Magenta stiletto, anyone?

Um, I’m not sure if anyone is reading this or out there or what. But I woke up in a bathtub with chunks of green jello in places that green jello should just never be.

I remember being invited to this housewarming party by some cute lil’ gnome fella I met at the bus stop the other day. I remember a bathtub full of green jello. I remember people digging green jello out of the bathtub with spoons. I’m pretty sure there was more in that jello than just jello.

Anyway, it’s 5pm and I just work up in this weird house and no one seems to be home. I can’t find my phone or my car keys so I guess I’m just stuck here. One of the gnomes that lives here left his computer on and this weird blog thingie was up. I figured this is my only way to reach the outside world. SO HI OUTSIDE WORLD!!!

Anyway, I’m not all that concerned about getting out of here. They have cable and a bunch of cereal in the cupboards. What I AM concerned about is my magenta stiletto. I have one of them but not the other, so this is clearly a problem. I took a picture of the one I have so if you see it somewhere out in the world, you can blog back to this thingie and hopefully someday we’ll be reunited.

Magenta Stiletto, Size 0.07

I wear a size 0.07 (yes I know it’s the perfect size feet for my gnomish body type) so you might have a hard time seeing it if some beer bottles or cigarette butts are covering it up.

Irregardlessly, please contact me somehow! I think I got a bunch of gnome guy’s phone numbers last night but I lost my phone so I won’t have a booty call tonight unless you’re reading this. Hint. Hint.


Roxy The Gnome

TGIM! (Thank goodness it’s Monday)

OMG! I love it when my boss schedules a 9pm conference call! It really starts my day on a  positive note to know that I have all my ducks in a row and that I’ve beaten the “Case of the Mondays”.

In case I didn’t properly introduce myself, I’m Phillip The Gnome and I work in a standard 9-5 office where I have the privilege of pushing papers from one side of my desk to another for an amazing 8 hours a day. My finger muscles are so wonderfully strong! I could lift a blazing car off of an infant with these paper cut -ridden digits. I have no idea why my brethren choose to work those low-level blue collar jobs in gardens and household collections. I am a valuable member of society and a unique and beautiful snowflake.

Sometimes I even get to answer the telephone! Yes! A real live telephone! And sometimes people even scream at me! There is so much emotion in their voices and I have no idea why! My boss has really never told me what type of business this is or what my actual job title is. Irregardlessly, I love listening to people yell at me and use profanity in my general direction. It humbles me and makes me appreciate all of the positivity in my life.

I busted my cellmate with this in his desk drawer today! Can you believe it? Bringing booze to work? Who would do such a thing? Tisk tisk.

Barenjager in the Office

Well I better get off to slumber-land so I can squeeze in my 5am cardio-kickboxing class and another amazing day of spreadsheet and agenda items!

Blissfully yours,

Phillip the Gnome

Half Acre Cipher Review

What up party people?! Drizzunk Caesar in da house!

One of my toughest dwarf critics made a sly side comment to me at our local dive bar last night about this “Drunk Gnome Blog” not having enough blogging about drinking. So I dedicate this post to Sneeze, Dopey, Doc, and all you other judgmental fuckers.

Last night I tried a new brew. It’s called Cipher, a Belgian Blonde, from Half Acre in Chicago. Anyone else ever tried it? If so, I’d be interested to hear opinions from human taste buds such as yours.

Half Acre Cipher Bottle (empty of course)

I’ve always been a big fan of Belgian Blondes (both the beers and the broads, of course). It pumps in a good 7.5% of alcohol and I picked up a pint at the Half Acre Brewery on Lincoln Avenue. I found the beer to be pleasant and drinkable, but nothing to write home about. Not that I ever write home about anything anyway. My home sucks. A pile of dirt next to a watering can is nothing to brag about.

Nothing was terribly memorable about it but it had a light flavor that didn’t make me feel like a Fatty MaGoo. It had flavor, but nothing that made me orgasm my socks off either.

More memorable than the beer itself is the label on the beer bottle. Apparently this beer was just released last week and the label holds a cryptic messages to “Cipher”. GET IT?! Someone over there thinks they’re freaking clever.

Rumor has it that if you can decipher the code on the label, you win a brewery tour for you and your 10 closest friends as well as a VIP already-sold-out hacker conference in Chicago.

Gnomes aren’t known for their tech savvy nature by any means, but this sounds like a great reason to go rummaging through the recycling bin in my back alley to find that bottle and get really high and cross my eyes and see a mystical image that explains the meaning of life.

Stumbling to the recycling bin and finding the meaning of life,

Caesar The Gnome

Good vs. Evil: A Manatee Survival Masterpiece

Savior Gnome Rescuing Manatee From Evil Gnome

This masterpiece is not intended for the faint of heart. Rating PG-13. Kids turn your computers off and go find a swing set.

You may have heard rumors about manatee abuse and the guide companies that support it. On my daily 5am swim with the sea cows, I spied an deformed looking creature hiding in the bushes. He was an evil gnome! He had a gun! And he was pointing it at Suzette, my most favorite manatee in the whole wide world.


He got her! NO! He got her!!!!

I had to think quick on my feet. I gnawed off an anchor rope from a nearby tour guide boat with my tiny gnome teeth, threw the lasso around Suzette, and climbed on top of her. Suzette was so brave! If I had just a fraction of her braveness, I would have totally joined that fraternity back in undergrad.

I am thrilled to report that due to the best medical attention available in the Homosassa River, Suzette has made a full recovery. We are toasting with champagne at this very moment as she reads this blog post over my shoulder. She is considering getting some sort tattoo design around her gunshot wound scar as in remembrance of the dichotomy of good and evil in the world.

I find my remembrance by exhibiting my masterful work of art in the Shovel and Rake Gallery in Greenwich Village. Hours and location details will be available when I feel like showing up there.

Artistically yours in life and death,

Jerry the Gnome


Cracking Cankles

I was finally able to hobble over to this Internet machine after hours of screaming in agonizing pain. Have you ever had an ankle injury? Yeah yeah, it sucks whatever. Now. Have you had a CANKLE injury?! OMG these are like 104% worse. For those of you who are skinny and/or stupid, let me learn ya something…..

Exhibit B: Cankle Education

It all started at my friend Katie’s retirement party Saturday night. Well I thought it was her retirement party anyway. Turns out she had just gotten hired at a new job instead and she’s only 29. Who knew?! Katie and I go waaaaaay back. She and I used to make out behind the maple trees at recess during out time at the Woodlands Academy of Magic Arts. Ah memories…

I found a brilliant receipe for blueberry vodka/Godiva white chocolate/Licor 43 martinis and had about 8 of ’em before heading out to Katie’s retirement, er hirement (?) celebration. There was hugging, there was groping, and there was an entire martini list that begged one of each to be ordered.

I was hoping Katie would go back to my mushroom pad in the garden to shack up that night but she was playing hard to get. I think there’s someone else.  Rejected and wasted, I pulled back up my suspenders, buttoned my vest and much as it would button over my ever-extending waistline, and staggered towards the door. This is the precise moment that a magical evil stair appeared from the void of darkness and attacked me for no reason whatsoever.

“Ow! Ow! My cankle! My cankle!” I screamed as I tumbled in slow motion and saw my life flash before my eyes. (Eh, it was okay). That cankle cracked like no cankle has ever cracked before.

The bouncer nervously glanced around to see if there were any witnesses to this horrific incident. There were not. He took his pretentious metrosexual shoe and shoved me out the door into the frigid 31-degree night.

Due to the swelling, my cankle is now 5 times the size of my normally sized cankle. Work boots will never fit over this horrid thing. I’m thinking of buying some of these socks to see if they live up to the hype. The folks on the infomercials can’t stop raving about them. What do you think?

Cracked cankle curing sock

Hobbling but not a Hobbit (I hate those snooty bastards),

Maurice The Gnome