Just the other week a shocking story that really would fit in with all of my ‘Grisly’ tales, a man who worked in a morgue having sex with his customers. Apparently he admitted to having sex with 44 corpses, but they reckon it was probably in the hundreds. This is a horrific abuse of trust and he deserves all the punishments coming his way. Years ago I interviewed a necrophiliac, he gushed about how great it was, sex without critique, he could be as selfish as men normally are, just without the pressure to please your partner. I recall him talking about how he loved the fact that his partners did not move during his criminal assault on them. It seems even when we’re dead we could still end up used and abused! How ironic would it be to get more sex after you are dead than you ever did alive?
  In light of this I want to bring a story to you from my younger days, when I lived in the student hot spot of St.Georges Terrace in trendy Jesmond. In the flat next door lived a bearded medical student who hated me playing loud music, but on occasion would deem to chat with me. On one such occasion he had a party, and to stop me moaning about his racket he asked me in. Happy to go, I was in between girlfriends so perhaps a white coated lady would catch my eye. Instead I found them drinking a strange spirit they had created in their laboratory. I thought ‘NHS funds well spent’, yet it got worse. As I sat there, next to this drunken medical student, his name was Warwick and he was a Southern Jessie from somewhere near Abingdon, totally drunk and being loud. He screamed at me “Stand up……you’re sitting on my hand!”. I looked at him, and as I could clearly see BOTH of his hands, I thought he really had overdone the sauce. He didn’t stop, he screamed “For F**** sake get up you moron! You are on my hand!”. At that time I was more than capable of giving this guy a clip, but I was his friends guest, so I fired him ‘a look’ and stood up. Top my surprise I had been sitting on a green grey hand, seemingly severed just past the wrist. I presumed it to be a joke shop rubber toy, but I was so wrong, it was a dead persons! My neighbour Rory came over and swore me to secrecy, saying that medical students often take a souvenir from the gallant public who donate their bodies to medical science, admitting “I’ve got a finger in my car!”. I was horrified as one of my uncle’s donated his body, could it be his finger? I thought if it was it would have been the middle one.
Other students seemed to find all this hilarious, and it just proves to me if ever there is a chance to do something (no matter how atrocious) people will do it.
On the radio a listener who worked in a morgue told me how he dressed up all of the dead bodies in Christmas outfits and posed them all like corpse Christmas trees with lights on and Santa hats. On another occasion he put one dead naked man on top of a dead naked woman, ‘for a laugh’. I was incredulous, yet he tried to justify it by saying ‘You need a dark sense of humour to work in a place like that!’. He then went on about how the gases in the bodies often make them trump and stink up the morgue. Using his words he said “Oh the best one was the old man who had used viagra and died with a huge boner, and a few of the nurses came down to take photos’ of it!! On asking him whether everyone who works in the morgue do such outrageous things? He went on to tell me about a guy from the 1930’s who instead of putting dead bodies into the incinerator to cremate them, returning the ashes to the families he would put the skull in acid to get the flesh off and then sell it. Our recent news story confirms that this type of abuse still continues.
On another occasion I asked a nurse if ever she had a gorgeous man prepped for an operation and anaesthetised, whether she would look at his penis? Another shocker, not only did she say yes, she said “Oh I’ve even taken a photo of some! Once we had a pop star in, and a lot of the girls looked under that sheet!”. My biggest surprise was that she told me in a matter of fact way, not remotely guilty. This would come back to mind last Christmas, as a sufferer of the dreaded kidney stones I had endured the very worst pain known to man. Not just once but SEVEN horrific times, leading me into the hands of a hospital doctor at the Freeman Hospital. After a screening they found a kidney stone big enough to plug the Grand Canyon lurking on the edge of my tiny tube, guaranteed to squeeze in there ripping and blocking it. So they had to go in, up the end of my private portion and putting in a stent (to keep the tube open as it healed) and to my relief I got knocked out. However whilst I was readying for the operating theatre I remembered those stories of undercover selfies and such. I did consider wrapping it up with a post it note saying ‘Bugger Off You Perv!’. To make me wish that I had, as I was being wheeled to the theatre five nurses came up to me, all gushing about how they loved the radio show, some having called in. None asked why I was in, they ALL obviously knew! They were all really lovely, but did they all have their phones ready for a quick unconscious snap?  When I woke up, I did check on Little Alan, he looked redder than normal. Perhaps that was caused by the trauma he had endured, or was it radioactivity from so many mobile phones?
Now I have to add what happened on Christmas Day. I was told that I could return to the hospital on Christmas Day to have my stent removed. It was already embarrassing enough, but to be awake and have another man fiddling with your vitals was nothing I wanted. However they explained that I could do it myself. From the end of Little Alan hung a string, and this male nurse explained that I should tug it. Now as a young teenager out with a girl I saw a string like that, and I did tug it, and that didn’t end well. So Christmas morning before opening presents I decided to pull it out, and after twenty minutes of ‘Ouch’ ‘Ooh’ ‘Ooya’ ‘Ayebugger’ I surrendered, and my wife rode like the cavalry to my rescue. She took me into the bathroom and started pulling. I instantly began weeing myself. Now my idea of a stent holding open a tiny tube, was something really small, like a tenth of an inch from the tiniest straw for those little square orange juice cartons. Instead out it came almost a foot long and a good inch or so wide!!!!!!!  Where did these doctors study, were they taught from that guy off the SAW movies? Seriously though, the staff were all superb and I am very grateful to them