Ya'll.
Welcome to Foamhenge. Population: you + the guy who built it (don't worry, he's hiding in the bushes.)
Oh, M. Cline. Nothing you do could surprize me....
I spoke too soon. I give you... Foam Merlin. Foam Merlin's face was taken from a mold of a local fellow (a friend of M. Cline I imagine) who is now deceased. How do I know this? There was a plaque, of course. A memorial plaque. Foam Merlin serves as a structure that will forever immortalize the aforementioned local fellow. And when I say 'forever' and 'immortalize', I mean 'for as long as foam lasts' and 'seriously?'
We will never forget you, Foamhenge!
And just for reference, here is me at real Stonehenge. You can tell it's the real deal because of the gray sky (proof you are in England) and the rope fence (M. Cline was not there to protect it so they had to take other precautionary measures).
It wasn't until my sophomore year that one of my friends gently explained to me that the foam was like hand soap foam, not like real pieces of foam. And somehow, that just sounded icky. So in it's own way, my trip to Foamhenge was like my very own semi-private Foam Party. And that-- that is the stuff dreams are made of.
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