I saw my grandard dead..
..lying on the road. I still cry with sadness when I remember his last words which were..."What fucking bus?"
( sneep used to date Freddie Starr's hamster, Mon 3 Mar 2008, 10:07, Reply)

"Ouais, il a l'air mort quoi"
I’ve known my mate C. for years, we met in our first year at university. At the time we met he had very little contact with his old man, due to the fact the his parents divorced when he was 8 or so, ‘cos his mum considered catching the dad coming out of a cinema with his latest mistress to be somewhat of a last straw. So they moved far away soon after the divorce, and C. had a very strained relation with his father after that.

But a couple of years after I met C. at university, he started to get back in touch with his old man, meeting up now and again for extended boozy meals, and they started to put the past behind them, even though the family on his mothers side didn’t quite like the idea, seeing as they’d spent the past 20-odd years putting him down and stuff.
So things were looking up.

One day C.’s old man gets this weird pain in his back, so he goes for tests. Long story short he’s got lung cancer, a massive tumour, not long to live, a couple of months at most. So C. gets to see his old man fade away after only having started to have a real father-son relationship.

Cut to the funeral about six months later. For some reason they decide to have an open casket. All of C.’s family turn up, including the people who would never have given the old man the time of day, never checked in on him while he was in hospital, and weren’t very supportive during the whole time.
So the funeral goes ahead as funerals do, and at the end they all line up to pay their respects to the deceased, and then on to C. who’s sort of waiting at the end, trying to put on a brave face of whatever, just about holding it together.
I know they were basically there to support C., but after a while of hearing what he considered at the time to be a bunch of hypocrites trying their hardest to convey in his mind to be a whole load of bollocks, he snapped.

After hearing for the umpteenth time one of these people come up to him and go “He looks peaceful”, “He looks serene”, “He looks…”, C. goes “…yeah, he looks dead”.

Now, maybe in writing this doesn’t quite sound that amusing, and I am translating the exchange from it’s original French, but when C. told me the story a couple of days later, it was hysterical, but in a kind of bittersweet, happy-sad-tears-of-joy-and-pain way.
And it helped, bizarrely.
(Alaning, Mon 3 Mar 2008, 9:54, Reply)

i agree with whoever was below me
i spend all day on b3ta at work cos otherwise id die of boredom and im finding this quite morbid.... congrats to those of you who make it funny, i.e the doll in the red cross van. But id like some kittens now please. yes lots and lots off little fluffeh kittehs.
(Serbitar Has a furry shit canon called Whitey., Mon 3 Mar 2008, 9:42, Reply)

Cheer up you lot!

QOTWs are what you make of them.

It's pretty obvious which of these answers will be painful/morbid/sick/funny so just pick and choose which ones you read and stop moaning!
( Naked Ape call me Caitlyn, Mon 3 Mar 2008, 9:41, Reply)

well charming!!!
I don't know! a bloke gets back to the old country for the first time in months, logs on and the QOTW is about dead bodies!!!
I've been in an Afghan shite hole for the last 6 months so what do you think?
yes seen quite a few in various states of decay and decomposition, worst thing is the smell, especially if you pop one that's been sat out for a while in the sun. the Stink of corpse gas lingers on for days.

QOTW: relevance? - high
sensitivity? - on a par with a Bridgend rope salesman
(The kneeling rifleman Is slowly getting there.., Mon 3 Mar 2008, 9:11, 2 replies)

Well I thought I had.....for a moment - fun
Walking home from work just two weeks ago when this happened and it freaked me out.

I was waiting to cross the road at a cross roads, a Toyota Land cruiser with ‘Red Cross’ markings was waiting to turn right.
When it did so it pulled away at a fair rate which caused the tailgate to open up and a trolley roll out of the back with a body under a blanket. It crashed onto the road where it’s occupant span off into the gutter narrowly avoiding the cars traveling behind.

I stood there like a twat, thinking now what shall I do and basically feeling quite sick and in the 10 seconds of my indecision realised that the supposed body was in fact a CPR dummy!

Major relief all round, particularly for the drivers of the vehicles behind.

Luckily no one was killed but as a foot note, if you ever get picked up by a Red Cross ambulance make sure they shut the back door properly!
(Podboy, Mon 3 Mar 2008, 6:06, Reply)

Where to start...?
Back in 1988 when I emigrated to Australia, I found a guy who had committed suicide by hanging (near the Fourex brewery in Milton for any Aussie b3tans).
I've always had a cool head and stayed with the body until the police came. What suprised me was that the police were really sqeamish and didn't handle things as well as I thought they would.

This event was what made me decide to become a paramedic, a job which I really enjoy. I've seen many dead bodies - suicides, traffic accidents, burns victims, bizarre trauma, murders, decapitations and the more routine deaths of the elderly.
You learn to generally deal with things okay (despite being constantly reminded of your own mortality) however, there is nothing - but nothing - that will screw with your head more than seeing a child or infant die.

Seeing dead people doesn't always bother me.
And it bothers me that it doesn't bother me.
(emadex thinks the world will end on, Mon 3 Mar 2008, 5:28, Reply)

Yeah sod this!
This qotw sucks. This is my fluffy refuge from the ravages of work, not some sort of necrophiliac masturbation fantasy...

bring back the kittins, FTW!
(pizzaforcat ate some cement and HARDENED the FUCK UP on, Mon 3 Mar 2008, 5:19, Reply)

Nope
No, I haven't. I don't want to.

Reading replies made me cry. I'm a 21 year old male thats perfectly in control over his emotions. I come here to be entertained. After reading about 4 pages, I got in bed, snuggled Mrs Knifeh and woke her up to tell her I love her.

Dwelling on death was done in the dark ages. As a race, I think we've progressed past morbid stories of destruction and doom.

Please B3ta, stop this.

Next weeks QOTW better fucking be about puppies or kittens on about how many beans B3tans can eat in a minute.

Knifeh health update too, for those still tracking from the last posts. Current status, 3 abcesses and 3 teeth that need removed. There is no god. I would have shot myself for saying that 5 years ago >.<

Fuck you length.
(knifeh and Mrs Knifeh discovered radioactive bacon!, Mon 3 Mar 2008, 5:11, 1 reply)

Mate Of Mine
Was walking home from the pub one night when he found a girl tied up on the railway line. So he untied her.

"I fucked her every way I could think of" he said "It was magic"


"Did you get a blowjob" I enquired.

"Nah" he said "I never did find the head..."


Cheers

I know it's old but I'm bored and decided some levity was needed
( Legless Mister Stabby - shanks for the memory, Mon 3 Mar 2008, 4:51, 2 replies)

Death-rattle
It was two or three in the morning. About ten years ago. A quiet night in spring or early summer as the windows were open. Suddenly a loud thud was heard. I looked out of the window. The street is pretty narrow. A body was lying on the opposite side. A young man. No shoes …
I watched the scene from the second floor. All by myself in the apartment. A stupid situation. Could not call friends so late at night.
He might have been attacked and robbed, I thought. But did not remember hearing any steps. The body was right under the second and third floor windows of the building on the opposite side of the street. Could he have jumped from one of those dark windows?
My hands trembling, I decided to call the police. Did not tell them my name. I had to go to work in the morning.
Panic started overwhelming me. They could search all the apartments in the possible line/direction of the jump. It even occurred to me that my boy-friend’s shoes were somewhere around. He was doing his Army service at the time. So who would believe they belonged to him? …I quickly hid them … had another look at the street …and heard a moan.
Obviously a dead-rattle … Horribleee!
The only witness …
Probably some 15 or 20 minutes had passed before the police and an ambulance arrived to the spot. Peeping from behind the curtains I saw a big car with a reflector on its top … they investigated, took photographs … It was impossible to fall asleep.
The next day I heard it was a student who, having messed up a few exams, had thrown himself down … from the building next to mine and actually ‘flew’ diagonally across the street.
It was not the end. I was somehow convinced that his ghost .., or soul …, whatever it is, was haunting the place. The street windows were closed all summer and I aired the rooms from the garden side of the building … just in case ..
(narayamy, Mon 3 Mar 2008, 3:49, Reply)

I used to work in a funeral home.
Strangely enough the owner (obviously he didn't actually work there), was Frankie Howerd.

Many's the time the manager told me he'd unexpectedly gotten a stiff, and told me to get it all fluffed up for people to come and look at.
(apeloverage committed the vile act of onanism on, Mon 3 Mar 2008, 1:14, Reply)

You didn't specify which species so...
I suppose I have seen many many dead bodies, especially working in a supermarket where they are all hacked up and in clingfilm. Some people saying this QOTW is morbid, I say that is.

I never got to see my papa when he popped his clogs, but I've seen a few pets the most notable our rabbit who died 2006. He looked the same except empty, but he was stone cold. I never realised how warm bodies must be before.

I have a strange fascination with cadavers/ghosts/ect, always have. Therefore when I see pics of a dead body I'm more likely to study it intently than flinch away. I've scoured Rotten many a time and am not satisfied.

I would *love* to go to that Bodies exhibition thing and look cose to see how our wonderful bodies work. I'm also very curious about what I'l end up looking like when I'm dead. If I'm dug up, what will the archaeologists see?? I hope I naturally mummify instead of rot... Mummified corspes carry a certain air of mystery about them, as you can see what that person looked like and can wonder about who they were, what their life was like, ect....

Death is what you make of it people.
( vix0r was not Matthew on, Mon 3 Mar 2008, 0:27, 2 replies)

Have I seen a dead body ?
No. Never. Not until I got the interwebnets back in the 90's, then it was wall to wall stiffs. Fuckin thing was infested with 'em and I, like you, couldn't get enough of looking at them.

I've seen deaders in morgues, on battle fields, in bits, impaled on fences and infested with maggots, hoist on their own petards, sad victims and everything in between. And I Still Don't Give A Fuck.

I'm ready for armagiddeon and to fuck with all that Sarah Connor bollocks. Bring on the robots.

Am I desensitised ? No. Probably. I'm fully aware that one day I'll be dead and probably end up as a jpeg on someone's hard drive but you know what ? I don't care. Such is life. Get stuck in, stop being such a softie. Life is for living and death is coming down the track whether you like it or not.

Click I like this or I'll stamp on a kitten. Don't click I like this and I'll stamp on your kitten. If you don't click I'll be in your mourges, pokin your kin with a stik and takin pikturez for your drivez.
(sham-il-eer-tak-tak noes better but still can't give a fuck at, Sun 2 Mar 2008, 23:30, 4 replies)

Am I The Only One...
...whos waiting for the inevitable Madeline McCann jokes?

*pop*
(Golden Harris, Sun 2 Mar 2008, 22:43, 2 replies)

Blue Wings
I will not dwell long on this one, but have a colleague who spent four years working as an orderly attached to the morgue of a large regional hospital.

Apparently, a proud moment in the early career of these orderlies was the completion of a certain induction rite, at which point they were considered to have earned their "blue wings".

I find it amazing and unpleasant that not only did this allegedly happen on a routine basis, but that the guy actually told me about it. Think about that next time one of your relatives pops their clogs at hospital and the unsavoury prospect of an orderly "slipping one past the goalie" to earn his wings.

Very nasty business.
(Mandrill, Sun 2 Mar 2008, 22:33, 3 replies)

I have held
a human heart.

100% Fact.*

* No, really. I have.
( NinjaBadger hides in the bushes and gives you TB., Sun 2 Mar 2008, 22:07, 2 replies)

official morbid question Chill-Out Tent
Click 'I like this' if the question's done your head in, man, and you just want to look at pictures of kittens for a bit.


(apeloverage committed the vile act of onanism on, Sun 2 Mar 2008, 21:00, 18 replies)

Erm - who chose this QOTW?
Okay, I'm a relative noob here in terms of posting; however, I don't think I'm alone in thinking that this is a random and odd QOTW - what sort of responses do we want?

Yes, I've seen a dead body: my grandfather in the funeral home: it wasn't pleasant.

I've not read through this thread fully yet but surely nobody has posted a comment of "yes, I've seen loads: and it was gooooood..."

...role on next weeks QOTW...
(paulplex erm, hi..., Sun 2 Mar 2008, 21:00, Reply)

Granny?
*Warning – may contain humour*


Some years ago when I was still with the ex-Mr Chickenlady his granny died – nice old lady, very much loved by all, well into her 90s when she went – all in all what we expect for a ‘good death’ so tears that she was gone from everyone but no real desperate regret and sadness.


So far so good…..

We all troop off to her funeral – I cry copiously as I do at all funerals (even if I see one on the TV I’ll cry, can’t help myself – in fact I watched a film the other night with Meg Ryan in it – she was her usual perky self until she ended up under a truck – I cried despite thinking it was a fitting end to the twee perky character she played). Went off to the wake – if you can call a few polite cucumber sandwiches and weak tea in the local pub a wake - everyone shared their stories of how lovely she was, what a wonderful gentle and genteel lady she was (she had always had ‘staff’ and in fact would probably have been secretly appalled that we gathered in the pub after her funeral).


Afterwards the ex and I went off up to Scotland to visit my relatives and life returned to normal albeit with a granny-sized hole which took a long while to begin to heal up even if it never actually healed over.


So where’s the dead body?


Well….about six weeks after she died I’d heard the ex’s parents talking about having a little ceremony to scatter the ashes in one of the pastures below the farm where her husband, grandfather, had also been scattered (after his death, obviously).
I’d filed this information away and expected a small gathering of the ex’s family to show up any weekend soon.

The day before an aunt was coming to stay I noticed a small blue velvet case sitting on the side in the farmhouse’s kitchen – it looked quite old and worn, the sort of thing which granny herself might have owned. I ran my finger over it – never have been able to resist velvet.

I’m also rather inquisitive although some describe it as just plain nosey.

I expect you can guess what’s coming…

I’m alone in the kitchen, the ex was out in a tractor, his parents (who lived in the large farmhouse) were both out of the house too. I wondered what was in this precious little blue velvet case. It had a slightly tarnished gold rim to it and my fingers ran along this rim as I fumbled to find the clasp so I could see what it held.

I opened it and looked straight at a fine powder of grey ash.

Granny.

I closed the case and was filled with guilt and a huge dollop of remorse – how could I have intruded upon the family’s grief like this?! Just to satisfy my curiosity – I was ashamed and resolved to keep this particular faux pas of mine entirely to myself.

A day or two later the case still sat in the kitchen, mocking me, pointing out my intrusive need to know every intimate secret that lay around me. Each time I went into the farmhouse for coffee during my break from either paperwork or the odd bit of tractor driving the blue velvet case with its gold tarnished rim stared at me, challenged me.

Eventually I could bear it no longer – the ex had wandered in and he, I and the case were alone in the kitchen – now was my chance to admit to my intrusiveness….

“Erm, you know this little blue case over here, what’s in it?”

“Oh that” replies the ex, “it’s an old handwarmer – you put these little fuel rods in them, light the rods and they burn slowly so just the ash is left.”

So not Granny then.

No.

One of these instead.
( chickenlady b3ta's very own Elizabeth Taylor, Sun 2 Mar 2008, 20:52, 2 replies)

I'm desperate to fit in with you guys.
I saw a picture of a goth once.
(apeloverage committed the vile act of onanism on, Sun 2 Mar 2008, 20:49, Reply)

dead bodies
Having worked in care home for the elderly i saw suprisingly few dead people-most residents passed away during the night when i was tucked up in my own pit,however one old guy i was very fond of was on his way out and i was asked if i wanted to say goodbye to him.
I went in and though he was very ill he raised his head as best he could and knew i was there,about an hour later the manager told me he had passed on and i went in to see him again -he looked greatly at peace.
Seeing a dead person is something no one should have to experience,i also saw my mum laid out in chapel of rest after she had died suddenly
: (
(shug, Sun 2 Mar 2008, 20:48, Reply)

Yes thank you, far too many
having been in the first gulf war,former yugoslavia and ruandan border and others inevitable.
Not funny, not a topic most of the self admiring clever clogs would like to actually experience. they are missing the smell. Old dead bodies after just a few days smell like tramps, sickly sweet but worse than tramps. New dead bodies if recently blown up remind you that our gut contans around 4 pounds of faeces or nearly thus and a load of things that after drinking you know as vomit.

During the iran iraq war there were hours of film of dead bodies sent by satellite from both sides piss poor quality, super8 film to tv but they were dead bodies and the point was? just like the current question on this QOTW
(tootired Is searching for a funny sig, nothing good so far, Sun 2 Mar 2008, 20:15, Reply)

Beign a Newbie type...
I really shouldn't take sides, as to avoid being hated and/or rejected by a number of people on the board.

But

This QOTW is not just suck, it is also sick. I mean, yay, let's drag up people's most saddening/horrific memories and put them on display for all to see. And saying, "well, they have a choice in the matter whether to post their story or not" is invalid - people like feeling part of a group, and if someone has recently lost a close loved one then they will be especially vunerable to this desire or companionship and "I must fit in" mentality.

Wrong. Just wrong.
( Matoosh would rather like a biscuit, Sun 2 Mar 2008, 19:19, 1 reply)

Railway suicide
On the train to work one morning we got delayed for quite some time. The reason for the dekay the driver told us was 'an incident' up ahead. About an hour later as we pulled into the next station down on one of the lines was a blanket with a pair of shoes sticking out from under it.
No prizes for guessing what the incident was then.
(Plumstix has been spying on you since, Sun 2 Mar 2008, 17:14, 1 reply)

Death of a friend
I discovered him, bloated and leaking.

It's one of the sights that I'll have stuck in my mind forever. This is the first and last time I'll talk about it.

**********************************

My friendship with him started like many do: I'd been vaguely aware of his presence. I'm not entirely sure whether he'd noticed me at all, but even if he had to start with I'd have never known: throughout our friendship he'd be the quiet one. Even through hard times when he got angry, it was always me that got to grips with the problem in hand.

Anyway... I first really noticed him when I was about 5 or 6. Thinking back he'd always been around. Our friendship developed slowly though for some reason I thought it should be a secret. We used to meet and play together in the woods but When my parents found out - even though he was my age - they took a dim view, saying that he wasn't a decent playmate. They tried to discourage me from playing with him, but you know what kids are like... my parents never managed to stop us.

As time went on he became more strange. There were times when he'd become stubborn and angry standing up trying to take on the world, then at other times he'd be entirely recalcitrant and I'd hardly hear from him for ages. The real weirdness began when I woke up one morning and found him standing over me, silently staring. It only happened a couple of times before it all came to a head, and I'd simply shut my eyes and tell him to go away. I never dared to tell my parents.

I woke up one night and knew instantly that something was wrong. Feeling a dull weight on me I opened my eyes slowly: expecting to see him stood staring at me, I was shocked to see that he was slumped over me. He looked pale and limp, and he wasn't moving. He was dead. I tried to take hold of the situation, but it was useless. In his final throws, he'd vomited voilently, and it must have been that wetness that had woken me up.

I'm not sure really what had happened but thinking back, his moments of wild rage were clear pointers to the frustration he must have felt. Something had been missing from his life, and he'd chosen to end it.

Looking back I wonder if I'd have been able to revive him with the kiss of life, but I was too young to know that it was even possible.

I Jumped out of bed and in quiet shock surveyed the scene. I looked down at him. He looked strangely peaceful... no sign of the original red-faced silent anger that I had woken to in the past, Just limp, warm to the touch and soaked in his own fluids.

**************

After clearing up the mess I went back to sleep. Wet dreams weren't really such a big deal.
( Humpty Dumpty was Pushed Is unaware of having any limits., Sun 2 Mar 2008, 15:55, 1 reply)

Almost Certainly
I feel a little wrong writing this just after Humpty's post below, which probably raises a good point, but it's Sunday and I'm a little bit hungover and I haven't got anything better to do than relate what is my only story that fits this QOTW, having lead a fairly sheltered existence up till this point.

Allow me first to give you a bit of background. Without it, let's be honest, there really isn't much to this tale.

Most evenings, I get the train back from college. It's rarely that I can't find at least one person I know reasonably well on the train, so this is usually accompanied by a brief chat about whatever takes our fancy as the landscape outside turns slowly from vaguely industrial to the kind of civilized bucolic you get on the South coast.It doesn't take long before we arrive at my stop, on the edge of a small town. I disembark, sometimes accompanied by whoever I was just talking to, should it be that this is also their stop. To be honest, though, even when I really like the person in question, I'm a little resentful of this. The twelve minutes of walk between the station and my house should be sacrosanct. As pleasant as talking to this person might be, I much prefer to spend the time in quiet reflection.

I do really, really love this walk. When not forced to banter with someone, I adopt a stony expression so no passer-by might see fit to try and disturb me in any way, but inside I'm grinning like a wanking chimp. I walk towards a big board covered in some kind of climbing plant that puts out the most beautiful white flowers, cross the road and head down a pavement next to quite a busy road. After about 100 metres, I turn off, and this is where it really gets good.

The road is entirely residential and eventually ends in a cul-de-sac, so only once in a blue moon does a car ever go down there. When no one's looking, I walk in the middle of the road, which is an incredibly liberating experience, only remounting the pavement when someone hones into view on the horizon. I'm still too self-conscious, it seems, to not care about some stranger wandering about why I'm walking in the middle of the road.

As the seasons change, the whole character of the road follows in sympathy. At the moment, the blossom is just starting to come out, pale and fragile like the smile on someone who's just woken up and is pleased to see you. Icily beautiful as the stark bare of winter can be, it makes for a pleasant change. Then as the year rolls on, the trees that line the side of the road erupt into lush green foliage that feels almost like a foreign country, as heat haze shimmers above the gently suburban houses and, for a time, all is well with the world.

As ever, these things seldom last, and as the grass yellows and the trees rustle yawns, the austere onset of autumn is as sure and certain as the bubbling of the brook that you can hear in the fields behind the houses on the right, about half-way down, on stiller days. At this time of year, it's especially good to walk at night, as breath forms long tendrils bathed in the orange glow of the streetlights.

Nearing the end of this road, the houses on the right fall away suddenly, giving way to a huge field sloping away with oak trees at the bottom. Over the top of these, the church spire becomes visible. It is not hard to see why, at the turn of the last century, pastoral composers became obsessed with the idea of the English countryside as Eden.

Anyway, in amongst all that faintly pretentious wittering, it may be difficult for you to see where the actual point of this story is going to emerge from.

I forget exactly when it was. The weather was grey and close, but not all that warm, so I'm going to guess around Easter last year. I had got off the train, mercifully alone, and was about to commence this marvellous walk, even if I was, I think, unusually preoccupied. As I walked down the steps from the station, I became aware of an unusual commotion. My eye was drawn immediately to the wreckage of a car up on the bank on the opposite side of the road. There was only one, I recall, which I found odd considering it was hardly an accident black-spot and, it being four p.m, the driver was highly unlikely to have been blind drunk. A quick survey located the driver, on the opposite side of the road, the one I was on, being tended to by a group of paramedics. he was a good 50 feet from where his car had ended up, and, to put it mildly, in quite a bad way. I quickly averted my gaze to avoid seeing things thta might haunt me for years to come. Successfully, as it turned out: I can't remember what he looked like or the nature of any of his injuries, only that he wouldn't be walking away any time soon. I do, in fact, feel quite bad for walking on by without a second glance. Whilst there was absolutely nothing I could have done to help, I still can't quite avoid the suspicion that I should have at least offered.

Suffice to say, I didn't enjoy my walk nearly so much that day.
(WarneMarsh My priority for frivolity begets quality jollity, Sun 2 Mar 2008, 15:49, 1 reply)

Nasty Shock
Last night, after having a particularly unproductive day at work, I stumbled back up the hill (knckered my ankle last weekend) and went home.

I went straight upstairs, dropped off my bag, took some laundry downstairs, past the living room door and put it on. Went back upstairs to continue doing some work on my laptop. See my flatmate's light on in his room, shout "hello" but no response. Must be asleep.
Door buzzer goes, its a couple of friends of Mark's (my flatmate) so I let them in and go in to the lounge with them. Turn the light on.

Ah. There is Mark on the living room floor, asleep. Nothing unusual there, he doesn't work, so sleeps whenever. Try and wake him up. Nothing.

Then we look over to the table, where there are all his prescription drugs, with a few of them taken out and a half-drunk glass of vodka and orange. Try and wake him up again. Nothing.

Fuck, his face is purple and his lips are blue, so i call an ambulance whilst Jo (one of the two mates of Mark's) starts chest compressions and giving him the kiss of life.
4 paramedics turn up in next to no time, but seemed like hours. They treied all they could, but said he had probably been there hours. Pronounced him dead within a couple of minutes.

Police and coroner comes out to take statements, with all of us shaking like fuck. I call my other flatmate who comes back from work within a few minutes. All of us just sat in a room, chain smoking wandering what the fuck has just happened.

Today, I'm still wandering what the fuck happened.
Posted 21/02/08
---

The results are in.
My flatmate's post mortem and toxicology report say:

over 10 times the normal dose of Zopiclone. Basically fatal.

Not much of the other drugs that were out on the table when we found him were found in his system.

verdict: suicide
Posted 02/03/08
( vulga is a foul mouthed cunt, Sun 2 Mar 2008, 14:48, 3 replies)