Excavated: Clean Comb

Boy am I in a pickle... you might call it a bristly pickle! Wait, no, that sounds gross. How am I going to tame this stache?

You expect me to just use my hands to align these whiskers?!

M-my comb! My beloved comb! My dearest tamer of fly-aways, separator of tangles! The world has meant nothing without you! Oh, mwah, mwah, mwah! I hope you weren't scared. I kept your room just like you like it...

Show me what you found!