Why do I do this to myself? I knew I'd sit down and read the damn book cover to cover. Why did I have to start it at six pm?

That means, now, as I compose myself for sleep, I have vivid descriptions of maggot-infested bodies in my head. The science and sleuthing and fascinating descriptions of both are all gone. Poof. Nope, the murder, decay and empty eye sockets remain at this time of night. Putrifying, stinking flesh.

And let me tell you something else. Romance just doesn't work immediately after reading Death's Acres: Inside the Legendary Forensic Lab The Body Farm.

Damn you, corn dog and your niece, too. Oh, she actually took a tour of the place didn't she? Well, then.

Also? Images of Patricia Cornwell's fame and wealth haunt me. She should give me a bit, too. Just because she has a ridiculous amount. (Sounds like she's a superb researcher though. Wow.)


  1. Sorry, but I am laughing a bit, a tiny bit. My niece said she did take a tour of the place but then she is at Disney World this week. I guess it is about the same, huh?

  2. I really do need to post that Farm story I wrote. Makes me grin just thinkin' about it.

  3. I've always wanted to read Death's Acres. Thanks for reminding me!

    I have a story about my vet being asked to crawl over and under and through the pile of dead horses the vet school stored in the pathology cooler to retrieve a halter the owner insisted on having back before she's pay the bill. (Sorta thought you'd ask for that one BEFORE the euthanasia, you know?) She got some sort of award for doing it from the rest of her class. She later affixed to her horse's four pound enterolith on the coffee table.

    She's a bit of a character. ;-)


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