People throughout Brisbane are assuring friends and family members that a story they heard from a guy about this friend of theirs is absolutely not a bullshit urban legend.

The story has been given wide coverage in “the Media”, with friends telling people that “it totally made the news, like, last year I think.”

The details of this shocking tale are as follows: A female youth of at least drinking age was making out with a man possibly a bit older (although maybe not) on the dance floor of the Victory Hotel.

The girl, in a shameful display of “blue-ballin”, makes her excuses and leaves, albeit with the man’s number.

An indeterminate amount of time later, in some versions a day, in some a week or more, the girl develops a nasty and not readily identifiable rash around her mouth (which, you will recall, she had been using to “totally make out” with said stranger on the dance floor of a hotel.)

She goes to a doctor to get it checked, and instead of giving her a topical cream for what is clearly “pash rash” or possibly good old herpes, he decides to run a series of tests.

ABOVE: Not actually the girl, but she totally looked like that only worse.

Another indeterminate amount of time later, the girl gets a phone call from the police. The doctor, breaching several ethical and at least one legal code of conduct, has contacted them without her knowledge about her test results. It seems there are some suspicious findings.

It’s unclear at this point what occurred. Sources conflict about whether the police then persuaded the girl to pareticipate in an elaborate sting operation to meet the suspect at the Victory again where they arrest him, or whether they simply used the phone number given to her by the man to track him down.

ABOVE: Not actually the guy, but real life necrophiliac Anothony Merino.

The rash the woman displayed is some sort of side effect from the man kissing (or at least, using his mouth) on a corpse and then kissing her.

Experts are baffled as to what this mystery rash could be, as the only currently known disease spread by the dead is zombification.

ABOVE: Not actually a Zombie. We think.

All sources agree that they are shocked and sickened by such a story, and all women who hear it are suitably put off from making out with men on dance floors for at least a few days.

Several tradesmen commented off the record that it “serves the chick right for acting like a slut”.

Everyone contacted by this reporter insists the story is real, and happened to “this friend of this guy I know” or, “the sister of a girl I go to uni with”.

They are all adamant that the story is definitely not a transparently obvious urban legend, with all the hallmarks of stories of that nature, such as a moral punishment of the central protagonist for engaging in “loose” sexual behaviour, a central well known location as the setting, and vague references which sound plausible but which crumble under any scrutiny.

When pressed, all sources admitted that they had lost the number of the aquaintance they had heard the story from.