Part of my current day job has turned out to be finding dead people on the internet. I’m a wiz at flipping over virtual rocks and separating the living from the deceased, verifying who should be officially taken out of the database and who’s still warm enough to be direct mailed for another year.
This means I get to read a lot of obituaries.
Today, I found the worst baby name of all time.
Someone was survived by Psilocin.
I knew there had to be a story on that. And there was Google, calling to me. How could I resist?
Psilocin turns out to be the part of the psychedelic substance that puts the “magic” into magic mushrooms.
Now, there is a slim chance that there is a logical explanation for this. One of the family surnames was the same as that of the discoverer of the psychedelic compound. So it might just have been a way of commemorating the discovery of great great grandpa.
Or it could be that the parents just really, really liked mushrooms. Either way, this kid is going to be explaining this name for the rest of it’s life. And no one is going to believe that drugs weren’t served at the Christening.