All The Mad Men

They built these lunatic asylums in the corridor-style around a central building so that they could segregate the sexes and the dangerously insane from the simply disturbed and delusional.  The dangerously insane have to be locked up and shackled for all of our protection.  Iron shackles were the best but then that clever French upholsterer invented something called a straitjacket.  No one can get out of that device.  They can’t even scratch their noses or go to the toilet without asking politely for help.  Of course, with all the staff shortages around here, there’s usually no-one to ask so they just piss their pants, or worse.

Some say the straitjacket is an instrument of torture but you should hear about the terrible wheals those iron shackles left on their wrists and ankles.  Then the flies would lay their eggs in the wounds and soon enough the maggots would be everywhere.

But confinement is so temporary, so crude, so failing in a cure.  They tried ice baths and that certainly silenced them for a time and then they passed out.  When they regained consciousness, the skin was peeling off their bodies like wet tissue paper.  Fortunately, with the invention of the transorbital lobotomy, they can use an instrument as simple as an ice pick, pushed up through the eye socket into the frontal lobes of their brains and stir it around.  They don’t even need to use an anesthetic.  Lots of patients die, of course, and some wake up as cabbages.  But perhaps it’s all for the best.  After all, they are quite insane.

There are bars on the windows, as you would expect, so no one can escape.  I just hope that they never mistake me for an inmate.

Because I’m not insane.  I’m only visiting.

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