Author Archives: Maurice

About Maurice

I have nothing to say to you minions. 

Homeless drunk Rumplesphincter brother headed to Devil’s Lake!

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‘Sup guys….Maurice here. I’m the middle Rumplesphincter brother who the others tend to forget about. Séamus is the oldest and I heard a rumor that he got himself all paralyzed and is working some illegal gig now. Good for him! Sheldon, the baby of the family, is a goody-two-shoes who has gotten himself famous by traveling the world and publishing his travel writing. At least one of us has been successful, I guess.

I’m a drunk. And I’m homeless. And I’ve never really made a contribution to gnomish society. But there’s enough gnomes out there doing that. I’ll just lounge in the mushrooms and stay out of their way.

I read a recent post by brother Séamus and begged him to buy me lunch. He did (!) and he told me about his recent trip to southern Illinois. I got jealous. I know I’m the deadbeat of the family, but it doesn’t seem right that I’m the only Rumplesphincter brother who has never left the outer parameter of The Gnome Abode.

Yesterday, I cleaned myself up the best I could and hand-delivered an application form to Gnomeplaya to tag along on the next adventure. Apparently not many gnomes applied for this one, so I won the spot!

I’m headed to Devil’s Lake in Wisconsin for the weekend. It just sounds cool. And evil.

Rumor has it that there will be rock climbing, camping, fishing, artwork making, horseback riding, and drinking. I’m really only interested in the drinking part, but I’ll certainly observe and report back on the rest of those active activities.

Time to stock my grog supply in preparation for the road trip.

Tally ho!

Maurice Rumplesphincter – the middle child and homeless drunk (but now traveling) gnome

GNOME-NAPPING ALERT! Hide yo wives! Hide yo kids!

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Parental discretion advised….

On the evening of Cinco de Mayo, 2012, a miscellaneous gnome who had a few too many margaritas (on the rocks with salt) mysteriously disappeared. Foul play is suspected.

The aforementioned missing gnome goes by the name, AguaMelón. He’s a tiny son-of-a gun and holds residence inside the glove compartment of a Mexican watermelon truck, where he was works as the chief salesman of over-sized fruit.

Around 10:04pm CST, AguaMelón was spotted with this gentleman, who we shall refer to as SUSPECT #1.

SUSPECT #1 appeared to be under the influence of some type of mind-altering liquid substance, as proven hear by the holding of a most suspicious blue cup. The identity of SUSPECT #1 has not yet been revealed to the public.

Later that evening, AguaMelón was spotted with this overly-Jubilant gentleman, who we shall refer to as SUSPECT #2.

Although no proof of intoxication has surfaced, it is clear that SUSPECT #2 is wearing a disguise because really….who has a mustache that really looks like that?

Some officers in the Gnome Police Department (GPD) have developed a controversial theory. Their theory states that neither SUSPECT #1 nor SUSPECT #2 are likely to be the gnomenapper of AguaMelón.

Take notice of the hand holding AguaMelón in each of these two photographs. It’s the same hand! Wearing the same sleeve! This hand shall be referred to as SUSPECT #3.

If anyone out there has any information on the owner of this hand, you are encouraged to contact the GPD immediately at 1-900-GPD-YEAH.

 

Seven Reasons to Wash Your Hands in a Massage Parlor

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I MADE IT THROUGH MY FIRST DAY ON THE JOB!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Yu Wong called me on Sunday to gave me the amazing news! The job at the shady massage parlor is MINE! ALL MINE!

Tonight was my first night on the job. I got there just before 9:00pm for my training session. As I looked around the parlor, I noticed that there were no massage beds. Hmm. Maybe there was a delay in the shipping or something.

No one else was in the parlor except Yu Wong and I. He pointed his stubby finger at a metal chair sitting behind a card table. “Sit,” he commanded. So I sat.

“Now listen,” He continued as I pulled back the chair and plopped down. “You sit here. Someone comes in? You ask him one question: ‘How many cans of tomato soup do you have in your cupboard?’ If he answers ‘three’, then you send them back to me. If he answers anything else, you make him leave. However you need to. There’s a gun taped to the underside of that card table.”

I stuttered and blinked twice. I thought I was going to be rubbing down random naked gnome girls all night while getting paid to take the gnome girl that I really want out for a proper date. Before I had a chance to respond, Yu Wang was walking towards the backroom.

“Wait!” I yelled at this hunched backside. “Can’t you give me and some advice? Some guidelines to do this job?!”

“Sure!” Yu Wang yelled and looked back with a deviant smirk on his face. “Go read the sign above the urinals.”

What a strange request. But with nothing else to go off of, I walked into the bathroom. This is the sign I found above the urinals:

THIS is the advice I’m given to do a shady job where I don’t even know what my job IS?! And why is there cooked and uncooked food in a massage parlor, anyway?

A little confused but still finishing out my shift til 5am,

Maurice The Gnome

Car washes, massage parlors, and Klonopin

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Suddenly, there’s this really hot girl gnome hanging around here. I don’t know who she is or where she came from, but I want her. She seems a little bitchy, but I’m feeling up for a challenge. My fellow gnommates have always accused me of being a lazy son-of-a-bitch, but suddenly I feel this spring in my step.

That also may have something to do with the bottle of Klonopin I found in a medicine cabinet that one night when the sliding glass door was left open. Taking one of those per hour is reasonable, right?

Irregardlessly, I need to step up my game before I introduce myself to this mystery goddess. I need a shave. I need a job. And I need a better personality. I shaved yesterday, so today was my day to find a job.

I had two job interviews today, one was at the car wash, which is conveniently located next to The Gnome Abode. I’ll admit, it was a little intimidating walking into the shop. There was a huge gnome with tattoos all over his shaved head and a lot of the gnomes spoke some language that I couldn’t understand. The tattooed gnome asked me if I could hold a hose. I said yes. Then he asked me if I’d ever been arrested for stealing money. I said no. Then he said he’d call me and that was it. I don’t even think I gave him my phone number. But I’m still trying to stay optimistic.

My second interview was at a massage parlor that just opened up on the other side of the car wash. I figured they would be hiring since they just turned on their neon green flashing signs a couple days ago. A darling little Chinese gnome lady said hello and offered me a masseuse job on the spot. She didn’t even ask me any questions or ask for my resume. That’s a good thing because I have no prior work experience on my resume. It’s actually just some doodles on a sheet of paper with my name and contact information. I didn’t want to seem to desperate, so I told the parlor owner that I was definitely interested, but weighing my options, and that I would get back to her by the end of the week.

Could I really make a living as a professional gnome masseuse? I’ve never really touched anyone before, but I guess that’s not a prerequesite. The car wash guys seemed cool, but I’m pretty sure I heard snickering in the backroom as I walked out. I need a positive work environment, so I’m not sure if that’s the place for me.

To play it cool, I think I’ll call back the massage parlor tomorrow. I don’t even know it’s called because it doesn’t even have a sign out front! Is that shady? Whatever. I like shady. And income is income. If I can show the hot new girl gnome that I have a paycheck coming twice a month to take her out for a wine, dine, and 69, then surely she’ll be my soul mate for at least a night or two.

Your neighborhood potential masseuse in training,

Maurice The Gnome

Cracking Cankles

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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