He killed himself, a brief moment of lucidity, no longer able to live with himself due to his sexually abusing minors. He decides to give a blow job to a shot gun, and paints the oval office with his fascist brains.

Colonel Mustard, in the observatory with a pipe wrench.

We know who has motive.

We’d never know who, too many suspects.

Like to see it roman style, the senate with a knife

He choked on a glass of water

James Holden with Andúril through the loin in the Delta Quadrant; after the White-Gold Concordat yeeted him there.

A groyper who bothered to shoot some cans in his backyard for practice first.

Don’t care. I 'm running naked and drunk through the streets banging two pots together and shouting at the top of my lungs.

Baron, in the old press briefing room, with that world cup trophy that was in the oval office for a year.

It was a hamburder

Musk in the bedroom with a robot

Mario on the golf course with mushrooms