Friday, September 5, 2008

Oh, your dad ISN'T dead? Huh. Our bad, I guess.

How many times has this happened to you: you're sitting at home, watchin' a little tubeage, and all of a sudden you see your father, who you thought was dead for the past 8 years due to the fact that you had a funeral for him and cremated a body you thought was his?

Only thrice? Well, someone's living a charmed life...

Police have apologised for an extraordinary series of errors which led to him being declared dead and an unidentified man being cremated in his place.
I should warn you ahead of time this article was writ by a Brit, so there's a lot of "shoppes" and "honours" and "programmes" in it, innit? Right-o. So, this old dude wanders away from the hospital, and there's a missing persons report filed when no one can find him. This shit always makes me laugh, because it's (in my mind) on the same level as losing your pet turtle. This dude's pushing 70, how the fuck did he manage to outwit a hospital full of (definitely) younger, (hopefully) smarter and (doubtfully) sober and alert employees?

When he turned up just nine days later, six miles away, he was admitted to hospital and seen by a police officer who failed to make proper checks of records of recent missing people in the area.
Actually, all the officer did was turn around and yell "anyone missin' an old Geezer? Geezer missing? Got a Geezer over 'ere." (waits five seconds) "Nope, no one's missin' a Geezer. Give 'im a bed and some tranquilizers. Gotta split, the Manchester U game's startin' in 4 hours. Need time to paint meself ManU's colors. No, no tickets, just watchin' at 'ome, why?"

So this old dude, apparently suffering from amnesia or just being old, can't remember anything about himself.

All that staff could say for sure was that the man they called David Harrison retained a strong Irish accent from childhood and made regular references to "Tipperary" and "boxing".
"And shilelaghs. And takin' the high road while you take the low road. And Lucky Charms. That old fuck was always talkin' about 'is 'earts, stars, clovers and blue moons. Definitely Oirish."

So meanwhile, on the other side of town, no sign of Pops for 3 years when

a man's badly-decomposed body was found in bushes at Manchester Royal Infirmary - it was assumed to be him.
Well, the assumption was based on some fairly solid evidence right?



Police produced a file for the city's coroner Leonard Gorodkin pointing out that he had been wearing a pair of jeans and a green top similar to that Mr Delaney's
I'm sorry, you're going on jeans and a fucking green 'top?' Let's start off with the fact that gentlemen over the age of, let's say birth, are going to be wearing jeans at all possible times, so basically we're going with a green cap. Delaney owned a green shirt. Dude they found rotting in the bushes had a green shirt. "Welp, looks like this 'ere's a open and shut case, boys."

But despite an offer of a DNA sample from a family member, no genetic tests were carried out and no dental records analysed. At an inquest a few months later Mr Gorodkin formally confirmed the body as that of Mr Leonard [sic (they meant "Delaney")] and recorded an open verdict.

I imagine the whole thing going down like a skit from Flying Circus. Why? Cuz fuck you, that's why...

Doctor: Well, son Oi'm sorry to say this but (removes blanket covering corpse) this is your father.

Son: Really? Doesn't really look like him.

Doctor: Young man, he was wearing jeans when we found 'im. JEANS. Your father was wearing jeans as well. JEANS AS WELL.

Son: This gentleman actually looks a bit taller than dad, perhaps--

Doctor: SON, they were both wearin' green shirts. This guy was wearing one and your father was wearing one as well...3 years ago when he was last seen.

Son: I was being polite when I said this bloke was a 'bit' taller. He 'as, like a good foot and a 'alf on dad.

Doctor: Son, we use the metric system 'ere.

Son: Oh right, then, uh, 17 centimeters, or whatever.

Doctor: Well...sometimes people grow after they die.

Son: They do not!

Doctor: ...maybe they do.

Son: They don't!

Doctor: ...sometimes they might.

Son: 'ow about I gives a DNA test? That way we can know for sure!

Doctor: need. Definitely your father.


Which leads us to the present when John Renehan sees his "dead for nearly a decade" dad on some TV program, or as the British call it, a "TV programmmemmmoummme."

"As I was turning away I got a glimpse of who I thought was my father," the 42-year-old said. "I was sure straight away, I was stomping up and down ... for the rest of the day I could not get to sleep. I was in shock."
I wonder if "stomping up and down" is a British turn of phrase meaning "very angry that the police mistakenly told me my father was dead 8 years ago," or if this motherfucker was really goin' marching-band on everyone's ass, high-stepping around the house. I really hope it was the latter.

He was one of 50 people who called the programme claiming to be related to him whose names were passed on to police. But unlike the others he provided photographs which led to a DNA test finally being carried out which proved paternity in July.
Not sure what to make of this...50 different people actually thought this old guy was their old guy? Maybe some of them thought "oh, an old dude with amnesia in a nursing home! I bet he's loaded!" How many of these people were just fuckin' psychos who wanted to see if they could score an old dude for free? DAMNIT PROVIDE MORE INFO OR I'LL STEAL YOUR GRANDPARENTS I SWEAR TO GOD!!!


So it seems like everything's all wrapped up around here. Son and father re-united, no harm no foul and--


Fuckin' Brits.

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