1nspireme:

“I Am Harry Potter. I thought I was an actor playing wizard but really I was a wizard playing an actor.”

“I talk to women, tell them that I’m Harry and see where that gets me.” LOL

soyesterday173:

Yeah, pretty much.

deeannao5:

mf**

This is just epic. I think I need the album.

nudewithboots:

mikerickson:

If Your Dad Doesn’t Have a Beard, You’ve Got Two Mums- The Beards

Oh yeah! Crunchy and delicious. A perfect way to wrap up a meal and a great picture for the last day of my weblogs class.

That resturaunt has amazing margaritas. They have a size called a fishbowl, that is big enough for me to do laps in! Which is something that I will probably go back and do sometime… just to scratch it off the list.

Anyway, since this is the last day of my weblogs class, there is a good chance that my posting will slow down a bit. But, I still plan to continue to post, so check back from time to time. One of these days I’ll post some pictures from the party I was at last week. Captain Morgan was there; we both posed for a picture.

I just realized that I haven’t posted anything all week, the end of the semester is kinda kicking my ass. But, I gotta do something for the blog so I posted a story that I wrote. Even though it’s a work of fiction, I think it does a good job of expressing the kind of issues that garden gnomes have to deal with on a daily basis.

The story is broken up into a four part flash-fiction cycle. The stories can be read in any order, but I would recommend starting with Dr. Millman’s story and going down.

“How was work today sweetheart?”

“Cynthia, I swear to God that these people just keep getting even more and more bat-shit crazy every day.”

“Dave, sweetheart, isn’t it your job to deal with the crazies?” asked Cynthia as she pulled her favorite brown casserole dish out of the oven.

“Well, yes. But I just can’t understand how these people get this way. I mean, how can they possibly believe the crap that comes out of their own mouths?”

“Don’t you think you’re being a bit harsh? I mean, it can’t be all that bad, can it?” asked Cynthia as she slid off her red oven mitts and gently slapped her husband’s hand as he tried to sneak a chunk of sausage out of the hot ziti. She pointed at the sink and said “Go wash your hands while you talk. Dinner’s almost ready.”

David unbuttoned his shirt sleeves as he walked over to the sink and turning on the water, he squirted some soap into his hand. “Look,” said Dave, “it’s not like they’re all crazy. It’s just some of them are crazy, and some of those tell me shit that I have a hard time believing.”

“Sweetheart… language.”

“Sorry babe. It’s just that I have a hard time taking people seriously sometimes,” said Dave as he sat down at the kitchen table and poured two glasses of wine.

Cynthia set the ziti on the table and scooped some onto Dave’s Plate. “Sounds like you had a bad one today. Why don’t you have some ziti and tell me about it?”

Dave could smell the pasta and his mouth started to water. He took a short sip of his wine and waited for his wife to sit down and serve herself some pasta before picking up his fork. “This is delicious,” said Dave after taking a bite. “Truly you are the only one who can make pasta that outshines even ambrosia, the sweet, sweet food of the Gods. If it were possible for a ziti to exist that is tastier than this one I would most assuredly die of shock before I…”

“You always did know how to exaggerate something out of proportion,” Cynthia interrupted.

“You got me,” said Dave as he took another bite.

“I didn’t say stop.”

Dave grinned and looked up at his wife, giving her a wink.

“So,” said Cynthia, “now that you seem to be in a better mood, why don’t you tell me what happened with todays case. Did you recommend hospitalization?”

“Yeah, I kinda had to. When the police got to the scene they found him bashing garden gnomes to bits with a golf club, screaming obscenities and ranting about how he would kill them all.”

“Maybe he was just stressed out or something,” said Cynthia. “Taking out his frustrations on his lawn ornaments.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought at first too,” said Dave. “Except that it wasn’t just his gnomes that he was smashing. Apparently the police found hundreds of broken gnomes in his yard and the neighbors had been complaining about their lawn ornaments being stolen for days.”

“You mean he stole everyone’s lawn ornaments just to smash them?” asked Cynthia.

“See, that’s the weird thing,” said Dave after taking taking a sip of wine, “if he had just been stealing the gnomes they wouldn’t have called me in for a psych eval. They would have just let him off with a fine or something. No, they called me in because he was insisting that the gnomes were alive and that they were attacking his flamingos.”

“Plastic lawn flamingos?” asked Cynthia.

“Yep.”

“Did he believe that they were alive too?”

“I think so, maybe. I’m not really sure. He was still pretty agitated,” said Dave.

“Did he just freak out or something?”

“I don’t think so. He seemed to think that they had been alive for some time before the incident with the golf club. He said that he had been hearing noises at night and when he would go outside in the morning, his lawn would be torn up and there would be pieces of torn plastic and smashed porcelain here and there. He said it got worse and worse each night, until finally one night he heard a massive commotion out in his backyard and when he turned his bedside lamp on, there was a gnome on his dresser who threw a rusty fork at him then jumped, screaming, off the dresser onto the bed and tried to kill him.”

Cynthia just stared at Dave.

“He said he threw it against the wall and smashed it,” said Dave, “then he said he grabbed his nine iron and rushed outside where there were hundreds of lawn ornaments trying to kill each other. It’s at that point that he said he flipped out and started smashing everything he could. I guess the cops were called by a neighbor who heard him yelling and they showed up a short time later.”

“Wow,” said Cynthia. “He really said all that?”

“Yep.”

“And he wasn’t just high or something?” she asked.

“Nope. His toxicology came back negative.”

“So he’s probably going to be hospitalized?”

“Looks that way.”

“Wow, he really is bat-shit crazy.”

“Yep.”

“Wow,” said Cynthia, as she poked at her pasta. “What do you think could drive someone to get to that state of mind?”

“You got me. I have no idea how these people get that way.”

“Well it isn’t your job to worry about how to figure that out. That’s a job for the doctors at the hospital. They can figure out what’s wrong with them. You just focus on getting them where they need to go and then you come back here so I can stuff you with delicious food.”

“You got that right,” said Dave as he finished off the rest of his wine. “Could you pass the bread?”

“Mr. Riley, do you know why you are here today?” asked Dr. Millman.

“Yeah, it’s because no one believes me,” said Jon. “They think I’m fucking crazy.”

“Are you?” asked Dr. Millman.

“Of course not! I know what I saw, and just because no one believes me, that doesn’t mean that it didn’t happen.”

“Jon. Can I call you Jon?” asked Dr. Millman.

“Sure, why not,” said Jon.

“Listen Jon, I’m not going to lie to you, what I’ve heard so far from the police sounds pretty strange. But before we get into that I want to explain exactly why you’re here. Is that ok?”

“Fine,” replied Jon.

Dr. Millman started to explain that because of the strangeness of Jon’s story over the incident, the court had ordered Jon to see him for a psychological evaluation. As Dr. Millman explained the circumstances and laws involved in such an evaluation, Jon looked around at the various furnishings in Dr. Millman’s office. The walls were a light blue color and the furniture was fairly comfortable, if maybe a bit used. There were filing cabinets next to the cheap metal desk. The desk itself had your basic office supplies and pictures on it, as well as one of those peach colored stress dolls that you squeeze and the eyes and ears pop out.

Jon’s attention had drifted over to the window and the little park outside. Millman wrapped up his little reason-for-being-here speech and asked if Jon understood everything. Jon’s attention snapped back to Millman and he gave him an affirmative nod.

“All right,” said Millman, “let’s get down to it then. I’m really interested in hearing your side of the story.”

“What’s the point?” asked Jon. “No one else believed me. Why should you?”

“You never know. Besides, if you don’t tell me, I’ll have to report that you were uncooperative and that never really goes over well,” said Millman. “Besides, what’s one more disbeliever?”

“Fine, whatever,” said Jon. “It’s like I told the cops: It started about a week ago. It was just little things at first, a few quiet noises outside, which could easily have been cats and some of my lawn ornaments getting a bit scratched up. Then some of my gnomes went missing. At first I just assumed it was neighborhood kids just stealing them. But then one night I heard some quiet, but high-pitched yells outside. I thought about going out to check on it, but I had been out drinking with some buddies earlier that night so I just ignored it.”

“Go on,” said Dr. Millman.

“Well,” said Jon, “when I went out the next morning, I found some of my gnomes and some that I had never seen before, smashed around the flower bed. Next to the gnomes were a couple of my flamingos, which is odd because I keep the flamingos in the front yard to scare away the neighbors. They were laying on the ground with rusty nails, and other metal scraps sticking out of them. I would have chalked it up to vandalism, except that around the flower bed I found a bunch of tiny little foot prints in the soil and one of the smashed gnomes had a little flag next to it that had the letters G.R.A. on it. After that, things just started to get weirder.”

Jon watched as Dr. Millman scribbled some notes onto his notepad, thinking that this was probably just another waste of time. But Dr. Millman looked up and asked him to go on and so Jon did.

“Well, after that,” said Jon, “I started to hear whispers whenever I was in the yard working on my garden.

“You garden?” asked Millman.

“Yes, I love to garden. Except now it was getting strange. Like I said, I would hear the whispers, but no one would be there. Then every now and then I would hear a rustling of grass or leaves, or maybe a quick patter of something running, but when I turned around it stopped and there would be nothing alive running around. In fact, I don’t even remember seeing any squirrels or birds around during those days, which is odd because I have three different bird feeders in my yard. It did seem as though the lawn ornaments would move around when I wasn’t looking though.”

“How do you mean?” asked Dr. Millman.

“Well,” said Jon, “they would just seem to be in different places then when I last saw some of them. The oddest moment was when I moved one of them away from a group and set it off by itself. I went back in the house for a beer and when I came back there was a different one there and the one that I thought I moved was back in the group. At least I thought it was the one that I moved. The two were fairly similar so I guess I could have just been out in the sun too long.”

Dr. Millman made a few more notes and then looked back up at Jon and asked “Jon, you said your garden is in the back yard right?”

“That’s right,” said Jon.

“And you keep your gnomes in the back yard?”

“Yep.”

“And yet, the police found you in the front yard smashing the gnomes.”

“Yeah,” said Jon. “I think the gnomes were trying to kill the flamingos, which might explain why they moved to the front yard that night.”

“Right…” said Dr. Millman.

“Look, you wanna hear the story or not?” asked Jon.

“Of course,” said Millman. “I apologize. Please go on.”

Jon leaned back in his chair, casually crossed his arms and looked Dr. Millman in the eyes. “It was that next night that it all happened. I was getting all paranoid through the day from hearing all the whispering and thinking that my lawn decorations were moving around and killing each other and I was a bit on edge and couldn’t sleep, so I decided to take a sleeping pill. It was at about three in the morning when I woke up to an ungodly racket outside my window. I was still groggy and had no idea what was going on so I turned on the lamp next to my bed. That’s when I saw the gnome sitting on the dresser near the foot of my bed. We made eye contact and the little fucker actually stood up! He picked up what looked like a rusty fork that was laying next to him and hurled it at me. It just kind of bounced off the sheets and didn’t do much, but it was after the fork missed that the gnome really freaked out and jumped clear across the room onto my bed and ran up my sheets toward my head, the whole time screeching out a high pitched cry! The little bastard went right for my face, but I was able to grab him and smash him against the wall. That’s when I grabbed the nine-iron that I keep under the bed and ran to the front door.”

Jon stopped talking and stared off into the corner of the room. Dr. Millman waited a moment before speaking to give Jon a moment.

“Jon, are you okay?” Jon snapped out of his daze and nodded at the doctor.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I was just thinking that you’re probably not going to believe me when I tell you what happened next.”

“Jon,” said Dr. Millman, “you just told me that a porcelain garden gnome tried to kill you with a rusty fork. You really think there is something you could tell me that would be less believable than that?” Jon shrugged his shoulders.

“Yeah well, so when I opened the door, I saw hundreds of lawn ornaments trying to kill one another. There were at least a hundred lawn gnomes surrounding a group of dozens of lawn flamingos, throwing rocks and nails and hitting them with small hand-held garden tools, or sticks, or anything they could find. There were also dozens of other lawn decorations in the battle. I saw a group of stone garden gargoyles bashing their way through one line of gnomes while a couple of plastic squirrels pelted them with acorns from the neighbor’s tree. Hell, I even saw the little blue twirly-wing bird that I keep next to my front stoop trying to cut a downed flamingo in half with it’s wings!”

“I think I had been standing in the doorway for maybe ten seconds before they saw me,” said Jon. “I think it was the flamingos who saw me first. They quickly hopped over the short, little horde of gnomes and ran past me into the house. I was still far too stunned by what I was seeing to do anything. It wasn’t until the gnomes started to come at me like a wave, screaming high-pitched war cries and waving pointy objects at me that something clicked in my brain and I started swinging. I guess I must have been screaming, at least that’s what the police told me, because they showed up eventually, after I had smashed most of the gnomes. I think I got one gargoyle too, but as soon as he went down the other ones ran off into the bushes. But, the next thing I remember, I’m being hauled off in handcuffs to spend the night in the drunk tank.”

“But you weren’t drunk?” said Dr. Millman.

“They took my blood. Didn’t you get a copy of the results?”

“I did,” said Millman. “The toxicology report came back almost completely negative. You had no alcohol and only trace amounts of one drug which fits with your story about the sleeping pill, which is nowhere near enough to make you high enough to see things.”

“Like I said,” said Jon, “that’s what happened and I’m not making it up. Is there anything else you wanna know or can I go now?”

“I guess that’s all I need,” said Millman. “Your escort should be outside. Thank you for telling me your side of what happened.”

“Yeah, whatever,” said Jon as he got up to leave. “It’s not like you believed me anyway.”

Dr. Millman watched as Jon walked out of his office and closed the door. Sitting alone in his office looking at his notes and thinking about the story he had just heard, he thought to himself “Why does this shit always have to happen on a Monday?”

“General Jollybottom, the scouts are reporting increased activity in the front yard, sir!” Jollybottom scratched his sun-bleached beard and thought for a moment.

“What kind of activity are we talking about here, Captain?” asked Jollybottom. Capt. R. J. Shiny Shoes, the young gnome officer who had just come running into the command tent with the report, replied “Sir, according to Sargent Beetlegut and his men, the enemy is awake and appears to be setting up a defensive formation. And there are reports that a group of the neighbor’s gargoyles is on it’s way as we speak.”

“Damn!” said Jollybottom. “The flamingos must have gotten wind about the attack and hired more of that mercenary scum to protect them. How long do we have until they get here?”

“Beetlegut says they are still at least ten blocks away and moving slow.”

“Good, we have some time. They must be planning to set up an ambush for us during our morning attack,” said Jollybottom.

“Sir, how did the flamingos find out about the attack?” ask Capt. Shiny Shoes. “You don’t think that the bird double-crossed us, do you?”

“I doubt it,” said a giant, grizzled old gnome with a watering can, who had just walked in. “That bird hates the flamingos more than we do.”

“Ah, Major Plantwater,” exclaimed Jollybottom. “How go the preparations? We may need to attack sooner than planned.”

“We are almost ready. Most of the troops are assembled and they will be armed within the next few hours. But I’m far more worried about how the flamingos learned of our plans. If there is a traitor, then we need to find it and shut it up!”

“At this point, it doesn’t matter,” said Jollybottom. “The gargoyles won’t be enough to stop the army that we’ve assembled here. Not if we attack before they have a chance to set up their ambush. Can you have the troops ready to attack within the hour?”

“I think so,” said Plantwater, “but I don’t like rushing things; that’s how mistakes happen and mistakes cost lives. I don’t like the idea, but maybe we should wait until we can be sure that we have the initiative. This whole plan was based around surprise.”

“No,” said Jollybottom. “We may never get another chance like this. If we don’t go now, the flamingos will step up security and clamp down on us even harder. We are assembled, armed, and ready. Tonight we take those corrupt, pinko bastards out of power!”

General Jollybottom turned around to face Captain Shiny Shoes. “Captain.”

“Yes Sir!,” replied Shiny Shoes.

“I want you to go find Sargent Pointy Cap and send him in here. Then send word to Sargent Beetlegut that I need him to find some way to slow down the gargoyles. Tell him that any extra time that he can buy for us might mean the difference between victory and defeat.”

“Yes Sir!” Capt. Shiny Shoes saluted and rushed out of the tent.

“Are you sure that this is the best idea?” asked Major Plantwater. “We have fought a good guerrilla war so far. Why not stick with it? They have to give in eventually.”

“Plantwater my old friend, we can’t keep hiding like this; in leaves and planting troughs. We’re gnomes damn it! Not a bunch of squirrels or leprechauns. The Gnomish Republican Army has been fighting these long weeks for one glorious day. A day when gnomes can stand proud in the front yard, for all the world to see! On that day we will no longer be forced into the back yard by those flashy birds. We will stand and declare: We are gnomes and this is our yard. And Plantwater my friend, that day is today. So help me God, I will give my last ounce of strength to choke the life out of those damn birds to make that happen!”

“All right then,” said Plantwater, “I’ll be right there with you on that battlefield, bathing in the blood of those pink bastards.” General Jollybottom walked up to Major Plantwater and put his hand on his shoulder and said, “I never once believed otherwise, my old friend.”

Just then, another young, but serious, looking gnome stepped into the tent and stood at attention.

“Ah, Sargent Pointy Cap,” said Jollybottom, “just the gnome I was looking for.”

“Sir,” said the Sargent.

“Sargent, I have a very important mission for you. This mission is vital to the success of our operation here today. You will be working alone, at great risk to yourself. Are you ready to strike a blow for the cause?”

“Yes, Sir! Just tell me what needs to be done,” said the Sargent

“Good lad. I need you to break into the house.”

“But, Sir,” said the Sargent, “ we are not allowed into the house.”

“I understand how you feel Sargent,” said Jollybottom, “but we need to make sure that the owner does not interfere. We had planned to execute the attack at dawn, but we have had to push the attack up sooner than expected and it’s possible that the owner might wake up. If he does, then you need to stop him, at any cost. Do you understand soldier?”

“You can count on me, Sir!”

“You’re one of the best we have, Sargent I know you won’t let us down. Now get to the armory, grab whatever you need, and find Captain Shiny Shoes; he will fill you in on the details.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“And, Sargent”

“Sir?”

“Good luck.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

With that, Sargent Pointy Cap turned and marched out of the tent.

“It’s really gonna happen. Isn’t it?” asked Plantwater.

“It sure is,” said Jollybottom. “Now let’s get out there and rally the troops. We have a new, golden age ahead of us. Let’s go win us a war.”

“How dare they defy us? Do they not understand who we are?”

“Clearly, my brother, they do not.”

“Clearly. Perhaps they need another reminder. What say you sisters?”

“They must be reminded.”

“Yes, reminded”

“Fetch the bird. He can take the orders to the gargoyles.”

The flamingos sent for the blue, twirly-wing bird.

“Your Majesties,” said the twirly-wing bird as he did his best to kneel. “How may this humble servant serve the royal family today?”

The flamingos gave their orders to the little bird:

“You will take a message to gargoyles,” said the flamingos.

“Yes, a message.”

“You will tell them that the gnomes are acting out of place and must be punished.”

“Yes, punished.”

“Tell them that any gnomes who resist will be destroyed.”

“Destroyed.”

The bird was afraid for the gnomes and did his best to dissuade the flamingos.

“Your most excellent highnesses,” said the bird, “would it not be prudent to make peace with the gnomes? Surely punishing them even more than you already have will only drive them to greater acts of desperation.”

Sadly though, the bird’s plea fell upon def ears.

“No,” said the flamingos. “The gnomes are beneath us and must learn their place.”

“Yes, their place. We are the masters here!”

“Yes, masters. We were placed in the front yard. We are the royal family. They will do as we say, or they will have reminders.

“Yes, reminders.”

The twirly-wing bird decided to try once more.

“My most gracious masters,” said the bird, “surely there is enough room for all garden creatures to live peacefully. Perhaps if you just spoke with the gnomes…”

At this, the flamingos became angry.

“No!” said the flamingos. “We have given our orders and they are to be obeyed!”

“Obeyed.”

“Obeyed.”

“Obeyed.”

“Obeyed.”

“You will deliver the message to the gargoyles, then you will be punished for arguing.”

“Yes, arguing.”

“We are the royal family. We always have been, we always will be. All others live in our shadow and will learn their place. Now deliver our orders!”

“Of course,” said the little bird as he bowed again and fluttered off to deliver the flamingos’ message to the gargoyles… but not before he made a quick detour over to the back yard.