There are just times in your life that will require you to drink the nectar of the gods from a Viking Drinking Horn. Sorry my son, there just are — I won’t be there to tell you when, there will be no sage elder for you counsel. For on that fair day my lad you will know — from high on up, as the sun god Helios makes his daily journey across the great celestial sky, there will be a sign. And on that day you will brandish your Viking Drinking Horn proudly, fill it to the brim with mead, drink it’s golden goodness as the liquid mats down your woolly beard, and you will scream a soul cry the likes of which have not been heard echo across these valley hills for generations. You will look back and be happy you spent the $14 that one afternoon long past surfing on the net at work. Then, you will take that Viking Drinking Horn and smite your enemy like the dog that he is — POW!, right into his temple. And on that day you will know, truly and really, what it means to be a man.