In a few days I will burn all of my clothes and possessions. I will don a loincloth, thick fur boots and wristguards. An x-shaped leather harness will hug my manly torso, fastening one sheath on my back for a broad two-handed sword and another on my chest for a MacBook.
From that day forward I will be a barbarian. My role in society will be largely the same, really. I'll just be approaching things with more barbarism and getting into all sorts of adventures. The last thing I want is to freak someone out with this. Giving everyone a heads up seems like the decent thing to do.
Why Do I Want To Be A Barbarian?
For one, I love the cold. Big fan. If there's anything better than crunching through pure snow as your breath puffs out in little clouds, it's stepping into a warm building and shivering as the lingering traces of cold shiver through your body.
Being a barbarian would also be a great motivator to work out more. Don't get me wrong, I'm in decent shape. I squirm in my computer chair as much as the next guy. I've never had tremendous muscle definition, though. After a few weeks of bashing every barrel I see, throwing boulders at cyclopses, and kicking ancient doors sealed with arcane magic until they tumble down, I'll probably be in the best shape of my life.
Truth be told, a big part of my decision stems from my desire to wear a cape. Not a superhero cape, or one of those silk things that hang from some tuxedos. I'm talking about a proper piece of ratty wool trailing behind me, flapping in the snowy wind. If I wasn't a barbarian, I'd look goofy wearing one.
Although this change in lifestyle isn't based upon altruism, it seems that I could wind up doing some good as a barbarian. I suspect there are more roaming bandits out there than we think. Our modern society is so focused on work, entertainment, and technology that all sorts of crazy stuff is probably going on in our villages and taverns and castles. I'm fairly certain that I'll come across a wizard or two holed up in a mountain with an evil artifact.
Anticipating Your Concerns
The sword. Yes, it's really quite big and sharp. No, I don't have the slightest clue as to how to properly wield it. It's my understanding that I will be attacked by orcs at some point, triggering my inner rage and granting me the ability to lop their heads off like a master swordsman. It's really quite safe when compared to something like a handgun.
For many of you, the sword is not nearly as disconcerting as the idea of playing charades against me. After all, what if my clue is "barbarian"? I could just point to myself and win the round. Not fair at all. I assure you, I will never play charades again. That will be the weight I carry on my broad shoulders as I stride through goblin caves in search of treasure.
With so much exposed skin, few baths, and all sorts of adventures through dusty passages, you might think that I'll make a mess when I go grocery shopping, or see a movie, or visit the library. You're right. It's going to be way gross. I'll be leaving puddles of sweat, flecks of dried blood, and bits of giant spiderweb all over the place. You're just going to have to deal with it. I'm sorry but there's nothing to be done.
A Few Requests
I don't drive. Hate everything about it. Always have. Even if I wanted to drive a car, however, there's no way I would be able to do it as a barbarian. A motorcycle is out of the question too.
That said, walking everywhere is horribly inefficient. What I need is a Segway. If anyone has one of those bad boys with a magical blessing from a super hot elemental forest lady and treads graded for mountain climbing, please let me know.
Also, I'd really appreciate any hot tips on possible adventures that you might be able to pass along. Maybe there's a brutish pack of slavers raiding your town. Perhaps you've heard of a guarded palace whose rooms glow strangely at night, a home to rumored secrets of ages past. There might be a god manifesting itself as a sabretooth tiger and planning to infiltrate the officiating crew in the NBA Finals. You know, basic run of the mill barbarian stuff.
Sometimes I dream that I'm sitting in the back of the defunct Weinermobile as it careens driverless down the highway. At first I thought this was symbolic of the powerlessness I feel in life, but then I realized it's actually the Weinermobile's dream of being able to drive again.
Three years ago, when we were burying my uncle, Cleaver and some gross lady dog (Solstice???) showed up at the cemetery and starting going at it really loudly. It ruined everything and we had to have a "re-do" the next day and it cost a fortune. I've hated him ever since for that.
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