I'm always thankful to find at least one thing interesting in Saturday's newspaper to distract me from the carpet covered cubicle walls that surround me and all you assholes from the public that ceaselessly interrupt nap time during my one day of brain numbing work per week.

Today's distraction almost made the whole ordeal worthwhile. It was a fascinating article in the Globe & Mail by Ian Brown about funeral homes that illegally harvest bones from bodies before their burial and sell them to tissue suppliers. One man was contacted by police after his recently deceased father's name appeared in the records of one of the funeral homes in question. He agreed to the police request to have his father's body exhumed as part of the investigation. X-rays revealed that his father's leg bones had been removed by the funeral home and, in order to hide this fact during the open casket wake, had them replaced with PVC pipes, usually only used in drainage and plumbing.

But wait. Perhaps the best part of the story (or worst, depending on how you look at it) is that the son is a full-time construction worker, forced to handle PVC pipes on a daily basis.

Which leads us to our quote of the day...


"Everytime I see PVC I think of my father."