A coroner, known for his morbid sense of humor (and slightly questionable hygiene), phones the police in a state of bewildered amusement. “You won’t believe this,” he wheezes into the receiver, “I’ve got three stiffs in here, all grinning like Cheshire cats! It’s… unsettling.”
“Right,” the weary police sergeant replies, already picturing a scene involving a mime troupe gone wrong, “Give me the details.”
“First body: Frenchman, 60, died of heart failure while… wait for it… eating a particularly potent cheese. Apparently, it was so strong it stopped his heart.” A pause. The coroner chuckles darkly. “The autopsy showed traces of cheese in his arteries. Literally, clogged with Camembert. Poetic, really.”
“And the others?” the sergeant asks, steeling himself for the bizarre.
“Second body: Italian woman, 72, died of joy. Seems she won the lottery, and the sheer bliss… well, it proved fatal. Found her surrounded by confetti and empty bottles of Prosecco. Died with a smile practically splitting her face in two.” The coroner takes a deep breath. “Now, this one’s a bit of a head-scratcher…”
“Go on.”
“Third body… an accountant. 58 years old. Died… of laughter. The post-mortem reveals… he was reading his own tax return. Apparently, it was so hilariously inaccurate, it killed him. Now, *that’s* a good one, eh?” The coroner lets out a long, rattling laugh, the sound echoing ominously down the phone line. “I’m thinking maybe we need a stronger supply of coffee here… or maybe a good therapist.”
