Nude Paintings, Monkeys, and Metaphysical Connections

So I met this hot gnome waitress at a diner that the guys and I stopped at for brunch yesterday. I meet hottie gnomes almost every day here out on the road. Well okay fine, maybe not every day. And FINE…at least they look decent in dim bar lighting.

This gnome hottie was different though. I saw her in broad daylight and still wanted to shag her. She had tangled dirty blond hair and long red fingernails. She was clumsy as hell and a terrible waitress. The guys and I ordered extra spicy bloody marys, but before she could deliver them to us, she tripped over a table leg and the entry tray of delicious hangover cure goodness went flying across the floor.

Fortunately only McCartney got splashed. Serves him right for wearing a freaking white button down shirt to brunch. LAME.

Her name was Lola and she fell on her knees, picking up the pieces of glass and wiping up the mess. She looked like she was going to burst in tears. But god she looked good on her knees! I knelt down next to her and put my hand on her dainty gnome shoulder. I said, “Honey, why don’t you go bring us new drinks now and bring that hot little tush over to my hotel room tonight. Then we’ll be even.”

Obviously had recognized us as the hottest gnome band in the history of gnome bands and her eyes lit up with excitement. Se hustled back to the bar to put in another order for four bloody marys. Brunch was eh so-so….stale toast, cold bacon…nothing to write home about. Not that I ever write home. Don’t get me started on my mommy issues.

I wrote my cell number on a napkin as we left the diner and blew Lola a kiss from the door.

A couple hours later, Lola’s shift ended and she gave me a buzz. I told her the hotel’s address and told her to bring a nice couch and some bright lamps. She said she didn’t understand. I barked at her to just do it and hung up.

Twenty minutes later, Lola showed up with an antique red velvet lounge couch from a nearby thrift shop and two stage lights from the local theater. I gave Lola mad props for her quick thinking and follow through.

I told her that although I was an awesomely famous musician with Amish Meth Lab, I was exploring my creative side by taking up oil painting. I went on to explain that I was only interested in the art form of nude painting and that she was lucky enough to be chosen as my first subject.

Without any hesitation whatsoever, she dropped her diner uniform to the floor, flung her double-D stabilizer over a lamp, and posed seductively on the velvet couch. I flipped on the stage lights, only to reveal the gross number of stains on said couch. We decided not just to ignore those and move on.

I spent the next seven hours and forty-two minutes staring at Lola’s magnificent nakedness. I let her leave on her red gnome hat, of course. This is how my very first oil painting turned out…..WHADDYA THINK!???!?!?!

I showed the painting to Lola and she squealed that absolutely loved it! She exclaimed that somehow with my awesome painting skills, I took off at least 15 pounds.

Then she saw the monkey. She was like “WTF?”. I explained that the monkey was emerging from a time warp on the floor next to her supreme nakedness. She said she didn’t get it. I said she was dumb and that I didn’t have an answer, except that I just drew what I saw.

That’s when Lola started freaking out. She looked everywhere in the hotel room, but still didn’t see a monkey. And he didn’t see any time warp. She suddenly realized that she was stark raving naked in the presence of a legitimately insane individual. She grabbed her dress, shoved her panties in her purse, and ran out of the hotel room, barefoot, disheveled, and humiliated.

I doubt I’ll ever see that ole’ Lola again, but whatever. I know I’m not a raging lunatic and that’s all that matters. I have the evidence to prove it, goddamnit! When I awoke this morning (hungover, alone, and with terrible morning breath), I found another oil painting on the floor next to mine. But this one wasn’t mine and it wasn’t yet dry.

The monkey I saw the room with us last night must have painted this! What other explanation could there be?

But why is there a sheep in his painting? Did he see a sheep in the same way that I saw him? Do his ho’s think he’s a lunatic too? And where is this sheep, anyway?

All I know is that I need to meet this monkey. Clearly, we have some sort of metaphysical connection….which is something that ole’ Lola and I would have never had.

If you see a monkey that looks like this, please text me. Thanks guys.

Lennon The Gnome and Most Essential Musician of Amish Meth Lab

Gnome Guards Hired due to Security Breach


(brought to you by your Gnome King and the letter V)

There has been a security breach in The Gnome Abode. Windows have been shattered. Rocks have been used in a malicious manner. And worst of all, the landscaping has been trampled by what can only be assumed to be a beast.


Details, specifics, and anything actually substantial have not yet been released by the GPD, however, we all know something’s up.

An army of gnome security guards have been hired to stand guard outside The Abode in a most terrifying manner.

I don’t know what they plan to do with those shovels, but I’m most certainly not going to find out the hard way.

I went to the cupboard to see if there were any of those delicious sugar cookies left that they made over the weekend. Instead of scrumptious frosted goodness, this is what I found in their place!

Are we under attack? Who are our enemies? Why didn’t I know about this sooner?!

Sleepless in the Abode,

Jerry The Gnome King

Séamas Gets Defeeted but not Defeated

My brother, Sheldon, is the famous traveling gnome and gets all the glory and fame. You’ve probably seen the pictures he’s posted from Zion National Park and Yosemite. You know what I have to say to that?  WOOPDIE FREAKING DO.

I never get invited to go anywhere. Everyone at The Abode says I’m too fragile….too wimpy…too much of a homebody. But you know what? I’m bored as shit.

Well I reached my breaking point last week when I overheard talk of a camping/boating/fishing trip to Southern Illinois. When I asked Master Gnomeplaya and King Jerry if I could tag along, I was laughed at in the face. Some spit even came out when they laughed. It was nasty.

The next day, I filed a strongly worded complaint with the Bureau of Internal Gnomal Affairs (BIGA). A few phone calls and blackmail threats later, and I was in southbound in the Jeep as the ONE AND ONLY gnome attendee.

Some of the humans were fishing and successfully catching fish. I saw those suckers and they were bigger than I am. I said no thank you and decided to sit on a log to watch the festivities and work on my tan.

I think my blood sugar was a little low that morning or maybe it was the motion of the lake. But the lake started spinning and I began sweating like a pig. I heard that pigs don’t really sweat, but I’ll save those musings for another post.

I lost my footing and tumbled off the log and into the murky waters below. Gnomeplaya ran and dived in (Baywatch style) to save me. Apparently, I forgot how to learn to swim along the way of life.

As I was cradled in Gnomeplaya’s arms, I was appalled to see that I had suffered a severe and permanent injury. I am forever missing the sides and bottom of my feet!

How the heck am I supposed to compete with my brother for the status of “traveling gnome” with broken feet!? Try as we might, we could not locate the missing feet parts in the lake water.

Instead of spending the day on a pontoon boat with everyone else, I spent the rest of the weekend in a physical rehabilitation center located on the side of a cliff. To be honest, it wasn’t all that bad….there was hookah to smoke, cards to play, and nice scenery to stare at.

I’m still in rehab and would love it if someone out there would send me flowers, balloons, and/or new feet. I’m a size 0.6 in case you were wondering.

Defeeted but not defeated,

Séamas The Gnome

(yes, I’ve started spelling my name with a thingy-ma-jig over the “e” to make myself sound more foreign. TAKE THAT, SHELDON!)

Olney, Illinois: Once Home to Albino Squirrels. Now Home to Gnomes.

Allow me to introduce you to a town in the middle of nowhere that goes by the name – Olney, Illinois.

Our Master and Goddess, Gnomeplaya, mentioned a long time ago that she was born in this random place. That alone makes it a magical place.

Olney is “famous” for it’s albino squirrels. Hey, c’mon….every place has got to famous for something, right?!

A couple of the guys and I decided to take the Jeep out for a road trip this past weekend to discover the magic first hand. It is no wonder that Gnomeplaya has ruled all of Gnomekind for so long. Her very own place of birth has a city park that features and entire GNOMEVILLE!

We introduced ourselves to the gnomes living in Olney’s Gnomeville. They had a bit of a southern accent and liked shitty beer, but they were definitely a bunch of alright ole chaps.

It was freaking 95 degrees, but these diligent bastards just kept on working their fields. Shit. We got it easy at The Abode. I better count my lucky stars. Oh yeah….you can see stars down here too!

Southerners sure are sports fanatics. They kicked our asses in every game which way imaginable.

The gnomes in Olney are the primary caretakers for this rare breed of albino squirrels. They slather SPF 105 on their pasty fur at least once an hour just to keep them from becoming common, boring squirrels.

Their houses were exquisitely built and welcoming. I’ve started to develop some new interior design ideas for our own place when we get back home and convince Gnomeplaya make a stop at Gnome Depot for essential supplies.

These gnomes did laundry, rode beetles, carried baskets, and drank from mushrooms. They’re just like us! The gnome world has never felt smaller! I mean, it’s always kind of small but “small” is relative. It’s not the size that matters. True dat.

We totally respected the Olney gnomes of Gnomeville because they stayed true to their roots and took care of an endangered species that has little to no effect on the entire rest of the gnome and/or human world.

This chubbster shown here with the squirrels, who goes by Ralph, is my new pen pal. I’m going to try to get him to write a blog post from time to time, but they’ve never heard of the Interweb down there, so this could be a long-term project.


Kamikaze The Gnome

Gnomes Getting Restraining Orders Against Other Gnomes

Of course I’ve had my share of stalkers in my day. I mean how could it really be avoided? I’m a gorgeous, brilliant, rare, and irresistible gnome lady. The “stalking” usually never amounted to more than showering me with gifts and excessive late night texts begging for me to come over. Those things I can handle.

Know what I can’t handle? That little bastard who goes by the weird name, The Book of Genesis. That’s why I had to file a restraining order against him today.

It all started when “The Book” and I met at a wedding I was bridesmaiding in a few weeks ago. I was pissed at Jerry and flirting with The Book to try to make him jealous. Jerry was too wasted to even notice so it all turned out to be pointless. I guess The Book got the wrong idea, because he fell completely head over heels for me. I can’t really blame him, but he took things just a bit too far.

His level of stalking went far beyond what I would consider, like Facebook stalking. Hell! Everyone does that!

His texts began once an hour. Then once a minute. His phone calls began began exactly in between the once-a-minute texts. His emails were no less than 5,000 words each and professed his willingness to do whatever it took to make me his. I kept seeing the top of a pointy hat outside my bedroom window periodically throughout my day. Somehow he managed to hide before I was ever able to catch him. I swear I wasn’t hallucinating. I think I’ve been off hallucinogens for a couple days now!

Then yesterday, I found this creepy check list in the grass outside my bedroom window.

I started to panic. I frantically ran around The Abode, locking all of the windows and doors. Then I realized that he’s an Abode resident so he has his own set of keys. Shit.

With trembling fingers, I rummaged through my purse to call the police and file a report. You’ll never believe what I found. I was appalled to find that he had written a message in HIS OWN BLOOD on the back of my g-Phone case! OMG.

I ran to the kitchen to use the house phone and after an excessive hold time, I finally reached the Stalking Department of the GPD. According to a paper I signed and paid a pretty penny for, The Book is not allowed to come with 500 feet of me. However, I just realized that he never signed the restraining order and likely doesn’t even know that a restraining order exists.

The legal system is whack. I think I’ll just make Jerry kick his ass.

Your Future Queen,

Tabitha The Gnome