MAKE IT VIRAL:
a story by Charredtorso
During my tenure in the Eastern Central Valley of California managing a mortuary I had some
very interesting experiences representing the County Coroner. As I mentioned before, cops and Morticians mess with each other in the form of practical jokes down to harassment.
One night, while in restful repose, I was contacted at home by the Sheriff/Coroner dispatch. There was a single car crash outside the small town I worked in with one fatality and several injuries. So, the Wicked Red Witch started screaming at me, I got dressed, jumped in the "meat wagon" and was off for another late night adventure.
Apparently, a wasted drunk left one of the three bars in town and drove north out into the boondocks, where he rented a trailer. He got out in the middle of nowhere and ran out of gas. His only option, in that remote area, was to walk back to town. The two lane road was raised, with drainage ditches and irrigation canals on both sides of the road. The drunk elected to walk down the middle of the road, to stay out of the ditches.
Meanwhile, back in town, a car load of "Low Riders" were doing donuts in the main intersection and threw a brick through a store window. The local cops wound up in a pursuit, chasing the Aztec Warriors out of town at a very high rate of speed. To top things off. The Central Valley has what is known as the "Tule Fog." This fog was extremely thick. Quite often, you literally could not see your hand in front of your face.
Two miles outside of town, the cops broke off the pursuit because they couldn't see anything, let alone driving at or near 100 mph. The "Low Riders" didn't know the cops stopped chasing them and kept hauling ass out of Dodge. The drunk, oblivious to all of the above, was walking down the rural highway when the Low Rider's car hit him at full speed.
When I rolled up to where the cop cars and fire trucks were, there was just a tarp laying on the road.
"Where''s the car?" I inquired. "The car is a bout a mile down the road." "What are we doing here?"
with a flourish, a CHP officer pulled back the tarp. There was about 40 pounds of unidentifiable flesh with a few shreds clothing mixed in. "Uh, where's the rest of it? "We don't know....." "The car that hit him plowed into an orange grove and everyone is either at the hospital or in jail."
"Well boys and girls, we have to find the rest of him before the locals, their dogs and wild life find him." There were 8 fire fighters from Cal Fire, 2 Sheriff's Deputies, one CHP officer and your humble narrator at the scene. We got the local cops to block the road, in the event another idiot decided to do 100 mph in a ground fog and kill a batch of us. With flashlights in hand we all fanned out and began looking for the rest of the drunk.
I was wearing autopsy gloves and had a heavy plastic bag, just for this sort of thing. "Hey, what's this?" "That's rib bone with musche attached." "Eeeewwww, check this out." "Yeah, that is scalp with skull attached to it." About 50 feet from the tarp, I saw one of the most eerie things I have ever seen in my undertaking career. The man's forehead flesh and his nose were laying flat on the pavement. It looked like he was just starting to emerge from the underworld. There was even a little "steam" coming off the forehead.
So on we went, into the night. A chunk here a bone fragment there. There were tiny bits and pieces for nearly 100 feet up the highway and on the side of the road. Two hours later, I asked the firemen to hose off about 50 feet of the road, the gore was too fine to pick up. The remains were so badly "exploded" we ID-ed the drunk by a single partial thumb print. We could not find all of his fingers or more than a few teeth.
The next day, the deceased's family walked in to the mortuary. Mexicans, as a race, are notoriously morbid. They want or DEMAND to see bodies of friends, relatives or complete strangers, the more messed up, the better for them. Many times, I had to throw people out of crime scenes and private homes that would wander in just to gawk at a dead body. This family was no exception. "We waaaaan to seeeee heeeem."
I explained the condition of their relative in careful detail, including the bit about IDing him by a partial thumb print. I told them his head had been destroyed by the impact and he was un recognizable. They stared back at me blankly. "We waaaaan to seeeee heeeeem." I refused. The last thing I needed was a batch of moderately drunk, howling Mexicans to flip out on me and start fainting and throwing up all over my mortuary. "Go down to the CHP (California Highway Patrol) office and ask to see the photos they took." "If you still want to see Julio, I will have you sign a waiver of liability THEN you can see him."
The family returned about an hour later, a little more drunk than earlier in the morning. The CHP let them see a few of the Polaroids and they decided not to look directly at the real body. (One of the few times) Later that afternoon, they showed up again with a shoe box. The box contained another 3 pound of assorted flesh and body parts. Who knows how much the local dogs and animals ate out in the fog?
At high speed we explode like pink water ballons.
Another homerun brother!
Another fantastic true-to-life story that most of the world wants to probably hide away from. True Reality, thank you!
Mate, team up with someone and put these "scenes" on film!!
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