"Two Gnomes Walk Into a Bar..."

The further adventure of Rig and Woody Short!

“Two Gnomes Walk Into a Bar..." 

By Mike Stevens

     Rig and Woody Short were two gnomes on a mission; to find a place where walking, talking, 2 foot tall gnomes fit in, but there was just one problem; as far as either knew, they were the only living gnomes.  Both were unsure what they should do now.  Rig had just rescued Woody Short from the humiliating existence of having to pretend he was a mover, in an advertising display in the window for a moving company.  Now, as the two waddled away, they had to decide what was next for them?   Rig said,

    “Hmmm, what should we do now?”

    

     Woody Short replied, “I don’t know!”

     Rig thought, Well, that helps a lot, there, Woody!  “Well, maybe we should find a person who collects gnomes, and pretend we’re not alive.  At least then, we’d be appreciated.  But where do we start looking?”

     “I haven’t a clue, Rig.”

     Rig felt a flash of anger.  He was glad to have Woody Short around, but come on; man, could he be dense sometimes!  “I know; you can read, right?  Let’s find a gnome collector in the phone book.”

    “What, do we just look under ‘gnome collectors’?” replied Woody Short sarcastically.

     “Woody, come on; do you have a better idea?  Well start with doll collectors, and maybe we’ll get lucky.”

     “Fine, but I still say the odds of finding anyone who’ll take us is tiny!” answered Woody Short.

     You mean like your brain? Rig thought, but answered only, “I’ll admit, it is rather long odds, but at least it’s somewhere to start.”

 

     They waited until the wee hours of the morning, as they’d be less likely to run into a person, then Rig announced,

     “There’s a payphone; as soon as this guy’s done using it, we’ll take a look.”

 

     They watched from the darkness of the shadows cast by the streetlight over the payphone, until the guy hung up, and they looked around for anyone who might spot them, and started to waddle across the street.  They were about halfway across, when a semi truck barreled out from seemingly nowhere, and was upon the two gnomes before they had time to waddle out of the way. 

      “Freeze, Rig!”

     Wow, I never would have thought of that, Woody; like we have any other choice! Rig thought, as the truck’s tires came perilously close the making them part of the roadway.  As Rig watched the disappearing taillights of the behemoth monster, he breathed a sigh of relief.  Then they continued their long waddle, until eventually they arrived at the phone booth.

 

     The door was already opened, so they walked in.  The receiver itself was very high above, and Rig said, “Here I’ll boost you up; see if you can reach the ledge.”

     “I don’t know, Rig, it doesn’t sound like a very bright idea,” answered Woody Short.

    “Well, since we don’t seem to have a trampoline, what else would you suggest?”

     Woody didn’t have an answer to that one, and besides, there was absolutely no way a trampoline would have fit, anyway, so he lifted his foot, and Rig cupped his hand, Woody stepped on it, and Rig boosted him as high as he could.

 

     Come on; grab hold of the ledge!  You weigh a ton for a two foot high gnome!  Might I suggest cutting back on candy?  Rig thought, as he strained to lift Woody higher.

     Woody Short could almost reach; just a little higher!  “Just a little higher, Rig; I can almost reach the ledge!”

     “Screw you, you 3 ton pile of sh---” Rig gasped, then he just couldn’t hold Woody Short anymore,  and down he plummeted, landing with a ‘bang!’ on the rock-hard concrete.     

     “Owe!” Woody shouted when he landed.  “What kind of a weak-a** girly-gnome are you?”

     An angry Rig snarled, “Well, if you’d cut back on the Twinkies, maybe I could lift you a little easier; now shut up and let’s try again!”

     Woody wasn’t to sure, but couldn’t think of anything else to try, so once again, he lifted his foot, and once again Rig hoisted him as high as he could, this time being fueled by anger.  This time, Woody Short managed to reach the ledge, and pull himself up.  Once he took his weight off him, Rig collapsed into the corner. 

 

     Woody Short thumbed through the yellow pages until he found, amazingly enough, a guy listed under ‘gnome collectors’.  He memorized the address, knocked the phone off the hook, and shimmied down the chord to the ground.  “Got it, let’s head out.”  Rig stood up without using his arms; man, where they ever sore, thanks to hoisting up Woody Short, The Fat-A***D Wooden Gnome!

 

     They found the Hoover Street address, after finding a discarded map that Rig remembered seeing on the ground next to a bus stop, and Woody said,

     “It’s clear across town.  That’s a long ways for a couple of 2 footers such as us.”

     “Well, we’d best get waddling, then,” replied Rig.

 

     8 hours later, after having to stop and freeze whenever a live person walked by, it was a couple of bone-weary gnomes who stagger-waddled up the driveway of the home of the gnome collector.  Rig spotted a window looking into the living room, and said,

     “How in the hell am I supposed to get up that high to look in and see where he’s at so we can think up our next move?”

     “Well, here’s a tree with a rope attached, for whatever reason; why don’t you climb that and swing on the rope over to the window sill?” answered Woody Short.

     “Hey, now that’s a plan!” and Rig pulled himself, with much difficulty, up the tree, finding handholds on the lumpy bark of the tree.  He was almost to the rope, when the piece of bark he was using as a handhold broke free, an he suddenly found himself Rig, the Plummeting Yard Gnome, and the green of the grass rose up to meet his face. 

     “Oh s**t!” he exclaimed as he hit, and bounced painfully onto his back.  “Why me?” he then asked out loud.

     “Are you alright?”

     “Yeah I guess, but man, does that not feel good!” Rig answered, and defiantly started up the tree again.

      “Are you sure you want to try that again?” asked Woody Short.

     Eat me, you wooden b*****d! thought Rig, be he replied only, “Yeah.”

 

     This time, the climb up to the rope went mishap-free, and Rig grasped the rope, and announced, “Here I go!” and pushed off before Woody Short could say,

     “Make sure the rope is long enough.”

     It turned out that the rope was plenty long, as Rig arced through the air and smashed into the glass, shattering it, and sending shards of broken glass into the house.  He at once plummeted towards the ground, where he landed amongst the broken glass of the kitchen window.   As he lay there stunned, The front door flew open, and a man rushed out to the shattered window, and exclaimed loudly,

     “What the hell?  I suppose this is some reject kid’s idea of a funny joke, to throw this fricking gnome at the window!” and gave the unfortunate Rig a mighty heave.  As he once again found himself airborne, Rig whispered,

     “Why me?”, but he didn’t have anytime to ponder his question, as he smashed into a tree, the same one he had recently scaled, and plummeted to the grass.

     Luckily, he appeared to have all his limbs, but was racked with pain.  He shook off the shock of being a living projectile, and glanced at the dude who had angrily and callously sent him streaking through the air. 

     You WILL pay for this, you b*****d! he thought. 

 

     They had followed Rocket Arm to a tavern, which as luck would have it, was just down the street.  Lucky, because there was no way their stumpy little legs could have ever kept up.  As they saw the man duck inside the tavern, Woody said,

     “Now what?”

 

The End