Not a funny answer
My grandmother's, as in between the time we'd called to say we were picking her up to go out to lunch and the time we arrived, she'd had a stroke and died.

She helped my mother raise me after my parents divorced. I had to call my mother at work and get her to leave and come to the hospital without telling her exactly what had happened.

I felt like part of my heart had died, too. I still do.
(louveciennes , Volvospotter, Thu 28 Feb 2008, 19:25, Reply)

Just the one
I've posted about this before and I'm going to post about it again - well, not exactly about this, but the gist is the same.

The only body I've seen was my Dad's. Twice. And both times are embedded in my head and I see them occasionally as if they were yesterday - some times clearer than others.

He died very suddenly of a heart attack - he was 44. My priest took me and my sister to Grantham hospital to see him - I didn't want to go, but he made us. I went into the chapel of rest and saw him there, I can't remember seeing his face that time, but it was him. I don't remember crying. I don't remember much about it and it's something that makes me cold even now. I remember bits, but it was seeing him in his coffin that I remember.

He was in his coffin at the funeral home, I think, and I saw his face. It wasn't him - he wasn't my Dad any more. He was thin and empty and grey. Not the colourful, warm and full of life Dad I knew.

I won't go into the funeral, it's something I keep to myself. And my shrink, of course.

The worse thing about this was that my Aunt took a photo - I don't know why, but she did - she'd done it for my Mum, no idea why. She'd written a note on it saying "To help you remember what he looks like".

I can still see that photo in my mind's eye - I hate it, I wish I hadn't seen it. That body in the coffin was my Dad's, but it wasn't my Dad. He lives on in me and my son (who's middle name is my Dad's) - he lives in my memories and my heart and I miss him.

I miss him especially at this time of year as it would have been about 16 years ago when I was getting ready to go back to boarding school. And on Tuesday, it will be 16 years to the day that he had his heart attack and was taken from me.
(james_tiger_woods is going to start his killing spree on the, Thu 28 Feb 2008, 19:21, 1 reply)

Bindun?
Me and my mate Richard work for an insurance company. One day, while working on the weekend, we found some odd numbers in several insurance payouts. We discovered that these numbers meant that someone was stealing millons from the company.

We thought that knowledge of these numbers were a chance for us to makes gains within the company. We soon told the boss - Bernie - who, unbeknownst to us, was the one scamming the money from the company.

Bernie told us that we could join him at his beachfront house the very next weekend, and we thought he was thanking us for finding out about the money.

Once we arrived at Bernies beach home, we realised that we were going to have the best weekend of our young lives. But there was only one catch. Bernie wanted us dead for finding out his scam.

Things did not go according to plan. Bernie was killed first, and so me and Rich, too scared to call the police, went around with Bernie's rotting corpse all weekend and pretended that he was still alive and well.

Hilarity ensued…

…

What?
( Pooflake braces for an onslaught..., Thu 28 Feb 2008, 19:17, 2 replies)

Well
I've seen a few actually. Too many for my liking.

First one was at 8 years old when my grandad died, then I saw (what was left) of a man that had been hit by a lorry when I was 10, then my other grandad died while I was sitting by him when I was 12, I found a dead person in a lake whilst on a family trip at the age of 13 and about 5 months ago me and some friends found someone that had slit their wrists in the middle of some woodland by my home.

Not exactly had the best of luck when it comes to seeing dead people so far. I never felt upset or traumatised really. My reaction with most of these was basically "oh...a dead person."
(TheVelvetKevorkian Sex, drugs and sausage rolls!, Thu 28 Feb 2008, 19:10, 2 replies)

Giving in to the inevitable
Well I've read most of the stories and to be honest I feel pretty sad. I posted something earlier on today - deciding that I would skate over the major dead body story I have in my past. Fear I suppose. It's weird actually because this week has been all about suicide for me. Before anyone panics and thinks that an EMO has infiltrated us, or that I'm considering the Great Final Fuck You; all I mean is that the book I'm reading is suddenly about suicide. I sat down and watched “The Number 23” on Sky the other night (without a clue as to it’s content, lots of suicide for those who’ve not seen the film - to those who have seen the film, please accept my commiserations - there’s 2 hours I’m never getting back either) I seem to switch on the TV and there always seems to be someone talking about Bridgend, and now I’m reading QOTW and the suicides mount up to pile of poor dead people.

I’m wondering whether someone is trying to tell me something.

That someone being my Dad. A few years ago, my Dad became quite horribly depressed. It was sudden and brutal. One minute it was Christmas and we were all having a great laugh, the next it was February and suddenly my Dad couldn’t go to work anymore. He’d been ill before, but nothing like this. I’d call him in the morning and ask him to come over, just to get him out of the house. I had one small child in school, one in nursery. I’d split up with my husband in the June, and my house got a repossession order in January. I was frazzled. I listened to my Dad, but he couldn’t hear my crappy cliches about “It could be worse, at least the kids are ok“ etc etc. I just sort of watched him decline, unable to help as I think I was probably going slightly off the rails myself at the time.

Anyway. A week before my birthday, I went to see my parents. My Mum was absolutely exhausted. It’s very tiring living with a clinically depressed person. He came downstairs and said, shaking his head “My_Cat, I’m bad, I feel really bad”, I said “Sort yourself out Dad, just sort it, OK?”*. The next day he was due to go into hospital for a psychiatric evaluation; he hung himself. He used belts and did it from the banister of the stairs he used to give me a “firemans’ lift” to bed on. My mum found him, cut him down with super human strength and went screaming into the street. The HORROR.

I got the call and went into absolute shock. When I arrived at my parents’ house there was an ambulance outside and 2 police cars. It was surreal. I felt very calm. I walked up to my door. The door I’ve always considered home, despite the fact that I hadn’t lived there in years was open and I saw a foot. My poor Dad’s dead foot. The Police who were inside suddenly appeared and herded me next door before I could see anymore.

Yuck, I wondered if telling this might make me feel better, but I don’t. Maybe because *last words I ever spoke to him

Anyway, I was angry for AGES. I couldn’t believe that he could have been so selfish. I’ve come to some kind of acceptance now, he was ill - if cancer had taken him away it would have a different, but I often find myself having to lie about his death. People are so uncomfortable with mental illness, it’s easier to just say “Oh yes he died unexpectedly” and if questioned further I tend to say “It was a tragic accident” and leave it at that. A haughty eyebrow usually stops the nosy. Maybe I’ll always be a bit angry, but that’s OK too.

Oh and we all live in the same house now by the way, me my kids and my mum. It’s still our home and the tragedy that happened here will not win.

EDIT: I mean the suicide of my dad will not win - we are happy here all of us together. It's been quite a number of years.
( my_cat_has_no_shoes meh meh meh MEH MEH, Thu 28 Feb 2008, 19:06, Reply)

Probably more than the average serial killer
So, this long term lurker has been seduced out of lurkerage for this weeks QOTW, because I have indeed seen dead bodies. Many of them. I inexpertly slice them up on a weekly basis.

For the record, let me first say that the majority of stories about med students and dissection cadavers are false, or at least very very outdated.
No student in their right mind is going to remove any bit of human tissue from the lab for the purpose of amusing japery, simply because if you get caught, you don't just get kicked out of med school, you also get prosecuted under the EU Human Tissue Thingummy. Presumably you then go to jail and get arseraped by a large man called Bazzer.

For those of you who have never known the wrong and strange pleasure of detatching connective tissue from the underside of a rib cage using one's fingers (it makes a slight tearing sound) or who have never smelt formalin at nine in the morning while still slightly drunk from the night before, I present: The Wisdom of The Dissection Room

1- You look like food.
Muscles, slightly inexpertly cut away, look like bits of tuna. The inside of the chest cavity smells oddly of lamb, possibly lamb with a formaldehyde sauce. There are entire societies of med students, usually rugby players, who are based chiefly upon the concept that eating a steak after dissection is manly and hard. At least we're not as bad as vet students. When they have fresh (non-embalmed) dissections of cows and the like, apparently loads of them nick off with the meat. One way of acquiring supper, I suppose.

2. Formalin (the main embalming fluid) does not smell good. It does not smell good in the dissecting room. It does not smell good on the crowded tube home. It does not smell good after you've showered for half an hour and used an entire bottle of Satsuma Bodywash in a vain attempt to rid yourself of the odour before your first date with an extremely hot anthropology second year, who will sniff the air at intervals throughout the evening with a puzzled and slightly revolted look.

3. Lungs can explode.
When removing the top of the rib cage, if it really isn't coming off, there's a possibility that your cadaver might be a wee bit abnormal. Giving it "a good yank" is not an approved dissection technique and may result in fragments of the severely adhesioned lung separating abruptly from the main section and landing in your hair.

4. Everything inside you looks exactly like every thing else.
Not quite, but nearly. If it's yellow and slightly hard it's adipose tissue (fat). If it's reddish pink and striated it's probably muscle. If it's red and squishy, it could be anything. If it's red and stringy, it's definitly a vein or a nerve. Or an arteriole. Or a ligament. Or just a strand of muscle. Something like that.

5. Cutting up dead people is really boring.
Yeah, it really is. You'd think it would feel all taboo and forbidden, especially with the catholic church forbidding it for like a bajillion years, but in fact it's kind of dull. It turns out that people are in fact more interesting alive, even old people.

6. If you accidently cut off the umbilicus (belly button) of your cadavar, and you really weren't meant to, and it needs to be attatched so you can use it to reference the location of everything else you see.... just live with the fact that you screwed up. DO NOT TRY TO REATTATCH SAID UMBILICUS WITH GLUE. This is important. You will only make everything worse.

God, I wish someone had told me that before I started med school.
(yes_slash_no, Thu 28 Feb 2008, 19:05, 2 replies)

MIND THE GAP! STAND CLEAR OF THE DOORS PLEASE!
First time. Be gentle with me..

As a former soldier I've seen quite a few dead bodies and even caused one. Never really gave me any problems, but my favourite was a couple of years after I left the Army.

About six or seven years ago I was on the last 'vomit-comet' Central Line service out of London Liverpool St to Epping at around midnight on a Friday Night.

The train suddenly stopped on the over-ground section between Leyton and Theydon Bois and the driver announced over the tannoy:

"Would anyone with any medical experience at all, please make their way to the front of the train"

Being a bit boozed (And not a bit curious, mind) I figured that the pre-Northern Ireland Combat Medic's course that I'd taken in early 1992 qualified me for a butchers, so I strode manfully down to the front.

Two other people joined me, an off-duty copper who'd also had a few and a female neuro-surgeon from Barts. The driver opened the cabin and was as white as a sheet.

"I've just hit someone on the track"

We three newly assembled muskateers looked at each other with a look of shock and I'll be honest, I thought the bloke had made a mistake and that he'd probably hit a deer or something.

Anyway, he'd radioed through and after what seemed like an eternity, got a response back that the section of track had been de-electrified and that we could get out and have a look.

I was actually rather excited - To give London Underground their credit (for once), the driver had an emergency box that contained Hi-Vis jackets and torches and the like and we de-bussed and went walking down the track.

After about three hundred metres, the copper shone his torch on what looked like a slumped youth, so we ran over to see if he was OK.

He clearly wasn't. He was missing the left hand side of his torso, his left arm and his head. It was horrible. A real mess.

The copper, like myself, looked a bit green, so I turned to the neuro-surgeon and said without thinking "Hasn't left you and awful lot to work with, has it?" The copper grinned, but she just looked at me with utter contempt, as did the now vomiting tube driver.

Police found the rest of the body the following morning some 300m away down the sidings. Head, baseball cap, left arm, watch and hand still containing spray can.

At the post-mortem hearing a Snaresbrook Magistrates Court which I attended some six months later. it turned out he'd been 'Tagging' parked trains wearing headphones and didn't hear the tube that killed him.

The great thing was, that when I gave evidence I had to repeat the line in court in front of the victim's family...

The look of contempt was back.

Don't play on the railway, children and don't expect an ex-squaddie to have any sympathy for chav vandals.....

When I relayed the story to an army mate a few months later, the FIRST thing out of his mouth was "You didn't nick the watch, then?"

Length? About a quarter of a mile of de-activated track...
(Knackercracker, Thu 28 Feb 2008, 19:05, 2 replies)

Yep
Seen a body being fished out of the river Medway, and someone jump off the top of a Castle headfirst. Hilarious.
(Jimmy Large Is huffing Jenkem on, Thu 28 Feb 2008, 19:04, Reply)

Please, please, please, please, please ad infinitem (a bit of latin for the smart alecs)
Can the next qotw be silly and puerile.

All this qotw is doing is making me think of my brother I lost when I was 5. No, I didn't see him dead but I remember him just before he was in the road being knocked down.
( girlinthehole, Thu 28 Feb 2008, 18:58, 5 replies)

Does 'Over Her Dead Body' Count?...

Cos I've seen that...and by Jingo's ringiece it's a shit film

...and I would like to poke it with a stick.

\coat
( Pooflake braces for an onslaught..., Thu 28 Feb 2008, 18:58, 2 replies)

My Mum
Last week, she passed away quite peacefully after a very brief stay in hospital. It was inevitable and I guess we were all preparing ourselves for when it happened. I am nearly 50 years old and had never seen a dead body until last week. It is like everyone says, it doesnt look real, it looks like a wax shell void of spirit or soul. I was relieved that she didn't have to suffer a long and drawnout end being pumped full of drugs and chemotherapy.

Bless you mum
(lordy lordy, Thu 28 Feb 2008, 18:38, 2 replies)

Horizontal parcels.
My wife works in a nursing home, and one night while I was waiting to collect her, the undertaker's van arrived.

As the paperwork involved with a death is involved, I assumed that beloved wouldn't be out for a bit. Indeed, the deceased appeared before she did, in the form of a long plastic parcel on a coffin trolley.

My daughter, 2 and a half, was in the back. She pointed at the trolley and said:

"Poorly?"

"No dear, dead."

"Proper poorly!".
(all my scars face forward possesses 2.5% of a hyperalloy combat chassis, Thu 28 Feb 2008, 18:36, 4 replies)

Oh yes indeed I have.
But I'm sorry to say there's no hummus here.

When I was about 7 or so and not living in the UK, my ex-stepmother was working for some Baptist magazine, (I know - I was surprised too). This fact, which may seem apropos of nothing, is important.

One day, she announced that a friend of hers had been killed in an accident, had to be identified, and that we were going to have to go to the morgue to do it. My young mind lacked the critical faculties to ask questions like, "Why aren't her parents doing this?" and "Why are you taking ME along?" I simply trusted.

We got there and were led through to an area where there were some half a dozen bodies on gurneys, more or less covered by sheets. I stayed here with an attendant while stepmother went to identify her friend behind closed doors. I looked around. The one memory that sticks in my head was of a man's arm, uncovered. It looked like a subway map picked out in purple on pale cream. Some of the underside from elbow to wrist was a deep crimson.

Shortly after, she came back and was quite composed. She talked to me about the experience at some length in the car on the way home. What did I see? How did I feel? Was I upset by the dead people? What did I think about being dead?

Some weeks later, it was revealed to me (by her lunatic mother) that she had been researching an article. An article on how children react to death.

There *was* no friend in an accident. She'd used me as her test subject. Looking back on it, I suspect that the 'attendant' may well have worked there, but he was certainly in on the deal.

For the record, I was apparently quite unaffected by it and have no desire as an adult to sleep in a coffin or put very pale makeup on. No, she screwed me up in a hundred other ways that took me to my mid-twenties to sort out.

Oh - and I watched my wife die some years ago. I have to say that sucked pretty badly. Took her about ten minutes after the doctors ceased resus, (though it felt like a year). Half an hour or so after that, her skin looked alot like the guy I mentioned above. Though not as hairy, clearly.
(Guizmeaux, Thu 28 Feb 2008, 18:35, Reply)

Skydiver
as a skydiver and base jumper you kind of get used to people dying, sometimes you hear about it or you're standing there watching it.

Imagine, stood on a drop zone watching people land their parachutes only to have someone hit the floor about 8ft in front of you without a chute....

It's not like the movies show, not at all. There was a thump (made me jump) and then there was a body in front of me dead. I was the first there, there was nothing that could be done..

It's not the first in this life for me, and it sure as hell won't be the last
(beardybeardbeard, Thu 28 Feb 2008, 18:25, 5 replies)

My Sister
My Sister Lisa passed away after a brief fight with breast cancer. It was horrible. But my entire family was in her room when she took her last breath. Literally. All of us. 3 remaining Sisters, 2 Brothers, Mom and Dad, 3 Brother in Laws, 7 Nieces and 2 Nephews and her Boyfriend.

The Nurses joined us as well.

She passed so peacefully after such a horrific fight, but it was absolutely horrible for the rest of us.

Anyway, I stayed, sat in her room, waiting for them to come take her away while the rest of the family retired to my Parents house to grieve and, well, grieve. So I sat there with her, by her bed and ocasionally the Nurses would come in and hug me and tell me how much they liked my Sister, etc.

So the next day, we go to the funeral home to make the final arrangements for her viewing and funeral and the funeral director takes me aside and says "Did your Sister have yellow roses in her room when she died?" And I said "yes" unsure as to why she would ask that. Apparently, the Nurses on that floor, touched by my family being so grieved and also having gotten to know my Sister (not the sick one they saw in the bed) from hearing all our stories about her, had taken a single yellow rose and placed it in her hands before they moved her to the morgue.

We still have that rose at my Parents house.

There is not a single day I dont think of her and not a day goes by that I dont miss her.
( Citadel Because the world needs less morons, Thu 28 Feb 2008, 18:22, 2 replies)

Mouth to mouth
Some years ago I shared a flat in north London with a friend. In the ground floor flat of the building there lived an old woman. She was quite big and scary and had hairs growing above her top lip, as many old women do.

So one day, friend and I heard a knock on the door to our flat. Answering we discovered it was a young friend of the old woman in a distressed state. She said her friend had collapsed and took us downstairs.

The old woman was lying face down on the sofa with her head stuck down the side. We moved her to the floor and tried to work out whether she was alive. She wasn't breathing and we couldn't find a pulse. We immediately called the emergency services and tried to perform CPR. I did the chest compressions while my mate reluctantly gave mouth to mouth.

Our efforts were wasted and the ambulance crew confirmed what we already knew.

As things were being sorted out by the professionals, we took the old woman's young friend up to our flat for a cup of tea and a chat about the deceased...

...the old woman obviously hadn't always been old, or as it turned out, hadn't always been a woman. She had been a male officer in the Army, and had decided to have a sex change late in life.

My friend, having performed the mouth duties, was more disturbed by this than I was - and maintains that next time (next time?), I'll have to do it.

As a final note, beware of rose thorns - she had pricked her (his?) finger the week before and it had gone septic, ultimately causing heart failure. A sad end to what was a remarkable life.
(hawkblaster, Thu 28 Feb 2008, 18:10, Reply)

I have
And you know, as much as I'd like to share the story, I JUST caught a news story that Prince Harry is actually IN Afghanistan. You know what? I think that is AWESOME! When they announced that the Blues would be deploying without him, I thought: I bet you he WILL be joining them. And I was right.

OUTSTANDING Prince Harry! Well done!
( Citadel Because the world needs less morons, Thu 28 Feb 2008, 17:54, 7 replies)

selfish bugger!
when my cousin was very young, she lived next to a high rise block.
on her 7th birthday, i was helping out as she and her little friends were playing outside. it was my job to look after them whilst my aunt was arranging party games. all was going well, their happy little faces showing just how much fun they were having.
suddenly, we heard a strange sound from above. it was kind of a "wuuaarrrghhh!" sound. it was, however, a very brief sound, as it was being made by the drugged-up idiot who had just jumped out of the 13th floor window of the high rise next to us. we all saw this guy fall, we all saw him land not 10 feet away, we all heard the sound his body made as it hit the floor. i will never forget that sound. two of the girls were spattered with his blood.
imagine, trying to control and comfort 15 crying, terrified, traumatised little girls, all whilst attempting not to lose it yourself. trust me, it's hard. i managed to get them all back inside and called the police, before calling the girls' parents to come and collect them.
what does my aunt say about all this? "how selfish! doing something so stupid right in the middle of sarah's party!"
i'd like to say that this was the shock talking, but it wasn't. she truly is a fucknut.

on a slightly lighter note, i was babysitting the same cousin a few weeks later and, as my aunt was very late, i'd decided to sleep on the couch. my cousin brought in a duvet and, as i laid it on the couch, she said "that's the one mum put over the dead man."

needless to say, i left as soon as my aunt got home.
( Smash Monkey lowering the tone of the whole internet, Thu 28 Feb 2008, 17:49, 4 replies)

While you still can.
After reading conanow and Agnostic Antichrist's stories, I'm going to be calling my mother tonight to catch up.

Anyone else who still can, should.
(Musuko, Thu 28 Feb 2008, 17:43, 1 reply)

Smell of Death
I used to be a general beat reporter for daily newspaper in Pittsburgh. We heard on the police scanner that there was a potential stand-off in one of the residential neighborhoods, so I sped off to the scene to cover it.

When I arrived, police had the perimeter of the building secured for about a 20 yards, but we were still close enough to see all access points and windows, etc.

As it turns out, the guy was preparing to kill as many people as he could - had bullets and weapons all over his apartment. Instead, he barricaded himself inside and blew his head off...several months prior.

Since he was divorced and a bad employee, no one missed him.

The funny part of the story is that this was in August and Pittsburgh summers can get pretty balmy. He naturally began to stink as he rotted. The landlords of the building couldn't figure out where the smell was coming from and started plugging air fresheners into every open outlet.

I interviewed them afterwards and the smell got so bad that they went through the trouble of emptying the refrigerator of one little old lady that they suspected of being senile, assuming she had a frige full of stale food. (Apparently, they had to do this task once before for her...)

From our vantage point, once his apartment was opened, we could smell him clear out in the parking lot. In fact, I took a walk around the block to the other side of the apartment complex and you could smell him everywhere...

Anyways, the deceased was completely liquified and more fit for a pitcher than a body bag. The coroner's assistant said that when they get this bad, you need to pry them off the floor with a spatula.

And that's me tale.
(DeSade - is grannyfappin, Thu 28 Feb 2008, 17:42, Reply)

Seriously,
Why arent more medical students posting on here? The fact is that every week i get to poke and prod around full dead bodies, or whatever bits we've cut off from them... I mean if you need to study an arm why waste your time with the body?
(Golden_guns247, Thu 28 Feb 2008, 17:41, 1 reply)

Undertakers
are disqualified
( MisterPunch did it that way on, Thu 28 Feb 2008, 17:38, 1 reply)

Well a sobering one this week isn't it.
My uncle Alf was a frail, quiet sort, with those thick rimmed glasses of the time, that reminded me of Ronnie Kray. He led a quiet, average, happy life, and died of something quick and natural. We wern't close, but I always remember him being a smiling decent adult in my younger years. It was my mother that asked my sister and I if we wanted to see him in the chapel of rest. We went along, and walked round his coffin in this hushed side room in East Croydon. I had to be around nine or ten, and due to my shortness I was only just taller than eye level to the coffin. I didn't recognise my uncle as he obviously wasn't wearing his thick glasses, just looked like a thin faced old man in a deep sleep, two thin threads of saliva connecting his top lip to his bottom. All throughout I felt the heat of my mothers gaze watching me to see if I lost it, I think she was in two minds if it was the right thing to do by letting me in there. My lack of reaction was as intriguing then as it is to this day. Would I demonstrate the same free will if I had children? I can't say,though I turned out fairly balanced.

Perhaps the episode was overshadowed by the ugly aftermath I witnessed as the relatives gathered like impatient vultures over his estate. Relatives whom I had only ever known as warm, nurturing sorts in my childhood transformed into greedy, tearful, unreasonable spite-merchants as they turned on each other. My mother being executor to the will as well as being a legal-heavyweight was forced to be referee and go between. Even my Uncles old next door neighbours wanted a slice. They dug up the flagstones on his patio to compliment their own, till they were sued to shame by the aforementioned.


No jokes for length, and apologies for lack of laughs, will try and apply myself next week.
(Eeeza bit Tidy A blink, a pause, a blush and then I knew., Thu 28 Feb 2008, 17:37, Reply)

YES!
A semi amusing one.... and semi tenuous, as it wasn't me.

A few years back, about 6 months before the missus upped and offed, her great Grandmother passed away. She was a lovely wee woman who had reached a grand old age, and the ex was quite upset as, though well hidden, she is actually human, but I digress. The day of the funeral arrived and I went along.

We entered the funeral home where the service was to take place, and presently one of the staff arrived and asked if anyone of the immediate family would like to view the deceased. The ex, her sister and their mum all decided they would like to pay their last respects, but being that I hadn't really known the lady and I wasn't needed for emotional support, I decided it was best not to go in (even though I reeeeeeeally wanted to, honest). I wandered off a way and waited for her to re-emerge, expecting her to be a bit teary and emotional. I prepared my best cuddle and waited.

They emerged a few minutes later, and (I may have mentioned this before) my ex is not known for her quiet demeanour or tact. Instead of being dignified and emotional, she burst from the room proclaiming "That's no' ma gran!"

Everyone in earshot (which for her is a considerable distance) gave a confused stare..... of course, what she meant was that the clothes and make up they had used made her Gran look different to how she remembered her, but for a good 10 seconds, I and probably a good few other people there fully expected an Ealing style "It's the wrong body!" farce to break out. I fully imagined Terry Thomas bursting from one of the offices and careering across the entranceway wrestling to keep an old ladies cadaver from falling over.

I think I almost managed to keep the resulting sniggering quite brief, but I'm sure I wasn't the only one imagining it.

My best cuddle was duly delivered and I never told her how she almost cracked me up at her great grans funeral. Probably for the best, mind.
( baw__bag contains traces of nuts on, Thu 28 Feb 2008, 17:36, Reply)

DLR
A friend of mine once arrived at a party having been delayed when some poor fucker tripped and fell off the platform just in time to be beheaded by the DLR train pulling in. She had actually witnessed this and was rather distressed.

Frankly we were surprised the DLR had managed the job, being the rail equivalent of a reliant robin. Bloke must have had a pretty thin neck. I was on a DLR train that got derailed once when driven manually over points that were set the wrong way and it just went CLUNK and stopped suddenly. Least impressive de-railing ever!
( wangmaster2000, Thu 28 Feb 2008, 17:29, 1 reply)

I saw my grandad's corpse when I was about nine.
It was in the hospital mortuary. I'd been given the option to go. I didn't have to but I wanted to go and see him. I had come to terms with the fact that everyone dies at some point when I was about seven.

He'd been suffering with cancer but it was kidney failure that finished him off. He was yellow and some a couple of his fingers were purply-blue from where he'd had drips in. He looked exactly how I remember him, only yellower, obviously.

It didn't scare me. It really didn't. I don't know what I'd been expecting. I'd been more scared before I'd actually gone in to see him but when I saw him, I was okay. It's weird and I can't quite explain it.

Death is a part of life. Having nearly died when I was three from meningitis (I'd had the last rites), I'd sort of always had some sort of interest in death (LOLOLOLGOTH).

I realise this isn't particularly interesting or funny but there we are. Sometimes death just isn't funny.
( Blue Star was working part time at the 5 and Dime, Thu 28 Feb 2008, 17:25, 1 reply)

Not a whole one
I was about 14 I suppose, and I was woken in the night by my mum, who came into my room and said "There's been an accident in the street outside, there are police everywhere." Looking past her, I could see that the front of the house was completely bathed in flickering blue light. However, the thought of going to watch an accident in progress didn't appeal, and I went back to bed and to an uneasy sleep.

The next morning, I found out some of the details of the crash - a car had been reversing out of the drive opposite, sideways on to the road so its lights weren't visible. A motorcyclist had hit it doing 40. Both drivers were fine, but the motorcyclist's passenger had been killed. My mum pointed out that the passenger had only been wearing casual clothes and trainers instead of bike leathers and boots, trying to drive home the importance of wearing protective gear. Little did she or I know how much of a lesson I'd be getting later that day...

...so later that day, after school, I was delivering the free local paper. I'd finished my round and was making my way back up the road. There was still some minor debris from the accident scattered about - a few scraps of police tape, a bit of a broken indicator light, that sort of thing. Then I kicked something with my foot. It rolled a bit. I looked down.

It was a toe. Unprotected by his flimsy trainers, somehow the accident had severed one of the dead man's toes. In the dark, the police and ambulance crews had missed it. Now I'd found it. I think it was a middle toe. It still had little hairs and a nail on it.

I don't think I was sick, but it made me feel very nauseous. I went inside and told my parents, we decided to call the police and let them deal with it. My dad went outside and collected it in a plastic bag, and a copper showed up some time later to take it away. My dad cracked a joke about how they didn't have anything to tie the label onto at the morgue, or something to that effect. I was just so relieved that this gruesome object that had found its way into my life was gone again.
( emvee cruor deo cruoris, Thu 28 Feb 2008, 17:25, Reply)

I dont know what it is about the peak district
but when walking there I came across several corpses
( willenium Fist bump for verification, Thu 28 Feb 2008, 17:23, Reply)

After my wife died...
..the sex wasn't much different but the dishes and laundry piled up.

Sorry, it all got very serious on this topic so a cheap joke was needed.
( sneep used to date Freddie Starr's hamster, Thu 28 Feb 2008, 17:21, 1 reply)