Back when I was young little ape
I was exploring my friends back garden (snigger) looking for treasure/porn/buried civil war swords.

We were, all in all, having a smashing day simply beings boys, climbing stuff, breaking stuff and generally enjoying a sunny outdoor pre computer game world.

Our explorations eventually took us to the back of the old garage, which according to my fellow conspiritor was still full of rubbish from the previous owners who had moved out over ten years ago.

A quick sortie turned up nothing of interest,but it had exposed a massive floral sofa pushed flush against the rear wall.

Mustering all the strength our frankly stick thin arms could manage we prised the forlorn DFS reject from the wall to expose the potential treasures behind.

What we saw frankly made us both jump a little and then laugh manically.

It was a mummified cat!

The poor wretched creature must have been trapped behind the sofa all those years before and died of starvation. It was flat as a pancake along it's vertical axis, and its mouth was gaping , teeth exposed as it exclaimed it's final strangled meow at the cruel world that had led to it's awful fate.

With the help of gloves, a stick and a lot of, "oh urggh you touched it!" we managed to extract the mousing Mumra and we skipped happily back out into the light with our crispy spoils.

What to do? What to do? We pondered, and with some sort of divine intervention our sisters giggled their way around the corner, probably talking about boys/ponies/sylvanian families.

This was too good an opportunity to miss and a plan was soon hatched so fiendish in it's inception even a 'devious plan' think tank including the pure evil of Hitler, my old French teacher and robert Kilroy Silk could not have bettered it.

We climbed to a level of the garden slightly above our, obviously, stinky sisters and launched the flattened feline like an undead frisbee from hell!!!

It flew with the grace of a swallow and the excocet accuracy of a peregrin falcon towards it's targets and as it reached the point of no return my friend wailed at the top of his lungs.

"MEEEEEOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWARRGHHHHH"!

Just the sound a mummified, undead frisbee cat would make I'm sure you'll agree.

The sisters looked skywards, the sisters screamed and the sisters in their haste to escape this flying hell cat jumped and ran into each other so hard that my sister lost a tooth.

I swear to God something popped inside me I was laughing so hard.

The punitive measures bought down by our parents were harsh, but by God it was worth it.
( Naked Ape call me Caitlyn, Thu 28 Feb 2008, 14:39, 6 replies)

Going Home Trauma
When working the night shift - it was accepted practice to jump on the first train out of the depot in the morning to catch a ride home.
So about 4:30 in the morning there's about 4 of us in the cab, chatting away when all of a sudden, the driver slams on the brakes and points to the end of the station we're approaching...

...yep... one body at the end of the platform ramp, minus a head.

Turns out some poor woman had decided to end it all, but not wanting to cause any fuss, waited until the last train of the evening ran through the station, hid at the end of the platform and at the last minute, stuck her head over the nearest rail. No-one saw her do it, so she lay there for four hours undiscovered until we came around the bend.

Didn't really fancy breakfast when I got home.
( HSDriver was probably still at work on, Thu 28 Feb 2008, 14:38, 1 reply)

Goodbyes, nasty discoverys and fond farewells.
My first one was my old Nan, an unpleasant woman with a deep-rooted spiteful streak running as deep as the nicotine stain on her lungs. She managed to make the life of a young me really quite unpleasant for many years as she had been brought to live with us when she was taken ill during the end of my single-digit ages and lasted until I was 12. At least she managed to die during the night, without making a big fuss.

The next one was a colleague, I was walking into work at a Surrey golf club when I chanced upon the wreckage of a car, VERY freshly crashed, one wheel still spinning etc… and the (now very deceased) driver literally in pieces on the road. Phoned plod, waited by the wreck and so on, answered their questions and managed to identify the body for them. Then walked into work late and told them “[name] won’t be coming in today….sorry”. I had no way of knowing his girlfriend was standing just out of sight, and I was quite surprised to hear someone run off screaming with grief as I made the announcement. Sorry Cheryl, never meant you to find out like that.

One ex-colleague was found floating in the Thames one day, and had my business card in his wallet and I was asked by police to do the formal identification, and they forgot to mention what a drowned body smells like in the high summer. Remember, depression is fun, kids.

Most recent was my Dad, (d.1999). In a side room, in a Wiltshire hospital, they had him on monitors and a morphine driver as pancreatic cancer and a MASSIVE stroke took their toll on him. On his last night, I sat up with him for 18 hours straight, never leaving his side, while further mini-strokes hit him and the pain flickered brief recognition on his eyelids and on the monitors by his side.
Finally in the wee hours of a Tuesday morning, around 4am, for the first time in 3 weeks, he opened his eyes. His expression was unfocussed, vacant and very resigned to his inevitable fate, but after a few moments, he managed to focus and seemed to recognise me for just long enough to croak the faint word “bye” before closing them again as they clouded over, for the last time. (The memory of that last look from him will always be with me, it was like looking directly into his soul as it took flight) The monitor by his bedside registered his passing with a single, mournful tone and a solid, unwavering flatline. Yes, I cried like a baby, and still get a tear in my eye and a lump in my throat when I remember it. Goodbye Dad. I still love and miss you greatly.
(Dangermouse., Thu 28 Feb 2008, 14:38, 10 replies)

Hospital portering: the most disturbing student vacation job ever
Many years ago, and having accumulated a crippling overdraft over the previous year at college, I took a summer-long job as a hospital porter, working on the operating theatre level. Daily duties included collecting patients for their ops, and trying not to appear as the Angel Of Death whilst they were ripped to the tits on pre-med before the anaesthetic gets administered.

But the worst duty was rubbish removal, because occasionally this involved boxed up body parts that had to be taken to the morgue.

The morgue was euphemistically called 'Rose Cottage' so as to avoid upsetting people on the geriatric wards: "Where's so-and-so gone? His beds empty." "He's been transferred to Rose Cottage." Sounds lovely, doesn't it? Well, Rose Cottage was actually a very functional 60's built building just down from the main hospital site. You'd go in and the first room was the freezer room, gleaming steel fridge doors lining the walls. Then through a plastic hospital double door to the work room, where the pathologist would usually be at work. If you were lucky the doors were closed, but if it was a hot day they were wedged open for ventilation, and you couldn't help but see whatever he was up to. That bit in Heroes where Claire wakes up post her own autopsy? Pretty realistic that.

The pathologist was a nice bloke - he was the county forensic pathologist, so any sudden death would go to him for autopsy to see if foul play was involved. He was reputedly so good, he could open up a cadaver neck to groin, lean his face fully into the body, take a deep sniff and declare "arsenic..."

Anyhow, my first bin run on theatres involved the usual stuff - yellow bags for normal waste, sharps boxes and red bags for 'infectious waste' which ran the gamut of tumors to the contents of voided bowels.

And then you had the hastily sellotaped cardboard boxes. See, body parts come in all shapes and sizes, so there's no standard box to put them in - they just find the first available box and stick it in, seal the bugger up. They put them in a bag first, but chances are if it's an amputation, it's been amputated because of gangrene, and tends to be a bit... well, drippy. The bag didn't always work and you'd see a box with suspiciously wet bottom corners.

And there it was: my first box. Quite a small affair, probably a forearm. This needs to be hand delivered to Rose Cottage for proper disposal. Dutifully, I get rid of the main rubbish, and then it's off to the morgue.

Mr pathologist is busy. I shout through the plastic doors to avoid seeing anything horrible, and he just says 'Freezer 3". I open freezer 3, and it's a 3 level affair, all levels occupied. Top shelf and middle shelf have the normal corpses covered with sheets, but the bottom shelf is slightly different: it's a sheet covered corpse alright, but the sheet seems to get to neck level and then... nothing. Except a red stain. Below that, on the floor of the freezer, a box big enough to contain, say, a human head.

I'm staring aghast trying to process this and Mr Pathologist comes out to check on me. "Ah yes..." he says, "motorcyle crash. Awful really."

Gingerly I put my measly arm-in-a-box next to the clearly show-off head-in-a-box and get out as quick as I can. That bit at the end of Se7en where he's saying "What's in the box? WHAT'S in the BOX?" has special relevence for me.

But the worst one was when I had to deliver a larger box - an above the knee amputation. It was heavier (but at least not dripping this time) and as I was walking over to Rose Cottage, something happened. There was a dull thud from inside the box, and a sort of movement.

I nearly shat. I stood stock still waiting for any other 'suprises' and then pegged it as fast as I could into the morgue, my face ashen. After I'd calmed down, Mr Pathologist worked out what had happened. They obviously didn't have a big enough box to lay the leg flat, so they's sort of bent it at the knee joint and stuffed it in that way. As I was carrying it, a gangrene ravaged tendon somewhere had finally snapped, causing what was left of the septic muscle to contract slightly and 'kick' from inside the box.

I left shortly afterwards. And never cleared that bastard overdraft either.

If you got this far, thank you for your patience...
(vertigo, Thu 28 Feb 2008, 14:34, 2 replies)

Boxed Nelson
Got a few stories for this week's one. Here's the more lighthearted ones.

It concerns my brother. Years ago, when I was but a young fluffy little Calamarain, my brother and I used to get the bus home from school. Sometimes it would arrive on time. Sometimes it would be an hour late, it varied massively. Much conversation took place between everyone waiting about anything and everything.

Do you ever have one of those perfect comedy moments? Where even if the joke is tasteless, unfunny or just plain wrong, everyone cracks up anyway? We had one of them. The discussion was on the subject of The Simpsons... and as we got onto the subject of Nelson, what should drive past but a hearse and two black cars following it. And so it was with perfect timing that my brother pointed his stubby little finger towards the road, and proclaimed "HA HA!" in an almost perfect imitation of Nelson Muntz. He hadn't seen the hearse. But then he did, and the expression on his face was awful to behold. And everyone cracked up. Completely. The sheer total *wrongness* of what he'd just done, unintentionally, and the expression on his face just broke the humour barrier. I really, really don't want to think about what those poor people in the cars must have felt/thought, seeing a kid point at their beloved dead relative and then a bunch of other kids laughing their buttocks off.

Still, it's not as bad as what happened over curry last month. My grandmother passed away over Christmas, not unexpected as she'd been terminally ill for a while, but still very sad. Doubly so as she was my last grandparent :( . I should mention I also got the complete Deep Space 9 for Christmas. We were discussing various Christmas events... and I mentioned both of the above. I'm quite sure I'm going to hell because I cracked up and couldn't stop laughing when my friend said "Well, at least they were both boxed sets". It sounds awful I know, but I'd been sad for a while, and a tasteless joke really helped to break through it, and let me put it behind me a bit.
(calamarain just invented dehydrated water, Thu 28 Feb 2008, 14:33, Reply)

Bits and Pieces
Thankfully, I've never hit anyone while driving (touches piece of wood) but I've been called out to assist on quite a few occasions when one of my colleagues has had someone jump in front of them - so I've seen a few things that required alot of mental screenwash to clear out of memory.

I do remember my second one vividly though. The train had run through the station at about 90mph when a woman had jumped infront of it. Sadly, she jumped at the last minute, and was hit square on - which caused her to literally explode all over the windscreen, leaving a trail of bits spread over half a mile of track.

And the worst part - the Transport Police wouldn't let us clean the windscreen until the Inspector had released the scene... in the middle of summer..

And all the while the police, railway staff and fire/ambulance crews where making jokes about toast and 'jam' - I suppose dark humour is a coping mechanism.

(apologies for gore factor)
( HSDriver was probably still at work on, Thu 28 Feb 2008, 14:32, 1 reply)

It was the height of a long warm summer...
when the day we had been waiting for finally arrived. In the sweltering heat we kitted up, and with paddles in one hand and boat in the other we eagerly dashed for the waters edge. It was the day of the big boat race. Not of the Oxford-Cambridge scale, but big for a bunch of twelve year olds at a sailing club. We weren’t going to be beaten. We had trained harder and longer than the other team, and the pride of the club was at stake.

The reservoir offered a cool change to the Sahara like conditions of dry land, and so it was with a joyous sigh of relief that we plunged ourselves deeper and deeper into the cool refreshing waters. After clambering aboard our trusty vessel, the teams made their way to the start line. We looked across at our nemeses. They were fat, sweating, they looked unfit. “We’ve got this in the bag” we thought as the starter’s gun was fired and we took off like a rocket toward the finish.

With every row we pulled further ahead. We could see them behind us, a shambles of uncoordinated louts. We were sleek, a shining example of team work. Our paddles glistened through the water, smooth and in time. And then…dush, first one paddle, dush dush, a second had hit it on the same side. There was something in the water. We looked down at what we thought was a log. But wait… its got arms, and a head, and feet. “What do we do?” came a panicked call from the front. “They’ll cancel the race if we say anything?” were the words of callous wisdom offered from the back. It made sense. We wouldn't win if we said anything.

The other team were still quite a distance, but gaining fast. Victory was all that mattered. The corpse would still be there when we got to the other side; it’s not as if we could do anything. And so it was with an uncaring bash of six paddles that the body of a 19 year old student was tossed to one side for a bunch of twelve year olds to have a taste of the victory they craved. When we got to the other side, it was decided that we would have to keep quiet about finding the body, or the race would be cancelled. The next race would find it anyway and there was no point in us not getting our medals. We had after all won the race, and if we said anything, that would surely be forgotten.

And so, with guilt wriggling its way through our very souls we accepted our medals. The next race did indeed find the body, and the rest of the meet was cancelled. Ours were as we predicted the last medals to be given out. I still have the medal to this very day, a constant reminder of the time I chose a hollow victory over basic humanity.
( Furness, Thu 28 Feb 2008, 14:29, Reply)

Lack of Loft Ladders and Highway Foxes.
Seen lots of dead bodies, mostly relatives, freinds at the Funeral Directors.

However my mate Paul Eccles came home one day with his mum from town, me and 4 mates were playing coupies (old footy game) at the end of the road

"You coming out for a game mate" I said.

"Yeah - 2 mins, Ill get me trainees on"

Literally 20 seconds later, Paul and his Ma came running out of the house screaming, to this day I can hear his mums scream.

His Arl’ fella had lobbed himself out of the loft with a cable round his neck after suffereing from depression.

We all bolted over, and there he was hanging above the stairs.

Horrible Sight.

In other cheerier news, I once fucking blatted a Fox on the A59 in my Honda Accord. Su fucking perb it was, until my radiator blew up at Manchester Airport

I hate fox’s

Cunts
(hoogie Original Cunt Horse Author, Thu 28 Feb 2008, 14:28, 6 replies)

back when my friend lived in america
she saw her friend get run over. they'd been hanging around by the roadside. though it was a suburb, there had been a problem with lorries cutting through the quieter streets.

only he didn't just get hit by the lorry. he fell into the road and one of the wheels went over his head. there was no head anymore.

my friend told us she didn't react to this. she managed to tell us very calmly about all the shards of skull and pieces of brain. we sat there, absolutely horrified.

it gets worse.

she and her friends were from muslim families. at the funeral, the father decided to go ahead with an open casket ceremony. though my friend was told she didn't have to go, she did. apparently, when she actually saw the body with all the pieces of head in a little bag inside the coffin, she collapsed.

the worst thing about this was that she'd never mentioned it before. it was only because it was a show and tell type exercise in college that it ever got brought up.
(ladyintheradiator, Thu 28 Feb 2008, 14:26, Reply)

Mistaken I'dead'ntity
Does the above pun work? You may decide after reading the following...

One day my brother and a mutual friend left our house to go into town and pick up some tickets for some Z-list piss-poor 'American' Wrestling tickets for the event that night. Being young (8ish) and being the summer holidays we were in great spirit. However things were to take a HORRIBLE turn....

En route to the High Street is a kind of green/grassy/tree-ey area located on a hill. 2 paths go down the hill and intersect making a kind of X...

On our way back from purchasing the tickets we got to the bottom left of the 'X' if you will, from where we were amazed and distraught to see an old man rolling down the hill (as you would roll down a hill as a child)!!! He disapeared from view as he careered off the bottom of the 'X' and down some stairs!!

Being children we felt we should go and get help from some adults. Screaming "help someones died" etc was only met with contempt and dismay from the local residents who were doing there thing at the top of the hill.


"Attt biys no deid!! - he's just fuckin steamin!!"

So there you have it. Steaming drunk passes out and in his stupour rolls sideways down a hill creating fear and panic among schoolchildren.

Think he died a few years later that guy

Length? About 20 metres. Wrestling? We got to chant 'fatty' at a particularly rotund athlete who told us to fuck off. No apologies there either.
( whenanimalsattackhumans clad in global hypercolour, Thu 28 Feb 2008, 14:24, Reply)

Wife's stepdad
If it wasn't for the smell, you would have thought he was just sleeping.
(twoheads Is currently broke on, Thu 28 Feb 2008, 14:23, Reply)

yes i have as a matter of fact
I haven't seen a dead body but your mothers may as well have been dead, she lay there lifeless as I pounded my meat into her, didn't even make a noise, her glassy eyes staring at the ceiling, maybe it was the rohypnol, maybe it was the smack, all I know is that she was begging for it, the dirty dirty dirty dirty dirty dirty dirty dirty dirty bitch.

.....the haziness of that evening is now coming back to me, your mother may well have been dead as i pounded my meat truncheon into her time and again, my large heavy gonads thwapping against her undercarriage.......

....she had approached me in a bar earlier that evening, 'Do I know you' she said, 'Not as well as you will know me later on' I replied with a nonchalant smile and flick of my hair. Her perfume was intoxicating, and her ruby red lips glistened under the spotlights shining on the bar. I offered to get her a drink, which she readily accepted. We chatted about many things, it turned out we were from the same town and had been to the same school, all-be-it I had been a few years her junior. We also skirted around the topic of under performing schools and Maslow's hierarchy of needs. I told her how i once had shat myself after straining so hard to do a fart that my cheeks went beetroot red.
We continued on and had many more drinks and were eventually asked to leave by the bar staff after they closed up. We stumbled outside, and upon hitting the fresh air I hailed her a taxi and sent her on her way home, sometimes i still remember that night with fond memories, the carousel, the big wheel, candy floss by the bonfire, with the guy alight atop. the sweet smell of chestnuts roasting and the laughter of children as they danced and skipped around the motionless crowd, watching the fireworks as they made the most beautiful colours and displays in the night sky. The food was particularly good as well, pumpkins and furry eggs washed down with a sweet golden warm glass full of urine.....

......I waited for her on the subway but she did not come, I waited for her at the station, and still she did not appear. Then suddenly, every little piece of my heart tied up in knots and I was in heaven. The message that was transpiring through the precipitation was more and more lucid as the haziness lifted and the sunshine spilt over the edge and illuminated the bonjela tube balanced precariously.....

.....her body was cold by the time I finished pounding and emptied my seed into her, I withdrew and told her I loved her. She didnt reply, I thought she would prefer it if I left. I stroked her hair, which fell off her head in large clumps such was the ferocity of my lovemaking and kissed her cheek bidding her farewell. I knew this would be the last time we would see each other, yet she hid her emotion well, like a corpse hiding any signs of life. I walked to the door, turned round and shouted over at her 'Jusqu'à ce que nous rencontrons encore, mon bien-aimé chéri, pouvoir notre amour notre toujours bond sur les océans et est tombé des arbres. '

The End
(little lord muthafuckin fauntleroy, Thu 28 Feb 2008, 14:23, 5 replies)

Animals
Not me, but my brother.
He'd been jobbing around building sites for a few months since training to drive a tele-handler. (Those things that look like a cross-breed of JCB and forklift truck). I'm not sure exactly how it came about, I think the people he was working for were contracted in.

The job was part of the massive logistical operation surrounding the cull of the majority of the UK's livestock following the outbreak of Foot & Mouth disease. He was actually paid a disturbance allowance, about £3.50 a day I think. Not much recompense for spending months among literally thousands of animal corpses.
(Greencloud Wanted to go fishing on, Thu 28 Feb 2008, 14:20, Reply)

Just the one
My Grandad, in a funeral parlour, when he obviously was shuffled off this mortal coil.
( jim_bob can herd cats., Thu 28 Feb 2008, 14:20, Reply)

little pillows
I have seen many in my time as Lifeboat crew on a tidal river. They actually can look like little pillows floating in the water from the gases that have travelled up to their shoulders after drowning. Don't smell as nice though.
(neveryoumind, Thu 28 Feb 2008, 14:14, Reply)

Move along, nothing to see here.
Like several others, I went to see my grandmother when she was laid out in the funeral parlour to say my last goodbyes. I was always favoured, being the youngest and she & I had a close bond. For a couple of years before she died, she'd been (don't know a nice term for it) fucking mental. She'd had a stroke that made her unable to look after herself and, oddly, lost nearly all of her inhibitions as well as her sanity. It was distressing to he young teen that I was at the time. I visited her at the nursing home regularly, but there was no attachment any nore. The person she had been was pretty much gone, replaced by a confused and senile old lady that I only knew by sight. It seemed that my Gran was already gone.

In the funeral parlour, I looked at her face but it wasn't her. The last remnants of my Gran had left the body that they'd been attached to until death. I kissed her forehead more from repetitive habit than any actual desire. It was colder than I expected. I suppose she'd been kept in a fridge.

I was actually glad that she died. She'd suffered a lot toward the end (sorry, no details) and it became somehow easier to remember her as the person she'd been when I was a little boy, as opposed to the generic geriatric she'd become.
(Greencloud Wanted to go fishing on, Thu 28 Feb 2008, 14:09, Reply)

Whats..
the point in this question?

I saw a body in the middle of the road in Rio de Janeiro where people dont get taught to drive properly.

It didn't really affect me much more than feeling a bit sorry for the chaps old mam.

And it didn't provide me with an amusing or cathartic anecdote.
(greasedupdeafguy broke something, Thu 28 Feb 2008, 14:03, 1 reply)

The BBC
it just doesn't know it is yet.
(Fuckpig "That's not even a pound a midget.", Thu 28 Feb 2008, 14:03, Reply)

Yeah
But I didn't realise she was dead, just thought she was drunk.

Ahem.
( huggybear, Thu 28 Feb 2008, 14:02, 1 reply)

Roy Scheider
Dead Brody
(oneinthepink is at your cervix m'lady, Thu 28 Feb 2008, 14:01, Reply)

meh
Driving along a quiet country road, Progress was halted by a dead biker across the road, his bike a little further on, wedged underneath a car. Blood everywhere, no signs of life.
(dave likes cheese, Thu 28 Feb 2008, 13:57, Reply)

Don't let the train take the strain
Many years ago, I was sitting at some random station in North London for what seemed like hours. Then I realised that it WAS hours. According to the very rare staff member there had been an 'incident'. Don't you just love euphemisms?

As we eventually chuffed off, we saw the 'incident'. The front of the other train looked like it had been twatted with God's Sledgehammer, everyone assumed it had hit another train or something...

Nope. Seems some poor sod had attempted to self-admit to the local mentalist ward and had been told to see his GP on Monday. He promptly trotted off and lobbed himself in front of the train when it was doing about 70.

God knows what state the driver was left in 'cos theres no way in the world a few hundred tons of train is going to stop before hitting the jumper. He would have had to sit there with the brakes on full, sliding towards the soon to be deceased and be able to do the sum total of fuck all about it. Nice.

As for the jumper, the word 'bits' is appropriate.
(osok Rebel without a clue, Thu 28 Feb 2008, 13:55, 3 replies)

Loads



Oh alright several.


Most of them were relatives in the funeral home laid out for the final viewing.

Other than that.

I was out cycling with a couple of mates when we stopped by the river. We were chucking stones at a bottle which was bobbing along when we were suddenly surrounded by police and firemen. A fireman hooked a 'bundle of rags' in the water and pulled it ashore. It was the body of a bloke in his 50' or 60's dressed in pajamas and a dressing gown. He looked quite peaceful, if a tad puffy from being in the water. As they pulled him up the bank, a load of water and the contents of his stomach poured out. One of the policemen threw up on the spot but us three teenagers were remarkably unaffected by it all. We later found out in the paper that the bloke had escaped from an asylum with a woman and that they both had been missing for several days - she was dragged from the river a day or so later.

I once saw a bunch of emergency crew shovelling the remains of someone into a refuse sack on the Victoria Line at Victoria tube station. There wasn't much left of the poor fucker - just a reddish-black 'jelly' substance. It looked just like the footage I'd seen of IRA bomb victims being cleared up after an explosion in Belfast.

Around the same time period, a bloke on the site I worked fell four floors off the scaffolding. I heard the shouts and looked over from the second floor where I was working to see his body, limbs at all angles, lying in a spreading pool of blood. I also saw the body of a bloke who'd been electrocuted being taken away - although he was under a blanket so I didn't see the body. I did get the aroma of grilled hotdogs as they passed me with the stretcher though.
(Fanta Menace Is tall enough to see over the fence, Thu 28 Feb 2008, 13:47, Reply)

Story from a friend of a friend
A girl I once dated told me the following story.

She knew someone attending medical school, who'd been present when the groups of students are issued a cadaver for practice and to assist with studying anatomy.

It is not - repeat not - to be used for the purpose of dressing it up and taking it down the pub.

Said students were rumbled and immediately booted out of medical school and prevented from practicing medicine anywhere at any time in the future for said serious breech of ethics.
(Bicycle Repairman "you're also a bit of a wanker", Thu 28 Feb 2008, 13:46, 2 replies)

I just had Chicken Enchidillas for lunch
And they were awesome. I know it isn't on the QOTW but I think a topic on what people have had to eat in a day could be much more interesting.

Most interesting thing you've eaten today people....GO!
(Super Oaf Petit filous?, Thu 28 Feb 2008, 13:44, 23 replies)

OOC...
...anyone else having a moral issues about clicking "i like this" to a story about finding/seeing/making dead people?
(ReaperTG will appear behind your headboard on..., Thu 28 Feb 2008, 13:40, 5 replies)

Dead question?
It's only day one of the question. I think it's not too late to cancel this one and start over with something... well something worth reading.

After reading perhaps 2 "well I work in a hospital so of course I have" stories which less face it are as interesting as a belgian chess player I've lost the will to check back until next week. As for the concept of the "best" page in a weeks time!?!? Well that'll be a great read eh? Prozac anyone?
(golddust QOTW now revolves around being a cunt, Thu 28 Feb 2008, 13:40, 3 replies)