Not me, but my dad...
My father's family used to live on Mission beach in California. On night some guy put on his best all-white suit and ended it all by jumping off the pier a mile down the beach.

Now, my father was 4 years old at the time, and he liked to wake up at the asscrack of dawn every morning to go play on the beach. Guess what he found on the beach that next morning! Guess!

Sure enough, the body had washed up right in front of the house. My dad says that as soon as he saw it he knew what it was, and knew better than to go anywhere near it. Instead he went home and woke up his parents, then spent a while convincing them that there was a body outside. ("Sure there's a dead guy on the beach, Bob. Go to sleep.")

55 years later, he doesn't seem all that bothered by it. The ones that really bother him are car accidents, having had a few damn close calls himself. The worst he ever saw was on a foggy day - a car with four people in it that had been crushed to a meter long.

He also used to work construction in Mexico and likes talking about the black cows. Apparently there were plenty of fatalities from people speeding at night and running straight into the black cows on the road. Never saw them coming.
(Exempt OH WOW, VICODIN, Sun 2 Mar 2008, 4:51, Reply)