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For Halloween last year, redditor cakes1todough1 wore a Freudian slip. Get it? The symbolic decapitation represents….
Link -via Copyranter | Previously: Freudian Slippers
In a series called Science Vs Delirium, artist Simon Bent creates colorful icons of some of the most amazing scientists in history, from Galileo to Freud. The series reminds me of the Yellow Submarine movie, which is to say I love it.
Link via Flavorwire
Lil’ Freudian Slippers (Baby) – $13.95
Are you a Freudian with a baby on the way? You need to the Lil’ Freudian Slippers (Baby) from the NeatoShop.
These adorable slippers will provide you with endless laughs. They will also give you the prime opportunity to tease your Jungian friends. Every time your baby tries to eat their Lil’ Freudian slipper you get the chance to point out that they are demonstrating Freud’s oral stage.
Adult sizes also available.
Be sure to check out the NeatoShop for more hilarious Baby & Kids items!
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Pink Freud T-Shirt – $9.95
Lie down on the couch and tell me what you’d get if you mash up a psychoanalyst with psychedelic rock music. No idea? How about a super comfy T-shirt from the NeatoShop. Bonus: take a close look at the cigar smoke …
Pink Freud T-Shirt | More Funny & One Liners T-Shirts | More Fun Freud Stuff
Dr. Freud Therapy Ball – $7.95
Got issues? Why see an expensive therapist when you can get psychotherapy from Dr. Freud himself for less than $8?
Just pour your heart out, then shake the Dr. Freud Therapy Ball from the NeatoShop to reveal what the world’s most famous psychoanalyst has got to say: Link | More Freud Stuff | Fun Gag Gifts and Pranks
Elvis, of course, loved his mama Gladys. In fact, his love for his mom may be the reason he first set foot in a recording studio – the story goes that he wanted to record a very belated birthday present for Gladys and went to Sun Records’ Memphis Recording Service to lay down a couple of songs for her – “My Happiness” and “That’s When Your Heartaches Begin.” Gladys was obsessed with her son, probably with good reason – as most people know, his twin brother was stillborn and Gladys was unable to have children after that, so Elvis was all she had. She walked him to school and he rubbed her feet; she later lived with him at Graceland until her death in 1958. Rumor even has it that they slept in the same bed until he was in his teens, which really would be no surprise – Elvis grew up in a two-room shack.
Photo from Random House
Douglas MacArthur was the youngest of three sons and apparently his mom didn’t want to deal with empty nest syndrome when he left for the United States Military Academy at West Point: she camped out in a hotel room overlooking the Academy grounds for two years. Supposedly she even bought a telescope so she could make sure he was studying instead of getting up to shenanigans, but that smells like an urban legend to me. But one book does say that he met with his mother for at least half an hour every night after dinner, and if he couldn’t get away, she would meet him so they could walk and talk on school grounds instead.
Photo from the Smithsonian
You’d have to be a pretty formidable women to intimidate Eleanor Roosevelt, and FDR’s mom Sara was just that. Franklin was her only child (I’m sensing a trend here) and she was quite protective of him. She even homeschooled him until he went to boarding school, and when he was admitted to Harvard she followed him there. She was upset when Franklin got engaged to Eleanor, but when he got married against her wishes, she committed herself to controlling both of them. Sara picked out the newly-married couple’s first house, had it decorated, and bought herself a house just three blocks away. In 1908 she gave them a townhouse in Manhattan which conveniently connected to her own townhouse – it had adjoining doors on every single floor. Franklin later admitted he had been terrified of his mother his whole life.
Photo from the National Park Service
Liberace, like Elvis, had a twin who died at birth. He was devoted to his mother, and it showed: one newspaper described him as “a deadly, winking, sniggering, snuggling, chromium-plated, scent-impregnated, luminous, quivering, giggling, fruit-flavored, mincing, ice-covered heap of mother love.” He talked about her so much in his act that she became “Mother” to his fans as well; when she had a heart attack his fans flooded her hospital room and house with flowers and cards and well wishes. But like Franklin, it turns out that Liberace was actually quite scared of mommy dearest: when she died in 1980, he confessed, “I’m finally free.” He was well into his 60s at the time.
Photo from the Sacramento Bee
Surprise, surprise. As his mother’s firstborn, he was her “Golden Siggie” and she very obviously played favorites, even giving him his own room and making her other children share. She doted on him to the point that he started to experience sexual desire for her (hey, he documented it!) and wished he could get rid of his father and have his mother entirely to himself. According to Freud, a wise old woman had told his mother that her firstborn son was going to do great things, so her adoration of him may have had something to do with that.
Perhaps the biggest mama’s boy of all, for quite disturbing reasons. Robert Howard was a playwright and an author who created the character of Conan the Barbarian. His mother, Hester, was a particularly selfless woman who was passionate about instilling a love for literature and the arts in her children. She was known for caring for sick friends and relatives to fault – it was because of this compassion that she caught tuberculosis and fell extremely ill. She was in poor health for the rest of his life. Howard himself suffered from bouts of extreme depression; he was talking about suicide as early as his teens. He told friends the only thing keeping him from killing himself was his obligation to his poor mother, who wouldn’t be able to cope with such an ending. Despite his writing success, when his mother slipped into a coma in 1936 and her nurse told him she would never open her eyes again, he saw his chance. He went immediately to his car, took a gun from the glove compartment and shot himself in the head. He died eight hours later and his mother died the next day.
Archie McPhee is known for its weird stuff, but this is really weird. I’m sure Freud himself would have something to say about it. But hey, if fruity Austrian psychoanalysts on a stick aren’t for you, there’s always cherry-flavored Marie Antoinette severed heads, orange-flavored Abe Lincoln heads, blueberry-flavored Will Shakespeares and cola-flavored Vladimir Lenins. I love Archie McPhee.
