I started playing D&D in 1979, just as the first AD&D hardcovers were coming out, which I got for my birthday (DM's Guide, Player's Handbook, Monster Manual), and before that used the faux leather brown paper covered trio of books which were D&D's first iteration.
My brother and I read the books, I chose to be DM, and he rolled his first PC in our long gaming life together, a dwarf fighter named Marzak the Magnificent. He wasn't. Our first adventure was B1, In Search of the Unknown, from a blue-cover D&D boxed set. He went in with several NPC advdenturers, and they all died in the course of our first hour or so of playing--our following the rules of such an advanced game for us was terrible, but we'd never had so much fun just RPing out loud.
Ended up, Marzak ran into a group of five orcs, far, far too many for him to kill with just a level one dwarf fighter with two hit points left to his name. So he ran.
In the dark.
Through an unknown abandoned underground fortress.
I forget all the precise unlikely ways he killed off the first four orcs--slamming a door closed hard enough with his 18 strength did one in, I know--another he tripped off the edge of a pit trap. My brother's desperate ingenuity was hilarious--we never knew a role-playing game could be so funny. But he finally ended up spotting a secret door, and went inside a storage room filled with barrels--and no other exit. There was one orc left, the chieftain, fully healthy, with a nice, dwarf-skewering spear. So my brother said he was breaking open the nearest barrel and throwing whatever was in it at the orc. I rolled for the contents--the adventure creator actually made a random barrel content chart.
It was a barrel of pickles.
He blinked at me, and asked me, straight faced, if the pickles were poisonous. I laughed and told him they'd been there for something like forty years, but they're freakin' pickles, do they even go bad? Okay, if he rolled a 20 on a d20, they would be, but why did it matter?
He said he was going to throw it at the orc and kill it...with the poison.
After stopping laughing again, I told him, but it's armored...so he said then he'd aim at its mouth. I told him, okay, but that will be another 20 on a d20...and the orc would still have to fail its saving throw.
We both started laughing again; this was absurd but great entertainment, for sure...we had two d20s, so I told him to roll them and only double 20s would succeed.
And he did. And we busted up laughing for the next few minutes. I had to give him the saving throw after that, or it would have been anticlimactic. So his dwarf killed an orc chieftain by hitting it in the mouth with a poison pickle.
After he got out back to civilization, he changed his character's name to Marzak the Lucky, and when multiclassing came out, he turned him into a fighter/thief...we fudged his dexterity score just because there was no way a typical, hefty, over-armored dwarf was gonna hit an orc in the mouth with a pickle and kill it...only an agile, rogue-like dwarf would. He played that character out until demigod status, too, almost a decade later :)
The other ridiculous story was in the adventure module A1, the Slaver series. Several of my good friends were running their characters; typical mixed bag of warriors, mages, healers, thieves. They came to a battle with two half-orc assassins, and killed the first easily enough. The half-orcs were simply outgunned and outclassed.
But the second half-orc refused to die.
By that time using charts for what part of the body you hit were in vogue with my group, so they rolled away as they hit this poor sod over and over, but for only small handfuls of damage, 1 or 2 points at a time. They just couldn't finish him off. They were tagging him everywhere; it was just brutal, and I kept describing each hit, as if it was a mortal blow, and he was just one more from dying...but they couldn't finish the job. Another 1 hp hit...another...another. The half-orc was moderate level, around mid 20s hit points, so it started to become comical to the group...it was like the black knight scene in Monty Python and the Quest for the Holy Grail, and we pointed it out to each other multiple times, and it took over a half an hour to get through the melee, with all the laughter breaks...finally, when they got him to zero, after something like five rounds of combat--with six characters, no less--I told them he was finally dead, slumped up against the wall, mangled and limbless. But we ended up talking and joking about the battle the rest of the night.
After everyone went home, I decided to open up my newest hardcover, the Fiend Folio, and it was there that I read about the revenant, an undead that comes back to revenge itself on whoever killed it...and thus was born Urglu the Unsatisfied...the half orc assassin from beyond the grave who terrorized/entertained my friends' characters for many adventures after, always showing up as a hacked-up, shambling corpse at the most inopportune of times: during the wedding proposal of one character to another; at the siege of the characters' keep by goblin hordes; even after defeating Lolth in her Demon-spider craft. He was mostly comic relief, and my buddies would love to see where the mangled remains would show up next in the campaign. His battle cries were--you guessed it: "I'm not dead yet! I feel happy!"