Doin' The Cockroach

My publication of choice whilst in the States has been a magazine, which can best be described as a weekly doomsday prophecy wiki, known as 'The Sun'. On top of foretelling our impending annihilation, it occasionally asks some of life's big questions, like 'What if someone snuck an iPhone into heaven?' and 'Why did the Australian navy travel to the future?'.
I'm going to write a full article about the magazine itself soon, but for now I'm going to dwell on a wonderful little museum in Texas that I found with the help of 'The Sun', called 'The Cockroach Hall of Fame'.


The museum itself is located in the back of a pest extermination shop in Plano, Texas, where I was greeted by an elderly man, who perked up immediately when it was evident I wanted more than just a can of Raid.

The man sprung up from his chair, and donned a wide brimmed hat lined with dead roaches.

"While I have this hat on, you may call me Cockroach Dundee."

He went on to tell me he had been 'collecting' since the 70s, and had once been interview by Johnny Carson on The Tonight Show as a result.

I was then shown a pair of glass cabinets, in which a couple dozen dead roaches were dressed and positioned like celebrities in creepy little dioramas.

There was Marilyn Monroach, tiny skirt blowing up in the air, Mark Twain roach, adrift on Huck Finn's raft, and most spectacularly, Liberoachy, complete with glittery costume and grand piano.


There was even a roach Bates' Motel located between Norman Roachwell's easel and Roachy O'Donnel's couch.
The tour climaxed with the handling of a giant roach, over two inches in length, which hissed repeatedly to display it's disapproval of being touched.
I left the museum with a T shirt, these photos and a strong desire to wash my hands.