According to the SF Chronicle:
The man appears to be Hispanic and looks approximately 25 years old, said San Francisco Medical Examiner investigator Tom McDonald. He is about 5'7" tall and 181 pounds, and he was walking down the 1500 block of Church Street when he collapsed.
"The death is under investigation, but it doesn't look trauma-related," McDonald said.
The man was wearing an extra-large blue hooded sweatshirt and Anchor Blue denim pants with a waist size 36-34. He had on Nike socks and high top sneakers, a black cloth belt with a white buckle, and a Mecca shirt that read, "The first since day one," and "Chase the dream not the competition." He also was wearing SpongeBob SquarePants boxer shorts. He had blue ink stains on his arms and hands as if he had been writing, McDonald said.
He was also wearing SpongeBob SqurePants boxer shorts.
Good lord, please let me never be found lying on the asphalt and described in the paper as wearing:
"...novelty holiday socks with cats and candycanes"
"...pink Tuesday panties, even though the body was discovered Monday"
Come to think of it, anything pink. Or anything acrylic.
"...denim pants with a comfort-stretch waist"
But if I'm found wearing
"...a faded Miskatonic University t-shirt"
"...a brown hoodie liberally covered in cat hair"
"...chipped and faded toe-nail polish and sandals"
That's okay with me.
3 comments:
Miskatonic is a good one. I should've bought one of those "Cthulu for President: Vote for the Greater Evil" t-shirts when I had the chance.
Also: being found dead covered in your own (or better yet, someone else's) feces has a certain panache.
Or the classic: being found dead on the toilet. Or perhaps in the midst of auto-erotic asphyxiation.
Oh the list of embarrassing ways to die could be endless.
Mister Mongo: Oh, don't I know it! But there's always http://tinyurl.com/yopp9k.
Chems: The toilet thing, yeah...but at least my family could console themselves by saying I'd died like a king.
And then there're the pack rats that are crushed to death by their own towering stacks of newspaper.
Or the Haunted House Spinsters of Castro Valley.
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