I’m so weirdly fascinated by death, and I love how my collection makes people uncomfortable when they walk into my room. At least I don’t have to worry about someone stealing my shit. No one wants Van Gogh, my earless little squirrel, or Cardi, my stripper mouse on the miniature metal pole. I even have a pair of dog balls in a jar full of formaldehyde. A leather swath sits beside it, rolled up and tied, and various sized bones stick through the slits within. That’s my collection of baculum—the penis bones of different mammals. How fun is that? I’d have a human baculum if humans weren’t one of
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