The Great MWGL Forums Selfie Thread

Peen Simmons said:
Four score and seven beers ago, some drunkard shoved forth into my selfie to photobomb the crap out of my personage. Most vexing. We struck up a row and were summarily emancipated from the local saloon. So I wrasseled him in the streets.

And that, friends, is how I earned my law degree.
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:clap:
 
I'm doing my every-couple-years-I-get-lazy-about-shaving-over-winter-break-and-decide-to-call-it-a-beard, so I'm joining the ranks of the grizzled. Every time I do this there's more gray in the beard, which is a pretty cheery memento mori. I also appear to have a tsunami on my head this morning.

mIHI8lT.jpg
 
Lerxst said:
View attachment 45615
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I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by;
And the wheel’s kick and the wind’s song and the white sail’s shaking,
And a grey mist on the sea’s face, and a grey dawn breaking.

I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.

I must go down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,
To the gull’s way and the whale’s way where the wind’s like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover,
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick’s over.
 
frunobulax said:
I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by;
And the wheel’s kick and the wind’s song and the white sail’s shaking,
And a grey mist on the sea’s face, and a grey dawn breaking.

I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.

I must go down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,
To the gull’s way and the whale’s way where the wind’s like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover,
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick’s over.
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48.44143,-124.126553
 
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