Where are we and what is that wretched smell?

For the first couple days I asked questions like that. But now I’ve stopped even trying to get a straight answer. This is life on the road in a tour van.

So yeah, bitches…my voodoo spell totally worked and I am have been inducted as the one and only groupie of the HOTTEST all gnome band, Amish Meth Lab!!!!!

They had a show a few days ago or something. I think it was in San Fran….I think so anyway. After the show, I remember Starr throwing me over his shoulder and into the tour van.

I’m trying to retrace my the steps of my past few days right now, so bear with me, K? There were bottles being passed around. I remember sitting on Starr’s lap. I remember puking. I remember Starr holding my hair back. Um…um….ok that’s all I got for ya right now.

After some minutes/days/hours passed, I woke up in the middle of the night and scratched my head, only to find there was peanut butter in my hair. Too hungover to do anything about it, I lied back down on the floor of the van and let the soothing roar of the engine let me return to the unconscious world.

I have decided that Starr is my soul mate. He’s so mysterious and so hot. The chase is always better than the catch anyway.

I overheard Lennon and McCartney talking in the front seat about how the next tour stop was in some place called Battle Mountain, Nevada. Based on my badass Wikipedia skills (on this fancy smart phone I stole from that douchebag awhile back), Battle Mountain looks lame as shit.


Population 2,871?! Where’s the battle and who is fighting? What kind of crowd to they expect in a place like that?

But then again, what do I know? Maybe there’s a huge fan base over there. Shout out to anyone from Battle Mountain, Nevada! Shout out! Anyone! Anyone? 

Lennon keeps making disgusting jokes about wanting to go there because they have the letters BM carved into the side of the mountain at the edge of town. BM. Hardy har har. What are we, in  second grade? But speaking of, the wretched smell in this van is getting worse and worse. I sure as hell hope they don’t expect me to clean up after them since I’m the only chick in here.

Here to party….not here to clean,

Roxy The Gnome

This entry was posted in Gnome Beats, Secrets of a Slutty Girl Gnome by Roxy. Bookmark the permalink.

About Roxy

So whaddya think of my tits? C’mon. I’m the only girl gnome in this whole bunch. How could I NOT be a slut? I would certainly welcome other gnome girlfriends but I yet to find a single one. If you see one hookin’ a street corner, send her my way, eh? I stay out too late, I drink too much, and I find myself in sketchy situations on a daily basis. But you’ll love the stories that come out of it, cross my tits. 




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