I read this story about Walt Whitman that I thought was kind of awesome.
So, Whitman was really into phrenology and, I guess, just brains and skulls in general. As such, he consents to have an autopsy done on his body after he dies and the day after he does, some doctor goes in there and removes Whitman's brain. The brain is then sent to the American Anthropometric Society to be studied.
I bet these scientists are the happiest fucking guys on earth when they find out that they're going to get to dissect Walt Whitman's brain. I can only imagine them standing around in the lab with their little white coats on, rubbing their palms together excitedly. Anyway, just as these guys are about to get down to business what should happen but the lab assistant drops Walt Whitman's brain on the floor.
What. The. Fuck.
I can't say I've ever carried a jar containing a brain, but I'm thinking if I did, I'd be treating that jar with some goddamned reverence. I mean, it's a brain, for goodness sake. A brain!
Of course, without it's skull, Walt Whitman's brain splats all over the floor and is never studied at all. The brain of America's greatest poet goes out with the garbage.
That's the saddest friggin story I've ever heard.