At my old lab a co-worker used to make it a habit to skin the rats in a fashion that opened their torso in a breasted-suit-like fashion. He said it made the job more cheerful for him. Every time I picture him I just imagine him with a laundry line across the anaesthetic chamber with a bunch of ratskin blazers hanging to dry. He never quite figured out why I kept calling him Ken, but once the picture stuck in my head it was too hard to resist adding the cherry on top.
Stories after a drunken night brought about by pictures of afghani hamsters.![]()
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