At some point, viagra order cool morphs into kitsch – and kitsch into drooling fan-dork overkill.
With these tiny metal sculptures, the balancing game happens at around six or seven.
A single bead on a chain – an itty-bitty skull carved into the muscle end of an animal claw and cast in metal – feels very cool, as if it’s a talisman against rat attacks or spider bites.
Add a couple more, string them on black cord – even cooler. The handful of them ripples pleasantly when you shake them, a sine-wave tinkle that tickles your fingertips …
But once you get up over 10 or so on a single necklace, all of a sudden you’re Conan the cartoon Barbarian, glowering from a tiger-bone throne, guzzling mead from your flagon, flaunting your victims’s skulls and kill trophies around your neck and droning:
What is best in life? To crush your enemies. To see them driven before you. And to hear the lamentations of their women…
These are made by what looks like lost-wax casting, blackened in the detail spots and then buffed to a dull sheen. I spotted them a summer ago at RenFaire, for 25 cents apiece, amid countless other imported jewels and trinkets.
Seven is just right, by Cröm.
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