This is just a simple, photographical image of our feelings about being stood up by Mike and kids for cookies and a playdate.
I slaved over a hot oven to bring you the masterpieces you see here. I mean, what else would possess me to create a gingerbread away team? Only my deepest respect for Mike and his frontierial obsessions. Or I’ve gone loopy. Either are plausible excuses, really.
First person to name at least three characters depicted here wins a gingerensign of his/her choice.
All I know, Mike, is that someone else had to eat the gingerbread ensign, and I cried through every bite… *sniff*
I’ll present these other photos to you as a warning to keep Booyor away from the decorator bag full of frosting…
Merry Christmas!
Semi-related posts:
It’s British Ambassador Potter and General Secretary Gorbachev trying to convince Nikita Khrushchev that Christmas is good.
It looks like the first two gingerbread men in the top row just realized they’re the redshirts on the away team.
Pretty much.
I screamed and nearly fled whence I had scrolled down far enough to see the cyclops.
I spot Worf, Geordi, and Picard, but I had a preview. I like the little communicators.
In my defense…okay, I have no defense. I screwed up. Me and my children are lesser people for not experiencing these AWESOME gingerbread cookies.
Forgive me for my trespasses.
Fact: Gingerensigns are awesome.
Lesser people? False.
“Forgive me for my trespasses.” Only because it’s Christmas. If this was Boxing Day, you’d be out of luck.
Oh! Feast of Stephen. Nevermind. Yeah, you’re forgiven tomorrow, too. Shweeeet!