But first- listen to Mike Dawson and me talk about Roz Chast’s Can’t We Talk About Something More Pleasant? and Joe Matt’s Spent on the latest TCJ Talkies podcast. I’m also still selling pre-orders for Museum of Mistakes: The Fart Party Collection, coming out this September!
Plate prints from a 1904 medical book deep in the bowels of a Massachusetts asylum basement library. The exterior of the book was decayed beyond saving, so I extracted a bunch of plate prints, which are currently stashed away in bags in my freezer to kill any renegade mold.
The woman illustrated (above) died of carbon monoxide poisoning. The accompanying text: “A woman found dead before her bed, lying face downward. In her small room there was a basin containing half-consumed charcoal, by burning which she had been accustomed to warm herself…hemorrhage has occurred from the mouth and nose, and the blood has run bright-red streaks over the adjacent parts of the face.”
Westborough State Hospital stamped panties. That’s a sentence I’ve never written before, and probably never will again.
Cocaine addiction books have the best titles. I have read/seen/found so many recovery books over the years that I’ve kind of become impercipient of the (usually hilarious) titles they’re given, but cocaine centric ones always crack me up.
Typical. Look closely at the book titles for the gist of the joke, which is partially ruined by having to point out, but it was widely missed the first time I made it.
Long discarded tissue samples from a New York asylum. When sealed properly, human body parts remain decently preserved (I said as if I had any idea what I was talking about.) Supposedly there used to be a bunch more of these at the location, but as with most asylums, the room was ransacked and destroyed, so now some jars are broken and the samples are just sitting there on the ground like nbd. BARF.
A wee abandoned river conservatory shack, with everything still inside, including a medical cabinet full of skulls and bones and nightmares in jars. Don’t ask me where this is, I will not tell you.
Insert ad for Psychopathia Sexualis. It was controversially popular in psychiatry for a few years in the late 1800’s, I’ve seen referenced on actual patient files a few times. It eventually fell out of favor, on account of many of his theories on sexual deviance being irrelevant and hilarious.
I got toxic shock syndrome just looking at this.
It’s always a little weird to come across something from my childhood in an abandoned house that mostly contains older items. But guess what! According to Etsy, anything older than 20 years qualifies as vintage. I found this out when I came across the telephone from the house I grew up in being sold on ebay as a vintage collectible. I was like, “no way!” but the internet was all, “yeah,” and that means I ‘m old. The phone is still there, and still connected to a landline. I have very fond memories of making prank phone calls before *69 was created and ended our slumber party fun.
While we’re on the subject of childhood stuff, this is obviously not an old relic, but my buddy found it on the street in Queens and it reminded me of this comic I did about trying to score tickets at Chuck E Cheese. Here’s the first page:
You can read the rest here.
Disclaimer: If any information on this post is incorrect, if you have more info or would otherwise like to tell me something, feel free to contact me.