Sweet Pickled Punks
Article and photos by corpsepondant Paul Koudounaris
A boy, maybe eight years old, tugged at his mother’s sleeve and asked with concern, “I didn’t look like that when I was a baby, did I?” His gaze was fixed on a resin block containing the corpse of an infant that looked something like an aborted Muppet, or an albino troll doll; it had suffered from anencephaly, a deformation of the spinal cord and brain. Its puffy body radiated a kind of nuclear yellow, and a tongue lolled in the mouth of its overly large and flaccid head...
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