Pics speak louder than words.

Mommy I'm scared of the fat horse man!

You can invite the horsey to parties. We should invite him to Burt's and let Tristin ride him while he sings.

We could put my cabinets on his back.

WTF, how did you just happen to run across that?

i wonder how long it took him to grow that out? is that sort of thing curable?

Very bad times!

i dont even know what to say about those...

My question is about the back legs. They don't look articulated, so I'm guessing they are on fucking wheels! If they are, I bet the effect is just great. Big belly mullet nerd walks around dragging his paraplegic ass end behind him as the wheels go squeekity squeekity squeek! And what's with the giant nerd knife? Does he use it to open packs of D&D dice?

If this feller had sex with a bulldog, here would be the resulting offspring.



And how do you reckon the ass end is attatched? Is it just a belt, or do you think he used some pipe and junk to complete the illusion? Maybe a little pulley system to raise the tail when the moment comes?

Oh, and also, I'm no authority on sports equipment, and I don't know what goes on at any type of "faire", but I'm pretty sure that's not how you're supposed to wear a cup.

the chick in the chainmail is dreamy though...

Yeah, those faire chicks are the shit. I love watching 'em walk on the occasional TV show that features Stonehenge, Newgrange or any other geek related topic. I really get into those shows, and not just because I like to see fat girls trotting around with what appear to be bowls with half filled water balloons attatched to their chests. No, I also like to see fortysomething year old bespectacled nerds take seriously the fabricated pagan rituals that they researched so hard to make up, and the hippie/yuppie types who can feel the energy at these ancient places. Oh, and at crop circles, too.

Please don't think that I'm bagging on nerds. Being a huge one myself, I feel that many of these folks do a great disservice to the nerd community. I am frequently chilled and nauseated with the visions I have from TV of the male nerds in armor eating grapes from their female counterparts' pasty, mole bespeckled cleavages, their red moustaches driving them to giggly distraction. It is an unwelcome interruption of my frequent cover to cover reading of reference books. Who needs 'em? The last thing I want to think about when I'm hunkered down on the toilet battling a protracted bout of diarrhea with a dictionary of Mayan heiroglyphs or an enjoyable Mixtec codex is a mental picture of these porcine poindexters doing body shots of mead. That's just nasty.