Rare are the friends who you can don smeared face paint, rubber weapons, and carpet/fur with while tramping around the forest looking for all kinds of tom-foolery. Perhaps this green faced fella will realize this one day and smile back on the good times (that is unless his face sticks that way). I pity the doomed creature or village that chances across their path.
(I do wish we could see the chainmail clad redhead in the back.)
whoa...hahaha, Darren...wait: did you have anything to do with this photo? Were you also painted and adorned with faux fur and carpet? Where's the shot of YOU?!!! This is fabulous! Sign me up!!
ReplyDeleteIf only. The shot of me in similar garb is in the works. Buuuuutttt, it can wait until you are in Provo again. Green is a better color for you than me.
ReplyDeleteI call dibs in the shirt with the laced arms.
Gotta love online picture sites; where else could you unearth things of such...such...nerdery.
Say the word and I'll be there, Darren. It would not be the first time I painted my face green.
ReplyDeleteUm, I think the redhead might be Ron Weasley.
ReplyDeleteUhhh....
ReplyDeleteThere I posted.
oh the stolid elegance of the unnecessarily obligatory comment...thanks Gregorovich.
ReplyDeleteJ/K my B.W.F.F.U.I.Q (Best Work Friends Forever Until I Quit)
You know, Darren, my dad does happen to be a Viking. He could hook us up with mail and battle axes and such. No worries. I've seen his collection. He's got plenty. Em, I think you might be a claymore gal if I'm not mistaken?
ReplyDeleteJames, your roots are quite amazing. I thought there was a bit of Leif in you.
ReplyDeleteI come from the dark Scots, the ones who raised sheep and lived in thatched huts on the moors and terrorized the pasty white Europeans. With green face paint. I had a great great great great grandfather who was in imprisoned in a Scottish castle, probably in a dungeon. That's pretty much Viking.
ReplyDeleteBrilliant!!
ReplyDeleteEm,
ReplyDeleteThe funny thing as Darren knows is that my dad actually does think he's a Viking. In fact, I have a poem about it. (What don't I have a poem about? Oh, wait...smiles and birds.) So I'm not kidding about an acquisition of weaponry. He's got an arsenal. I just need to know what time and what town gets a-pillaging. Darren, you're in charge of logistics. Em, you get to do all the raping like usual.
Thor-Boy