Know what the problem with trees is? They have no personality; they're just bundles of bark and leafy stuff blending into nature's verdant background.
Now this lumber you'll remember – most likely late at night when you hear boughs creaking ominously outside. Rooted in the prized soil of Paris' Parc de Saint-Cloud, home of Marie Antoinette's rose garden, the trees bear faces that are alternately twisted in grimaces, bellowing in anger or frowning in the intensest way possible. The copse of anthropomorphic foliage is freaky enough to make you want to run for a chainsaw.
