I thought I was hallucinating. I thought it was the Honey Jack Daniels that had been flowing through my liver for the past three days. But this shit is real. And we are under attack.
As you may or may not be aware, there is some serious prejudice and segregation between the big gnomes and the small gnomes around the Abode. I like to think I’m somewhat of a middle-man. Or maybe I’m too drunk to judge size most the time.
I stumbled in around 10am today and instead of getting the usual array of questions from the small gnomes regarding my weekend whereabouts, I was greeted with screams of anguish and despair.
I always thought it was the slave gnomes’ (I mean the small gnomes’) job to keep the Abode nice and tidy while the big guys go out and hunt stuff and kill things. The small ones must not be keeping up their end of the bargain because this kind of filth is just unacceptable.
The gnome chef who has been in charge of feeling us all three times a day every day for the past 48 years became seemed to suffer the most severe gummy worm-related injuries as a result of this infestation.
Apparently, the worms liked him the best because he was covered in the most crumbs. Go figure.
We’ve called an exterminator, but none of us will be resting very easy tonight. Every time I turn my flask-shaped head, I swear I see a multi-colored worm slithering across the Abode floor. I can almost just feel them crawling all over me every time I inadvertently close my eyes because the whiskey starts to settle in again.
All I can do is pray to the gnome gods that be all make it ’til morning without being strangled or swallowed whole.
Terrified, paranoid, and running out of whiskey,
Yankee Doodle The Gnome