Greetings Interweb! Just your friendly cello player here. We’ve been in the van for a few days now since our debut show at the Cow Palace. The show was pretty rad and stuff. There were at least five gnomes in the crowd, which is four more than our pre-tour show last fall.

We’re headed to some godforsaken place in Nevada to play a show over there. McCartney and Lennon have it under control, I guess. I’m just along for the ride and the strumming.

For whatever reason, this weird chick keeps following me around. I don’t even know how she got in the van in the first place. But here she is. Flashing her titties around and chugging whiskey from the bottle.

Don’t get me wrong, I don’t really mind her all that much. She just kinda freaks me out. Today she pulled out these gnome tarot cards and starting giving us all tarot card readings. Based upon the cards she flipped over, she told me that my one true love was right before my eyes and I didn’t even know it. She also told me that the callouses on my hands would eventually heal and I would live to the age of 68.

I’m not sure what I make of all this fortune telling bullshit. She set some sort of crystal ball on the dash of the car and then was devastatingly surprising when it rolled off and shattered into a million pieces when McCartney slammed on the brakes to avoid hitting a poor, defenseless raccoon crossing the road.

I wouldn’t mind banging her one of these days. But I have this nagging feeling that if I don’t cuddle long enough or call soon enough afterwards that she’ll put some sort of evil curse on me. Maybe she already has. This is all very unsettling.

Oh but she looks amazing in that tank top. And the mountains out here look kinda amazing too. And as far as I’m concerned, this is the only future that I’m thinking about right about now. These guys had better stop for a brew and piss break within the next 20 minutes or I’m gonna get cranky.

Peace out,

Starr the Gnome, Cellist for Amish Meth Lab