Mo faffles, anyone?

Suddenly there stood in the doorway a man of enormous stature and very poor taste in clothing. His mass of coal black hair was kept from tumbling into his face by a bright red ribbon tied in a smart little bow, his mask seemed too small for his round face and from the way he moved you could tell he had some difficulty seeing, probably due to the impossibly large peacock feather atop his head that kept falling in front of his eyes. He wore a high collared tunic of forest green with a burnt orange trim, the cape that billowed out behind his noble bulk was of no particular color, instead it seemed to be made of a strange irradescent material that caused physical illness if one looked at it for too long. His dark purple tights were uncomfortable even to look at and his large feet were dwarfed in rubber boots so large that your mind refuses to accept their existance, it was a wonder that he could even walk.
"I am the great Mo Faffles," he said, in a strangely urbane voice.