¡No soy muerto todavía! Realmente

So, your country hasn't adopted Family Contact Day yet and your stuck at work? I feel for you my friend. I'm in the same boat. It's raining here today too. What a downer. At least you're not Mr. Carlos Camejo though. Don't bother complaining about the stack of papers, or dirty clothes, you have to sort through to this guy. I don't think he'll have too much sympathy for you; but he can tell you what a bad day is really like. This Venezuelan man was recently hurt in a serious car wreck. Seriously hurt. So seriously hurt, in fact, that he was rushed by ambulance to the city morgue. Yeah, dead serious.

As if lying, all cadaverous, on a morgue slab wasn't bad enough, just wait. Things get worse for corpse once the medical examiners got a hold of him. They began their autopsy by cutting into the recently departed's face, but had to take pause and scratch their heads when the deceased Mr. Camejo started bleeding. You see, dead men don't tell tales, or bleed. So they did what any self-respecting physician with high ethical standards would do: quickly stitch up their incision, quietly move him to a nearby corridor and...leave him there.

His grieving widow, who was called to the hospital to identify her expired husband, found him in the hallway and not dead. ¡Ay Dios Mio! I'm assuming the doctors weren't there to explain things to the Camejos because they were cleaning the shit out of their pants.

Carlos seems to be doing well now. Here he is, telling his story to the El Universal newspaper last Friday, holding his own death certificate and sporting a swell new facial scar.