If you ever see this guy just sitting around, smoking a pipe, immediately call a SWAT team -- it's safe to assume this man's supervillain scheme is already well underway. (Note: Getting captured is almost certainly part of said scheme.)

In reality, 1940s Two-Face is doing this for science -- he's relaxing on a beach in Florida while saving one half of his body so he can compare it with the sunshine in California. It seems like there would be an easier way to do that, but our larger concern is why he isn't just using a towel, or an umbrella, or literally anything else that doesn't make him look like he's kicking back after an exhausting murder spree. YOUR FACE COVER DOES NOT NEED A FAKE EYE, AND YOU FUCKING KNOW IT.

Look at the face of the old man. WE SAID LOOK AT IT.

All right, now check out the thousand-yard stare on the child. Yeah, that kid has seen things, and that's because Daddy Murder Gaze made him watch. And then after, when the boy cried, Mother held him tight and whispered, "If you don't be quiet, I'm going to lock you in the attic with your deformed twin. He's so very hungry."

WHAT IN THE POSSIBLE SHIT IS THAT?!? You can see the stem at the top; it's supposed to be a pumpkin that, just, grew like that? All we know is that there's no way that thing's mouth didn't move when no one was looking.

This all-too-lifelike pumpkin was grown by a farmer in 1938 after "four years of experimenting," and for some reason they wrote a glowing newspaper article about him instead of recognizing it as the origin story of a mad scientist. He almost certainly went on to decapitate that poor woman and attach the pumpkin to her body.

A good creepy photo just gets worse the more you look at it.

At first there's the obvious fact that no possible context will make sense of what these women are doing, unless it's part of some occult ritual intended to summon Cthulhu. But keep looking -- specifically at the four human faces in the middle. Notice their expressions? It goes from "startled baby" to "worried boy" to "terrified adult" and then finally ends on "utter hopelessness and despair." It's literally depicting the progression of a man who, over the course of a lifetime, comes to terms with the bleak hopelessness of a cruel universe.

He is, of course, flanked on all sides by insane predatory birds and alligators. As are we all.

We want you to take note of the two signs in the back. On the left you have one that points out that this is a meeting of the "Optimist Club"; on the right, a sign noting that the theme of this dinner is "Why wait till 1955, we might not even be alive."

The Optimist Club is an international organization dedicated to community programs that help "bring out the best in kids." So you know things have gotten bleak when a club of Mr. Rogerses feels it's time to strap on gas masks for a banquet about impending nuclear annihilation. "You might as well go out into the night to rape and pillage, kids, because nuclear war will kill you all in a few months." Optimism!

That ball's made with skin alright, but not pigskin.

Modern football is a little scary, what with all the brutal injuries and brain damage. But it has nothing on 1920s gridiron, where the players wore masks that would presumably protect their faces from blood splatter when they beheaded the losing team.

Again, the more you look at John Hellway here, the creepier he gets: The sunken, dead eyes. The needle through his belt, which he no doubt called "Ol' Stabby" and put to regular use in scrums. And the tear in his shoulder, where an opposing player clawed in vain as he held him down and watched his life force drain away.

See the cross on Buckethead's left arm? Yeah, this guy was supposed to help you. We don't know what kind of monster we'd have to encounter before we'd be willing to run toward this man(?), but it would have a lot of tentacles. Wait, why does his helmet have ears?

That is in fact a radiologist from World War I, because the Great War was basically a nonstop worldwide nightmare. "Couldn't we at least make things behind the lines look normal so our soldiers aren't constantly screaming in terror?" asked one general. "No," replied another. "We cannot."

And while we're on the subject ...

This man is half prototype BioShock monster, half sentient North Korean dildo robot, and half leering pyromaniac hellbent on burning. Burning it all. We're aware that it doesn't add up, but neither does anything else about this unholy creation.

Somehow this is a Russian firefighter from the 1930s, although you'd be forgiven for assuming that he'd be far more likely to start fires than stop them. Because in the Soviet Union, even government workers who helped their countrymen for a living had to look intimidating. "Remember, comrades, put fire safety first! Or else I will come."

"Los Angeles is covered in smog. We need to run tests to find out how this will affect people living there."

"OK, let's put a big plastic bucket on some woman's head and pump smog into her eyes to see how much that bugs her."

"Jesus, what? Isn't there a less awful way to do this?"

"Probably. What's your point?"

"Right, I'll get the goggles!"

Well, the word on their shirts is "Peugeot," which is the French car company. While it would be hilarious to have a car company sponsor supervillain shock troops, they're actually the driver and mechanic of a 1914 racing team. They look like that because World War I era, unending stream of Lovecraftian horrors, etc.

Goddammit, previous generations. You couldn't even go for a freaking swim without dressing like a serial killer? What was your obsession with hiding your faces in the worst ways imaginable? It's OK to go more than five minutes without testing some stranger's startle reflexes, you know.

OK, so since sunscreen hadn't been invented yet, this mask was probably worn for protection. Not to prevent sunburn, mind you, but to prevent whatever she-beast lurked behind that psychotic visage from spontaneously combusting, purged from the planet where it does not belong by the holy light of the sun.

If there's one thing we don't like about going to funerals, it's that the priest overseeing the final farewell to our loved ones never dresses like the mocking specter of death. But back around 1892, funerals were apparently meant to uncomfortably remind all those present that the reaper is always, always watching you. Why else would this Italian monk have funeral attire that made him look like he was the one who caused the funeral?