My Uncle's encounter with a dead body:
* Uncle witnesses car crash into a tree
* Uncle goes to car window to see if driver is ok
* Driver's head is no longer on driver's neck
* Uncle vomits a lot

The End.
( Edd: The Unfunny Try-Hard Edgelord, Wed 5 Mar 2008, 14:23, 3 replies)

Marmalade the luckless duck
Mrs Spimf has alwasy been a bit of a Doolittle if not a slightly shortsighted version when it comes to 'stricken animals' at the side of the road. We live in the sticks so to be fair there are quite a few to be found. However the amount of times she has insisted we stop to help 'the poor little puppy' at the side of the road has caused a fair few arguments - not that i wouldn't wish to help but more because these flailing creatures tend on closer inspection to be discarded bin liners. On one occasion we stopped for another 'puppy' only to discover it was in fact a fairly large duck with a broken wing. We contacted the local vets who suggested we bring it along - this was particularly irksome as we were on route to get a takeaway rent a movie and settle in for a night of beer and TV. So we take the poor terrified creature along to said vets who pops it on the table. Mrs Spimf immediately pledges to pay for all treatment required to 'save its poor wee life'. The vet tells us that as its a wild animal and clearly stressed and probably in pain it would be kinder to put the animal down humanely. Just as he approached with the lethal injection the duck went into a huge spasm then conked out - dead as a fucked duck. We all looked at each other then the vet checks for a heartbeat and confirms it is indeed an ex duck. At this point i asked what would happen to the duck - the vet assured us it would be disposed of properly which to me seemed a shame. So we took the hapless duck home. I plucked it and removed the innards - generously coated the skin with marmalade and roasted the fucker. It was honstly the best duck i have ever eaten. Fair play to Mrs Spimf she tucked in too but ever since has reminisced about the sad demise of poor 'Marmalade the Duck'. Daft bint.
( spimf ™ is whoever you want him to be, Wed 5 Mar 2008, 13:52, 4 replies)

Sort of applies.
I've never been good with girls. Throughout school I was the epitome of the shy geek with a better taste for shitty indie bands and computer games than for nubile, hormone-energised young fillies off the local estate.

It got worse as I got older, but there was one time when there was a little chink in my socially-inept armour, and someone, fortunately saw through it.

X was a lovely girl from the next estate. She went to the same school as me, and was in a different form, so we didn't really know each other until later on in school. We often chatted a lot at break time, gave each other fleeting glances in the classroom and other such innocent behaviour. I liked her a lot, but was too crap as a communicator to do something about it. She was popular, friendly and quite pretty too - so what would she want with a bungling loon like me?

I was known then for being the school boffin - not totally amazing with grades but hard working and a bit of a teacher's pet. Obviously, because of this, I was a target for the school thuggery legion, and despite my frame (I'm a big lad - not fat, just stocky), I often took a few punches for my scholarly nature. I look on this now and just accept that it's the way of the world, but then it was hard, especially in the polarising environment of the school corridor.

One day, I was pushed about a bit by the main school troglodyte, and cracked my head on the wall. I fell on the floor, head in hands, whilst the rest of the school shuffled past, not wanting to get involved.

Until I heard a friendly voice - "Scentless, you OK?". It was X. She helped me up, brushed me down (A female! Touching me! Call Roy Castle!), and flashed me a smile.

"Don't worry, they're only jealous of you. I think you're great.". Then, with no-one looking, she gave me a peck on the cheek.

Well, wow. This was a whole new world. Most girls I knew were uber-geeks like me fearful of the opposite sex or horny page 3 wannabees who doted on the very kinds of nutters that liked to give me a bit of a pasting.

But this, this was different. It was completely innocent puppy love stuff but it was the first time I felt like I would be able to talk to a girl I actually liked.

That was a Thursday. Friday, we had lunch sat together in the canteen, then said bye to each other after school, and skipped off home for the weekend. I could feel something blossoming, and it wasn't just the thing tucked into my BHS Y-fronts.

Strange as it may seem, I couldn't wait for school to come round. As far as I was concerned from then on, X WAS school. Despite this I didn't tell anyone about her during the regular Saturday night cider-swilling in the park - but I was really excited about what might happen between us.

So, Monday came, and I literally ran to school. As I arrived, there seemed to be a general sense of sadness and anger - but being one of the social underclass in school, I couldn't seem to find out what was going on, apart from we'd find out in assembly that morning.

Assembly came round, and in front of the year, the Head told us that there'd be a sad accident on Saturday, and unfortunately X had died.

She'd been hit by a speeding car on a main road near her house. The Head didn't go into too much detail but it was clear that it wasn't pleasant. X was an intelligent, lovely girl with her whole life ahead of her, and some idiot in a chavmobile had killed her.

I never saw her dead body, but I did see the coffin in the hearse whilst I was doing my paper-round a few days later, her parents in the car behind. I was gutted. Not for me - I'm not that selfish - but for X. She didn't comply with the idiotic social hierarchy in school, and she always saw the good in people - something I've always respected in a person since.

I often look back at that time and think 'what if' - not because I'm a shallow bastard, but because X was so great and deserved better.

Sorry for the lack of funny. I've never told anyone this, because no-one really knew what had happened for that brief time between X and me, but I felt here was my chance to get it off my chest.
(scentless_apprentice takes two bottles into the shower!, Wed 5 Mar 2008, 13:20, 7 replies)

Dead mans' heartbeat ...(pearoast)
I was mentoring a new student paramedic and we were sent to a patient in cardiac arrest.
The patients' rigor mortis was a sure fire clue that he was indeed very dead so needless to say there was little for us to do but wait for the police to arrive.

The student asks me what procedure do we follow if there was no rigor mortis or if we wanted to stop resuscitation etc.
I explained to him that one of the criteria is to connect the patient to the heart monitor / defibrillator and check that asystole (flatline) is present in two or more leads.
We were still waiting for the police and as it was the student’s first cardiac arrest I connected the deceased to the monitor as described and switched it on.
"Beep…beep…beep…" the unmistakable sound of a heartbeat coming though the monitor.
I nearly nearly shat myself and had a cardiac arrest until I realized that the monitor had detected the deceased’s still functioning internal pacemaker….
(emadex thinks the world will end on, Wed 5 Mar 2008, 11:27, 1 reply)

I have
my Dad died when I was 16 (he was only 44). Went to see his body at the funeral place. It was weird, my eyes played tricks and you imagine they are breathing a little bit.
( moogy boobles, Wed 5 Mar 2008, 10:50, Reply)

I was told this would be
the best place to sell some magazine subscriptions...



www.girlsandcorpses.com/
(The Goat www.cuttingthroughthematrix.com, Wed 5 Mar 2008, 9:46, 4 replies)

Redneck country
Growing up in the sticks always provided scope for corpse spotting, mostly animals all in.

Dead sheep a-plenty, sometimes just KO'ed on the spot and rapidly filling with corpse-gas, or in some more artistic attempts, painted over the road courtesy of local drivers; usually amounting to nothing more than a smear of crimson getting gradually thicker until it terminates in a gore-fest of shattered bone, hair and intestines. Invariably if this was down to you, you'd end up removing half a sheep from your wheel arch.

Saw an identical scenario in Midrand (between Joburg and Pretoria) one evening - hitchhiker had decided to try his luck (go figure), but got his head painted over 1/2km or so. Body looked in OK condition, but with a big smear where the head used to be. Worst thing there was the guy's belongings scattered all over the road. Creepy.

Hit a stag once in a works van, total write off and the driver never lived it down (like the post below). In one instance a road-warning sign for game was nicked from the side of the road and put up in his parking space. Last thing I saw before the shock set in during the crash was the corpse sliding at top-speed down the carriageway.

Brother in law also works for HMCG, and has seen his fair share of MisPers / floaters:

- The guy who drowned in ice-cold water and was found wearing what amounted to an "ice sombrero"
- A floater who was hooked into the boat for recovery; unluckily it hooked him under the chin so he was hauled in like a particularly ugly and bloated fish
- For some reason or another, witness to an exhumation; head of corpse falls off as it's being lifted out causing the attending copper to faint

Violent or accidental death never seems to be dignified.
(mymilkshakebringsallthemongstotheyard poison hearts, poison minds - joining hate, Wed 5 Mar 2008, 6:16, Reply)

Too many to count...
I've worked at a pet store for the last three years. It is probably safe to say I've seen at least one dead animal for every day I've worked there. But there are some that have stuck with me:

-The baby corn snake that died underneath his fake tree with his mouth frozen wide open. Gave me quite a shock when I lifted up his cover only to see him (presumably) ready to bite my finger off. I moved him with my pen rather than touch him.

-The dwarf hamster who had his face ripped off down to his skull by a tankmate. He wasn't quite dead when I discovered him.

-The red-eared slider (water turtle) who had managed to crawl into a tiny gap in his fake log, but was unable to get out, and had died quite some time ago. He fell apart completely when we touched him, and I had to use a siphon to get his meat and bones out of the tank. I distinctly remember one complete foot waving in the current...

-The mouse with a prolapsed rectum.

-The veiled chameleon who was killed by a milksnake in a neighboring habitat who had found a way in. He was too big for the snake to eat, though he'd tried really hard.

-The half-digested remains of two baby mice, vomited out by two ball pythons during shipping.

-A hermit crab, first thought to be alive as we saw some movement in the shell. Turned out to be maggots. Had to sit down after that one.

-A parakeet that had gotten his leg caught between the cage bars and his bolted-on food dish and had wrung his own neck trying frantically to escape.

-The leopard gecko whose habitat had the unfortunate malfunction of the heat lamp falling onto it instead of being suspended over it, meaning he literally cooked to death. He was crispy, like bacon.

The best thing about all these? We don't just throw the bodies away. Oh no. They all get put into a chest freezer in the back room, which is emptied once a week if we're lucky. There's no telling what will be staring back at you when you open the lid.
(NuclearMosquito, Wed 5 Mar 2008, 4:45, 2 replies)

We killed a deer once
And I managed to film it happening (by accident).

Driving down to a burger king drive thru with my mates (one driving), we had to go down a long motorway. The driver was cracking some brilliant jokes and I was almost in tears laughing at them, so I decided to whip out my phone and film him, hoping for some good craic.

Bang. The car veers on the road, the other two people in the car screaming before we pulled over on the hard shoulder.

"Uhh... what just happened?" I asked.

"Didn't you see? We just hit a fucking deer."

I burst out laughing in disbelief, it sounded like we'd bust a tyre or something. Upon inspection my mate's car was absolutely fucked and had to be written off in the end.

The other passenger and myself decide to investigate what had become of the deer. About half a mile down the road we realised we'd knocked it clean into the barrier separating the duel carriageway ("Fucking nice shot, in all fairness" I said).

We'd hit it so hard we'd literally knocked its arse off, not to be insensitive but it's the only way I can describe it. It was a pretty sorry sight but the deer was clearly dead and must have died pretty much instantly.

Much hilarity ensued as we called the driver "The Deer Hunter" and constantly said "Oh dear" to him.

In the footage I shot, you can actually see the deer jump over the fence and trot across the road. Not bad for a sony ericsson camera phone.
( Flowers the little boy that santa claus forgot, Wed 5 Mar 2008, 1:46, 2 replies)

Back when I was 16/17
We were round my mate's house, about 5 of us, sat drinking port (yes, very poncey, it was their idea). I then suggest, at about 2am "Oi.. fancy going for a walk in the fields?". At the time I had a sort of interest in seeing places at night time, in almost total darkness. My mate had just split up with his girlfriend the same night and we'd had a sombre walk home in a beautiful, chilled sunset.

"Alright then", they said, slightly sozzled off the port. So off we walk across the field, passing the port to the left as we walked in a line.

"Need a piss" I said, and my mate realised he did too. So in the middle of an open field surrounded by a rugby pitch and a few trees we had a massive piss. After shining the torch on our arcing streams we notice something across the field. It looked like some kind of weird form... either a dog or something wrapped in a blanket.

"Patrick... what's that?" I ask, nodding towards this shape in the distance. My mate drops the torch. As he picks it up the others come to join us. He shines the light on the shape, the beam barely penetrating the thick fog that seemed to have crept up on us (Silent Hill style). It illuminates and we see this long shape wrapped in something white but slightly dirty about a football pitch away from us.

"SHIT." my friend shouts and legs it back to his house WITH THE TORCH.

We were all stood there, in the pitch black, watching a torch slowly fade away, then we decided we should follow it, at full speed.

Next morning we decide to head back out and see it in the daylight.



It was a bunch of flowers.
( Flowers the little boy that santa claus forgot, Wed 5 Mar 2008, 1:38, Reply)

No i have not

(meh! bored since, Wed 5 Mar 2008, 1:13, 3 replies)

Yes I have

( johnvile dsfadsfgafgf, Wed 5 Mar 2008, 0:00, 2 replies)

closer than I'd have liked...
Woo, actually a QotW I have a good story for!! I had to go out of lurkerdom just to post it. It's a bit long, but trust me, it gets better at the end...

Long ago, when I was on my first year at uni, I had Human Anatomy classes, and not the practical ones we would all have liked to have, but the yucky ones that involved doing dissections and spending far too much time in the dissection room.

So, first day, everybody going 'ugh' in their minds before they even see the body, telling the others how revolting they think it is going to be, trying to sneak peeks into the dissection room... typical firstie behaviour, just to finally see a body that doesn't look like a real body, more like a brown plastic version of it after being in formol for years and years. All very anticlimactic, and we all leave the room feeling very proud of ourselves.

Next day, the teacher, who is a lazy sod, asks for volunteers to help him with the dissection, and I, feeling quite unflappable, raise my hand. Ten minutes after that, I'm on first row looking as he starts cutting the skin and the first layer of muscles and feeling not so unflappable after all. Green and a little bit dizzy, that's more like it. But I've volunteered, I don't really know the teacher or the rest of the volunteers and I'm not going to lose face in front of them. So I try to look at a point just above where I should be really paying attention at, and hope no one notices. All goes well and I manage not to get worse, but not better either, until the moment the teacher asks me to help him hold something. I look down and... promptly faint in front of everybody.

Next thing I know, I'm on the floor and open my eyes to blurrily see someone giving me air, and hear people whispering excitedly. I ask for my glasses, as I'm still seeing a bit hazy. Sudden silence. 'You've them on', says someone. I lift my hand to my face and put them off to look at them. They are smeared with something whitish and oily. Horrified, I touch my face. Same thing. Put one and one together and faint again. Guess where I had fallen face on?

Afterwards I got used to it, did a lot of dissections, got a few laughs out of the situation and my mates soon stopped shouting 'Close your eyes, there is a dead body!' every time we entered the bloody room, the wankers. And also got really good marks on that subject (out of the teacher's guilt that he wasn't able to stop me in time, I've always thought, because I was pants at it), so all in all it wasn’t so traumatic at the end (but I’m grateful not to remember the falling part)
(noe_me is attacked by zombie kittens on, Tue 4 Mar 2008, 22:29, 4 replies)

Dead Sheepish?
I remember when I was much younger, A friend of the family. Who I now regard as the closest thing to a dad, used to take us (Me and my Brother) out on trips to explore the ruins of disused WWII airfields ( where I live there are loads of them). So being the impulsive kids we were, we pretty much ran out of the house when He said we were going exploring again. With the sound of my mums voice ringing in my ears saying 'Don't you dare get them dirty!', we dived in his car.

After a longer than usual drive we stopped at this unusual group of hills and got out.
Round the corner we spotted an old Pill-Box and headed straight for it. It was incredible the hills were actually dug out (for storage i assume) and there were tunnels and trenches running between them. Fumbling around in my pockets I quickly came up with a 9V battery and a green LED. It was a torch McGuyver would have been proud of. So into the tunnels we went....
As I was leading the way I strode in to a big dark room (still underground) and stood on a rock. My brother and 'Dad' followed a while later.
Their eyesight is much better than mine and after a while my 'Dad' said 'I don't think you should be standing on that'. Me being at that weird inquisitve age said 'Why?' and shone my torch to the 'rock' I was standing on. Only to find I was actually standing on the carcass of a DEAD SHEEP!!! - It must have been there a while because all the wool was gone and the skin had started to cling to the bones. In the green light of my 'LED-Torch' it looked grim. I didn't dare look for the head. I was freaked out for the rest of the trip and the journey home. Strangely My brother and my 'Dad' found it highly amusing.
(the_caretaker, Tue 4 Mar 2008, 20:45, Reply)

Dirty old man.
I had to 'work' in an old folks home when I was about 16, courtesy of the Fuzz. There was many deaths, as you would imagine. The most memorable being a guy called Sid. He was a lovely guy. He was married, but had a dirty secret. He couldn't help but molest the female residents. He would try and kiss them. Touch them up. And generally rub up against them in the hallway.

This was until, alas, I caught him hanging off a bed with his trousers around his ankles, trying to kiss a lady, and miserably attempting to clamber on the bed.

'GET OFF HER SID' I shouted, and barged into the room. He jumped and his little chap wobbled in the affray, poking out of his Y-fronts. And the bugger collapsed on the floor. 'For fucks sake', I thought. 'I've killed him'.

I reached down, and I could see he was breathing. He was fine after all, but the lady somehow lay perfectly still she didn't even jump or stir. She just lay there, dead.
( @RBFesquire Good luck b3ta, was nice knowing you. So long., Tue 4 Mar 2008, 20:09, Reply)

Another stiff on the line
I actually have a way of being able to contact the dead.

Dial 100 and wait for the answer.
(Stereo Vaccine, Tue 4 Mar 2008, 19:56, Reply)

As a nurse's aide in a nursing home for the elderly,
I have seen a lot of dying and death. Part of my duties is when a resident dies, we wash and attend to the body, make them look peaceful for the family to visit and say their goodbyes. This is also an excellent oppurtunity to haze the new aides.

When i was a new aide, the first body I ever had to care for. When she died, she had evacuated her bowels and bladder, and I had to clean up the mess. When I rolled her over to clean her, she moaned loudly, vomited, and her arm involutarily smacked me on the hip. Since then, I have seen a multitude of bodies In the nursing home, we have a death roughly every two weeks or so.
(grrlatthrockshow, Tue 4 Mar 2008, 19:48, Reply)

Chuffed To Bits
My dad (who worked on the railways) got a call from the next train station up the West Coast Main Line from him. A train driver had been relieved from his duties as he said he'd hit a man walking on the lines about three miles from where my dad worked. The West Coast Main Line is pretty fast there so the chances of a slight injury were minimal.

My dad grabbed a few large plazzy bags, jumped into his car and put his high visibility vest on and patrolled up the line where the shocked driver had reported the accident. Sure enough, bit by bit, remains of this hapless trespasser came in to view on the ballast of the track and in the bushes. A finger here and an arm there. 'Chuffed to bits', you could say...

Dad radioed the county police who turned up a bit later to help with the collection of body parts. After a good scrape of the surroundings they peered into their bags and after a few shakes found that everything but the head had been found. They looked around but to no avail.

"Here it is, Sarge!" shouted one of the bobbies under the road bridge. They walked over and sure enough there was the blood and brain splashed head of the victim lodged between the rail and the ballast. My dad tried to pick it up by the hair but with the mess it only slid through his rubber gloves ("giving a bit of a squeak"). The head wasn't for budging.

"Try and find a stick so we can lever it out", said the Sergeant and a few minutes later a young constable was gently trying to prise the head away from the track.

[sound effect] SPRIDDOINNNNNGGGG!!! it went as it flew away and rolled over the Sergeant's boots. Sergeant needed a quick sit down while the rest of them poured the guy out of about four bags onto a big polythene mat. They scratched their heads while looking at a pyramid of still warm body parts with a head neatly plonked on top of it looking as if he was about to sing..

'Who was it?', 'Did he not hear the train coming?', 'Did anyone see it from the road bridge?', 'What are we having for tea?'. The questions kept coming.

They noticed an old bloke at the top of the slope on the road bridge walking his dog and trying to see what was happening. "Are you okay lads?", he shouted down to them.

"As a matter of fact, we're not. Have you seen anyone walking on the tracks here or anything strange today?", the ashen faced Sergeant shouted. The oldish lad shouted back with his best Lancashire accent, "I've seen a chap over t'past few days looking like he had a gun walking over the tracks probably trying to hunt rabbits or summat".

"Can you come down here a minute?". Of course good as gold, the chap clambers down the bank with his dog and approaches the coppers who move aside from the pile of dead bloke with his head on top.

My dad says, "IS THAT HIM?"


Ha ha ha! Nice one dad. It would've been better if the old boy had replied with "Er... No, he was a bit taller than that".
(Stereo Vaccine, Tue 4 Mar 2008, 19:47, 6 replies)

Selfish Suicides
I work at a fairly busy commuter station on a line that goes to an airport as well as from London to a popular tourist destination.
Just lately we've had a spate of suicides, people jumping in front of the expresses, mainly at stations closer to London.

But last year we had one at my station.
As the driver approached the station he saw a man start to run across the platform straight at him. The driver put the brakes on, but an eight carriage train at 70 mph can't stop on a sixpence. He came to a halt about a mile down the track, along with bits of the suicide.

My first knowledge of this was when a load of ballast came shooting into the booking office as the brakes went on.
I rushed onto the platform and spotted a trainer on the road crossing.
After telling everyone to leave the platforms I rang the police and my bosses, then went and told the traffic to turn round because the barriers weren't going to be going up in the near future.
Then I spotted the rack of belly pork in the middle of the tracks.
"Strange thing to see there" I thought,until I spotted the hand poking out from underneath it.

The police turned up seconds after my bosses, and I got sent home. Surprisingly I went to bed, and fell fast asleep.

It was suggested that I have a few days off, but I had to go back the next day.
And mid morning I get a call from my boss telling me someones left a bundle of flowers at the end of the platform and the drivers don't like it.
I guess it was my surpressed anger at his selfishness, but I stormed down to the flowers and ripped them off the support and threw them in the bin.
The next day I had a wrenched shoulder, and checking where the flowers had been it turned out that they'd been held there by an elasticated bandage.

I really get peed off with these selfish swine who think that because they don't want to go on their last act should be to inconvenience people.
You want to kill yourself, go and buy some painkillers get in a warm bath, and just float off.
That way the person who finds you will be a person that loved you, that will be upset by your death, and not some poor sod who has to go back to work the next day with your death grin on his mind.

Sorry if I sound callous, but before you start saying I've never been that low, I can tell you exactly where the rope was going to be fastened to hang myself!!
(paof2 Nude might not be rude, but rude could be nude..., Tue 4 Mar 2008, 19:43, Reply)

Mountains Part Two
Again from my time on the local Mountain Rescue Team.

I don't think that anyone who was on the team that night will forget that night. Forevermore it shall be etched into our minds.

A group, who had been climbing and scaling rocks for about a week, had come to the end of their journey. So they decided to go out on one final scale before returning homeward. They had roped themselves up in three groups of six. Two group leaders plus four young teenagers per rope.

The third group wasn't as experienced as the rest, so they went last. Apparently two of them lost their footing on some shingle and dropped off the rockface, taking the others with them.

I remember getting that call-out as if it were yesterday. "Multiple injuries, 6persons (4child+2ad)"

I got to the base and got a quick briefing from the Team Leader, a good friend of mine, and we both headed out to the scene, along with the others.

When we got there, we booked the helicopter for the ones who weren't badly injured, and called it for a return on those who needed hospital treatment. I was dealing with one of the more fortunate victims, when I was called over to help the Team Leader and another member with a less-fortunate child.

The first task was to remove the large boulder which had dislodged when they fell and landed on his face. When I managed to heave the boulder away, my Team Leader's face turned a visible shade of green as he uttered, "Where's his face?" before vomiting next to the victim. He still had a pulse, and was breathing, so that's good enough to attempt a resuscitation. Which we did. We managed to get him stable, but he died later in the hospital.

We were all offered counseling after that shout, which most of us accepted. But that image, just after I removed the rock, will remain with me for a long time. He was 13.
(Spicy McHaggis Should have been doing work on, Tue 4 Mar 2008, 19:06, 5 replies)

Mountains Part One
As a member of the local Mountain Rescue team in my local town, I have wheeled a few stiffs off the mountainside. One or two will stay with me for a long time, others there wasn't much we could do for them.

It was a warm, Summer's afternoon a few years back and I was out with a few friends climbing on one of the more well known and more challenging ascents. It was decided that I go up and secure the line so my friends could climb up. So there I am, scaling the rockface, with the sun beating down on my back, slowly pulling my body up the side of a mountain. All in the name of 'fun'.

I got to the top of the ledge and hauled myself onto it. I looked around for a secure spot to hitch the rope to, when I spotted a large rucksack sitting alone on the narrow ledge. I edged my way over to it and, thankfully, there was no one attached to it. I shouted up, but got no response. I called the base to let them know that I was on the scene but I needed assistance. By the time I'd climbed to the next ledge, the rest of the team would have been there anyway. So I started to climb.

I got there and quickly pulled myself up onto the ledge and noticed the casualty. When I shouted over to him, he responded. This was a good sign. I told him to lay still and that help was on the way. It was then he told me that his head felt strange. So I leaned over him and moved his hat away from his head and clocked an eyeful of the large wound on the side of his head, which was infested with maggots.

I tried to keep him talking, and he was right up until he heard the helicopter coming in. I'll never forget what he said:

Me: Don't worry (name deleted), we'll soon have you in the hospital and back to full health in no time.
Him: (hears helicopter)Is that for me?
Me: Yes, that's your transport now. Don't worry, everything will be just fine.
Him: Just leave me here. This is the final sunset.

and with that, he closed his eyes and never regained consciousness.

When the post-mortem results came back, it said that he had been laying there for a few days before being discovered.
(Spicy McHaggis Should have been doing work on, Tue 4 Mar 2008, 18:49, 2 replies)

How does little shreddy bits of a dead body score ?
Set your wayback machines for the summer of 1987, and dial slowly in on the British Aerospace factory in Hatfield, Hertfordshire.*

Look closely and you'll see a tall gangly youth cycle grimly up to the flight test and assembly building, hang a sharp right and park his bike somewhat cheekily behind the portacabins nearby.
Why yes, gentle reader, 'tis I, the youthful Duke E. heading to a summer job of mind numbing tedium tracking the correct assembly of very expensive aircraft punctuated with occasions of great exitement when that oh so careful assembly fucked up.

There were three of us in this portacabin poking at the wheezing aged terminals that passed for a computer system** at BAe and trying to work out whether the latest machine in flight test was actually complete enough to fly. Occasionaly a whiff of jet exhaust would drift in through the open window as the plane's engines were would up one by one to make sure they did as they were told. All in all another tedious day...
Then came the most almighty Bang-Wumph! noise and the room went from bright sunlight to a mottled pink gloom suffused with the faint, but rapidly approaching sound of screams and a distinct smell of burnt.
Being inquisitive chaps we poked our heads out of the door to see what was going on just in time to see a couple of really very distressed flight test crew go pelting past us and to watch the last of a cloud of smoke dissapating above the aircraft.
We shrug and turn to go back into our portacabin, which is unnacountably flecked with dark red dots.
One phone call later and we discover that in an astonishing double act of stupid a fitter had not only neglected to fit the inlet guard to the engine under test, but had then gone to stand infront of it so he could get a good view of the impeller blades.

Sucked in, shredded, roasted, and blown out the back as fine spray all in under 2/25ths of a second.

We got the site maintainace crew to hose down the wall and gave up work for the day...

*Now closed, and turned into a shopping centre
**We had a secretary, she had an even more ancient word processor that still took 8 inch disks
( DukeEuphoria Comes highly reccomended, Tue 4 Mar 2008, 17:41, 4 replies)

A Face I Will Never Forget
When I was younger, on a cold crisp but sunny autumn saturday morning, me and a boy on the street went to play football on the green.

It was a moderately large space, next to a main road with large willow trees. We kicked the ball around, one over ambitious boot launched the ball under one of the larger willow trees.

As I got towards it I could see a pair of feet hanging amongst the thin branches. Being far to young and innocent to understand the eerie creek of a dead weight hanging from a rope I had little idea of what I was about to uncover.

I picked up the ball and looked up, into the eyes of a young man, his face contorted into the deathly expression that must only come from strangulation. His face drained of colour, it appears to swift en his death he had slit his wrists and throat.

Unsuprisingly I was petrified with fear, I ran home and the whole story unfolded from there. I had terrifying nightmares of trees, the hanging figures, his distorted faced and staring eyes night after night. I would not sleep for weeks, due to the fear of what the nightmares that would follow.

Eventually I was sent to a child psychologist, the nightmares stopped but so did my ability to dream or at least my ability to remember them. Even now I rarely remember anything of the previous nights sleep, but I will never forget his face.
(serial lurker, Tue 4 Mar 2008, 17:25, 2 replies)

Didn't actually see the body...
I was driving down the M6 one day, and the traffic was moving in single-file and almost at a standstill.

While going past the two closed-off lanes I caught sight of what had happened: what used to be a car was sitting on the hard shoulder, except it looked more like a cube.

All I could think to myself was 'what a horrible way to go.'

I still don't know what happened. There were no other vehicles involved, from what I could see. There were no ambulances either, but there can't have been much left of whoever was inside that thing.

And the car fire I once saw, also on the M6. All I saw was a Mondeo with all the doors and windows closed, with an inferno inside it. I saw a shadow up against the window. I can't be sure, and I didn't stop to look, but I hope that shadow wasn't a person.

I've always been afraid of dying in a car. Anything else I can abide by. Chainsaws? No problem. Rusty spoons? That's nothing. I even ride a motorbike, for christ's sake - at least if I crash that I'll die when my head hits a tree.

But one way I never, ever want to do is spend my last moments trapped inside a steel coffin, crushed to a pulp or on fire. Can you imagine it? Being compressed into something the size of a sofa and suddenly realising that you don't quite have all your parts any more?

No thanks.
(Half of Stephen Fry's right buttock pissed on your dog on, Tue 4 Mar 2008, 16:45, 3 replies)

I met Stephen Hawkin once ..
..

that's all


p.s. en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Stephen_hawkins
( Signify, Tue 4 Mar 2008, 16:25, 9 replies)

Grandad
Died very suddenly, one minuet he was fine and the next he had had a massive heart attack and was fighting for his life. I remember helping to wheel him up to the correct ward (God bless the NHS) and the doctor telling us there wasn’t much we could do. I took my Nan home and because she was in a bit of a state I stayed with her. She went to bed and I sat on the sofa. We all knew that he wouldn’t last the night so I decided to stay up and drink a bottle of scotch to help relax. I got the call at 4 in the morning that he had gone and had to organise a cab to take me and my Nan back to the hospital to see him one last time. When I saw him laying there I knew he was gone and that what was in the bed was just a shell. It also helped that I had consumed the best part of a bottle of Bells or I don’t think I would have had the guts to see him. Sorry for the length and the lack of humour but it's my first post.
(Jonny Wishbum had bad ear sight, Tue 4 Mar 2008, 16:08, Reply)

The passings of George and Smudge
George and Smudge were the two most lovely little rats in the world. my mum bought them for me for my 21st. They were little babies and lived in happiness together. I used to take them to the pub in my pocket and feed them crisps, let them sleep on my bed, take them on walks to the shop sat on my shoulder. They had led a happy life in a large cage, coming out to run around the house, play with the cats (seriously!) and dog (yup) and my mum would feed them a little fresh salad and sweetcorn every morning. They were indeed happy little rats - loved and nurtured like the younger siblings I never had.

Things when wrong for Smudge when he developed a cold and made red snot. He was never quite the same after that despite treatment, remaining a bit smaller than George. He was my favourite – a little badger rat while George was an Albino (he used sit weaving on his branch looking evil but they were both really friendly and never bit anyone). George, perhaps taking advantage of Smudges inferior size, developed slight gay tendencies. Many a time a peaceful evening would be interrupted by the Sounds of Smudge squealing while George gave him a bumming. The stress became too much after a while and eventually the poor little bugger (or buggered?) passed away. George had literally fucked him to death. It was sad, sad time and George now had to live on his own – his carnal desire leading to a life of solitude. Poor little Smudge was still warm when I found him. We had a little funeral (mum got quite upset) and I never really felt the same about George anymore.

As time went on and George got older he had to go the vets every 2weeks for tooth trimming but he still in good health – running around, sitting on his branch doing his evil weave thing and being a happy little rat.

Fast forward a few months.

Mum and dad went on holiday. They fed George before they went (his salad and sweetcorn + normal ratty food) and off they went. The time was around 6.30 a.m. I was up at around 7.30, went to the cage to let George out for his exercise only to find him dead……cold and stiff. He was lying under his favourite branch.

I was 23, ratless and heartbroken. I buried George next to Smudge and cried. 9 years later and they still hold a special place in my heart.

To conclude, I saw two dead rats - one who died from the stress of anal rape and the other.....old age perhaps?
( SpikeyPickle wishes he was mabazaritchie, Tue 4 Mar 2008, 16:05, 2 replies)

Boar
I sometimes go and visit some very good friends in the south of France. They live in a converted barn in a tiny village up in the hills in the Languedoc-Minervois region.

I really love going there as it's such an isolated place - being about 70km in either direction from the next major town and a half-hour drive down into the valley just to buy groceries, there is absolutely no noise in the village, no light pollution, and in summer you get baking hot days and nights that are clear as anything. Not to mention some of the most terrific storms you'll ever see.

The surrounding forests are also home to a lot of wildlife, including wild boar. This means that during the hunting season, people come from far and wide to sit on the hillside and shoot things.

Anyway, one evening I'd shared a traditional apéritif of Pastis, a large fondue, and a couple of bottles of wine with my friends, and decided to go for a wander around the village. Off I trotted, spliff in hand, enjoying the beautiful moonlight and the stillness of the air apart from the sound of crickets chirping.

Suddenly, I heard a rustling. I stopped. The wild boars sometimes rustle around in the hedgerow, but they usually scarper pretty quickly when they see humans as they're fairly timid creatures. This was getting closer, and it was huge.

Then this enormous 'body' appeared from the shrubbery above the side of the road, fell down the 8ft drop, hit the ground and rolled a few feet before coming to a rest.

I shat myself.

Then I had a closer look and realised it was a dead boar with multiple gunshot wounds.

Twat.
(Half of Stephen Fry's right buttock pissed on your dog on, Tue 4 Mar 2008, 15:44, Reply)