Out came a beautiful lady, dressed in camo and donning a cuerno (AK-47).
Square-jawed and muscular—in snapshots he looks like Channing Tatum in camo—Gibbs seemed to fit the mold of the ideal soldier.
The menswear crowd—who are obsessed with all things heritage, camo, and the F word—fell fast in love with Terrapin.
“I voted for him,” said one immense man in a camo hat and overalls, trailing off into an unintelligible mumble.
Bringing home the bacon for the camo crowd is an expensive and profitable means of spending federal dollars.
We were convinced, by the cautious way in which he approached, that it was not camo.
I had never seen one, but camo had described it to us as we were on our way to the river.
Arthur proposed that we should move further to the south; camo recommended that we should remain where we were.
One evening one of the two men came back reporting that all was safe, but camo had not returned.
“Here you will be perfectly safe, for there is no other path besides the one by which we have come,” said camo.