The following cavalcade of death occurs to me:
Dick Cheyney himself is interrogating the captured bin Laden in the White House. He (Cheyney) is already upset that Ron Reagan forgot to send him a Christmas card, AGAIN, and his blood pressure is already high.
Cheyney's hearts fries like an Athlon without a fan in the middle of the interrogation, and he collapses right on top of bin Laden. Osama opens his mouth to scream, "Allah, the big Dick has Fallah" right as Cheyney's corpse (<--now there's a punk rock band name) involuntarily spits up the big chunks from Dick's lunchtime pork sandwich (slathered in zesty unclean infidel sauce!) right down O's open windpipe, causing bin Laden to choke to death.
From a nearby meeting, aides hurriedly wheel Strom Thurmond's animatronically enhanced remnants in to see what has happened, and tragically trip over the collapsed Cheyney/bin Laden pair, sending Strom flying. This wakes the 99 year old Strom up so fully (for the first time since 1998) that he dies, too.
Bob Hope reads about it all in the papers the next day, and craps himself to death, laughing like a hyena the whole time. His last words are: "Bing Crosby was gay!"
Meanwhile, Bill Clinton is caught trying to disguise his Johnson as a ballpark frank at the Campfire Girl's National All Night Weenie Roast and is beaten to death by enraged parents. Death refuses to accept him, however.
"We have our standards", is Death's terse press release, quoted in full.