he could use the Force to influence the midichlorians to create life... He had such a knowledge of the dark side that he could even keep the ones he cared about from dying. The dark side of the Force is a pathway to many abilities some consider to be unnatural. He became so powerful... the only thing he was afraid of was losing his power, which eventually, of course, he did. Unfortunately, he taught his apprentice everything he knew, then his apprentice killed him in his sleep. Ironic, he could save others from death, but not himself.
by ThenextJesus March 27, 2018
Get the Darth Plagueis mug.Some say it thirsts for blood; others say it is an innocent implement forced to do the bidding of murderous fiends. A disturbingly recurrent murder weapon, the Travelling Shovel Of Death appears in multiple different mediums (Usually novels), wherin it is featured murdering an innocent victim.
Henry knew his street well, but he didn't like it. The parameters stretched; the shadows hid secrets; the wind, ever restless, tossed the cloaks of strangers who glared from street corners. But he was sure in his safety. He knew the number of steps to his doorway. He knew where to lift his feet a little higher to avoid tripping on sidewalk cracks hidden in the dark. He knew who to avoid - at least he thought he did, in his naiveté.
A cat was waiting on his doorstep, that night. Dark, soft fur, long legs and a thrumming purr, yellow eyes glinting with reflections of far-off streetlights.
It smiled, sharp, glistening teeth ever white against the shadow of its fur.
In 42 years, Henry had never once seen a cat smile. Perhaps a trick of the light, or an illusion, he thought. Or maybe not. He knelt, looking the cat in the eyes.
It smiled at him, wider.
Wider.
A shadow moved; soft leather brushed against carpet, and a coat loosened its folds. "You're drunk again," said the voice. "Do you know, Henry, how much I dislike drunks?"
The cat hadn't moved; Henry glanced to the side, and caught a glance of soft brown shoes.
"Mr Woon," he slurred. "Ian. Mate. I just..."
He stopped.
Mr Woon smiled at him; a slow, langorious smile, not unlike that of his cat.
Then slowly, deliberately, he rested the shovel's tip on Henry's neck.
"I dislike drunks very much, Henry," he whispered.
Then he put his foot on the travelling shovel of death, and pushed down.
A cat was waiting on his doorstep, that night. Dark, soft fur, long legs and a thrumming purr, yellow eyes glinting with reflections of far-off streetlights.
It smiled, sharp, glistening teeth ever white against the shadow of its fur.
In 42 years, Henry had never once seen a cat smile. Perhaps a trick of the light, or an illusion, he thought. Or maybe not. He knelt, looking the cat in the eyes.
It smiled at him, wider.
Wider.
A shadow moved; soft leather brushed against carpet, and a coat loosened its folds. "You're drunk again," said the voice. "Do you know, Henry, how much I dislike drunks?"
The cat hadn't moved; Henry glanced to the side, and caught a glance of soft brown shoes.
"Mr Woon," he slurred. "Ian. Mate. I just..."
He stopped.
Mr Woon smiled at him; a slow, langorious smile, not unlike that of his cat.
Then slowly, deliberately, he rested the shovel's tip on Henry's neck.
"I dislike drunks very much, Henry," he whispered.
Then he put his foot on the travelling shovel of death, and pushed down.
by WillohWisp September 22, 2011
Get the Travelling Shovel Of Death mug.1.) An experimental hiphop music group from California
2.) An aggressive, two handed, handjob often causing tears in the skin or losing circulation to the penis.
2.) An aggressive, two handed, handjob often causing tears in the skin or losing circulation to the penis.
Guy1: I got Death Grips last night. Wasn’t really for me.
Guy2: Damn, your girl must have given you No Love Deep Web
Guy1: No it’s a rough handjob, my dick is still throbbing.
Guy2: Oh, I guess you got got.
Guy1: What.
Guy2: Damn, your girl must have given you No Love Deep Web
Guy1: No it’s a rough handjob, my dick is still throbbing.
Guy2: Oh, I guess you got got.
Guy1: What.
by schi6ism October 16, 2019
Get the Death Grips mug.