The Body in the Bookcase 
I probably shouldn’t be surprised that corpse figurines exist. Really, I shouldn’t be surprised at any odd, grotesque figurine existing. A good way to make something popular and normal is to make a figurine of it. I’m surprised that individual figurine services aren’t available, where people pay $500 or so to get a figurine made of themselves or a loved one.
As far as figurines go, the details are quite impressive –the plastic sheet on the stretcher, the adjustable height and different sets of wheels, the neat ties around the neck, middle and feet. It feels irreverent to uncover the body, but occasionally I peek underneath the shroud. The body is a see- through rubbery grey, patterned with purple veins, with blue-grey innards and bones at the core. If I was a kid, there’d be no way I could resist uncovering the body too look at it in its full, grotesque glory, but I figure I’ll never be able to get the shroud back on neatly. This means I’ve never seen the bodies face. It could be modelled on anyone. Michael Jackson could be under there. So could Chairman Mao or Shakespeare.
Somebody suggested to me that the body was an X-Files figurine, but I am not too interested in finding out its origins. It was send to me along with other small, strange presents a few years ago, and was easily the pick of the package. I’m happy to think of it as Body in the Bookcase, guarding my collection of angsty female literature.
The Body appeared with me during an interview on Channel 31’s Chaos TV. It is still being debated whether the Body or me was the star of the segment.