Iditarod? Chiditarod? More like Gnomeditarod!

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Some say the last great race on earth is the Iditarod. Dog sleds in Alaska? Meh. Doesn’t that happen like every day up in that godforsaken wilderness state? I mean what else do Eskimos have to do with their day. I wonder if they’re still living in igloos. This sounds like a project in which to consult my Google Machine. And okay fine I take back my derogatory comment about Alaska because now I actually want to go there for the sake of knocking on the door of an igloo and being welcomed in by a beautiful Eskimo lady for a romantic dinner of grilled mammoth and parmesan-crusted polar bear.

Iditarod

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Some say that the greatest drunken hipster challenge in the Midwest is the Chiditarod. I mean, really? A bunch of wasted semi-adults somehow obtaining shopping carts, decorating them with ridiculous themes, and running through the streets of Chicago checking in from bar to bar with silly little challenges? What makes this so great. I peered from my backyard at this madness happening on the streets yesterday and spotted this wacky crew, who obviously has serious mental and emotional problems. Isn’t there a legal age limit for drinking booze, anyway?

Chiditarod

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I say the Alaskan dogs and the drunken humans have a thing or two to learn from us gnomes. Yesterday, Samuel, Joshua, Frederico, and i competed and won first place in the Gnomeditarod. The weather conditions were spectacular, considering the race took place in a kitchen. The competition was friendly, considering there was none. And the access to liquid motivation was simplified, considering our master’s liquor stash is not exactly hard to find.

Gnomeditarod

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Halfway through the race, we realized that a manatee sabotaged our cart and snuck on board. We always thought manatees were stupid, but I guess they’re not as stupid as we thought. He certainly added some extra weight, but our athleticism prevalied and we won in spite of his evil intentions.

Victorious and triumphant,

Jerry

 

Lizards > Gnomes x 100,000,000

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I’m surrounded by these little critters who have no purpose in life and try to prove to the world that life revolves around them. Well you know what? IT DOES NOT!

I was here first. I have been sleeping with Master/Goddess Alyssa (yes ex-boyfriends, eat your heart out) for about ten years now. This is my domain and you all need to step off.

I never used to be so bitter and jaded. But you know how it gets when you’re wrinkle cream starts to be a waste of time and the world starts passing you by. Sometimes I feel so small. So insignificant.

Mini lizard

Do you have any idea how long it took me to hack into this stupid gnome blog? They’re outside screwing around for most of the day, so it wasn’t difficult getting computer access. But lizards aren’t exactly known for their technological capacity, so yeah….this is why I’m just now making my second post.

This is really just a plea for help. Someone get me out of this gnomeish hellhole. Someone help me find meaning in this wasted existence. Speaking of wasted, I think I saw a partially opened bottle of champagne in the fridge when I crawled out from under it earlier this evening. I mean, champagne goes bad if it’s left open like more than an hour or something, right.

Irregardlessly, to the fridge I go. Fellow lizard comments welcome. Gnomes can go fuck themselves.

Hugs & Kisses,

St. Bastille Day

Gwen Stefani, vaginas, and nail polish

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Well I guess no one is out there reading this after all because I’m still hanging out eating cereal and watching cable in this stranger’s house. I took a shower and got all the green jello off though. It wasn’t easy, believe me. That stuff gets in places….you have no idea.

A few gnome dudes come in and out of the house during the day, but they barely even notice I’m here. I think I’ve stumbled upon some sort of hippie commune. I’ve been reading about those on the interweb. I still haven’t found my magenta stiletto, but I did find a cute pair of silver flats in under a couch in the living room. They’re a teensy bit too big for me, but I don’t dare walk around here with bare feet. I’ve seen some bugs crawling. What kind of bugs? Don’t ask me that! How the hell should I know. And no, I haven’t gotten used to bugs from living outside most of my life either.

It’s hard being the only girl gnome in a family of eleven. My ten brothers never understood why these weird things started sticking out of my chest or why I spent two hours every day curling my golden locks around my pointy gnome hat. “Just stick it on and hurry up!” they’d yell. OMG! WTF? My brothers never understood me. I ran away last week because I had to prove to them that I wasn’t a mistake. Mom and Dad always told me I was the “oops” but I’m NOT an “oops” just because I’m a girl!

Gwen Stefani said it best….

I'm just a girl!

So whatever, here I am. Waiting for something to happen. Waiting for someone to notice me. Waiting to see another girl gnome somewhere! ANYWHERE! Sheesh I know you’re out there! If you can hear (read) me, write me back PLEASE! I need to talk about vaginas and nail polish for godssake.

xoxo

Roxy the Gnome

Mush! Gee! Haw! Easy! Whoa!

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This past weekend, I experienced something that very few gnomes can ever lay claim to. DOG SLEDDING! Master and Goddess of all gnomekind, Alyssa, was kind enough to take my brother and I in her coat pocket to experience the mushing first hand.

We give all the credit to two amazing guide companies who have a true passion for their dog and the sport of mushing. S&L Arctic K9 Dog Sledding (http://www.dogsledmichigan.com/) and OCM Mushing (http://www.ocm-mushing.com/).

Look at me! I’m the one in the pointy orange hat mushing dogs!

Gnome Mush

Our guides were incredibly knowledgeable and had a true passion for the sport. They have taken their dogs up to Alaska in a pimp-mobile to compete in Iditarod. The dogs so well behaved and treated so well by owners. Some dogs were even fashionable enough to bring the 80’s back with leg warmers!

Doggie leg warmers

If anyone knows of any breeders of miniature Alaskan huskies, please contact me through this blog. I’d love to start collecting them for form the world’s first gnome mushing team and amaze the world as it has never been amazed before.

Covered in fur, still shivering, but super obsessed,

Alfredo the Gnome

Rake + Skull = Trauma Drama

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The morning started off like any other morning. George sipping a flask while digging a hole with a shovel for no apparent reason. I was raking some leaves under a bush, keeping an eye on him. A thunderstorm had come the night before leaving the yard just a horrid mess. That lazy Alyssa really should appreciate all the yard work we do for her while she is out gallivanting around. I don’t even think she notices. I digress.

I glanced up at the clouds just in time to see a huge clump of dirt flying in my general direction. I tried to duck. I tried to cover. I tried to stop, drop, and roll. But my efforts were futile. I was knocked flat on my buttocks and my hat flew off and blew across the yard. I screamed at George to be more careful. He had not only ruined my perfectly groomed leaf pile, but now my ceramic skin was totally dirty.

I brushed myself off and went back to raking. All the sudden…another clump of dirt! What the hell, George! What the hell!? I marched over to him, shaking my rake above my head with more anger than I’ve felt since that whitewater rafting trip went awry last spring.

George threw down his shovel and started screaming in unintelligible gnomish. I was still swinging the rake above my hat-less head screaming in incredibly intelligible gnomish. In one swift drunk move, George grabbed my rake and it came loose from my overworked and underpaid hands. He swung it above our heads and the rest all seemed to have happened in slow motion.

I felt the rake hit my head and brought my hand up to hold it. I wondered why it felt warm. Then I looked down. Blood! Blood! Blood everywhere! I didn’t even know ceramic produced blood! But there it was. I looked in the mirror and puked the egg salad sandwich I’d had for breakfast just at the sight of my own horror movie reflection.

George sucks at life. But he was at least smart enough to run inside the house through the sliding glass door and dial 911 on Alyssa’s rotary phone (she really needs to realize it’s 2012).

The ambulance rolled up to find a bloody gnome screaming in the grass. One paramedic hesitated to take me in considering my non-human status. George was nice enough to pull  my wallet out of my back pocket and flash my Blue Cross Blue Shield card. Next thing I knew, I was lying on a huge white table with bright florescent lights and there were eleven staples in my head holding my skull together.

Rake Axe of Death

The nurses called me a “freak accident” and hypothesized that there must have been an axe attached to that rake to create such a long and wide laceration. They read me my discharge instructions to not come with a 100 mile radius of a rake for the next three months. I gotta go hat shopping because I’m totally self conscious about all this metal in my head. I hate George’s stupid drunk ass, I really do. But in the end, I suppose he kinda sorta saved my life. And he has a whole stash of Vicodin in one of those holes he dug, so that makes me like him even better.

Yours in heavy metal,

Benjamin The Gnome