My Professor is a Viking

The other day in class was a curious one. I had a sudden realization that I have not been able to un-realize, and rightfully so.

It seems that my philosophy professor is a viking.



Not one of them pretend vikings, either. It's almost as if one of the Nordic scourges popped right into our time period, and started listening to Linkin Park.

Here is a rough diagram of what I'm talking about:

Disclaimer: Axe and helmet added for effect

He even has a seldom-mentioned battle wound:

Hands are hard to draw!

I'm assuming he lost his finger while locked in mortal combat, fighting for honor. Or maybe against a bear or something.

A sea-bear.

You can only imagine the comedic value of listening to this big burly viking man try to tell us about Socrates and the true meaning of virtue.

He seems to have gotten his 21st-century persona down pretty well; although it really must be a constant struggle not to throw down the textbooks, grab the axe that is most assuredly in the classroom closet, and run around pillaging the campus.

Note: The campus has never suffered from cartoon fire before.

I know I'M thankful for his self control.

One day you'll get back to your own time, William the Viking. One day.

Until then, you can always grab some mutton at the local Renaissance fair.

We can all enjoy that.

-P