The Ever-Loving Virgin Prince
Thursday, December 11, 2003
Of Myth and Magic
As I left for work this morning, I found I was missing two things: the button to my nice green coat and my ring.
Fucking gnomes.
Now I’ll admit to perhaps being a bit biased. I’ve hated people of the mythical persuasion for some time now, ever since little Harry Potter and his smarmy little band of annoying, precocious British friends left a bag of flaming dog poop on my porch. Or perhaps it was that time unicorns crapped on my windshield, or the time Chitty-Chitty Bang-Bang parked in my driveway, or maybe, it was the time those wood-elves in Berkeley sold me that crappy hemp backpack for way too much, and then it fell apart 3 days later. Stupid tie-dye-wearing wood-elves. Yes, I hate the creatures of myth and legend, and I especially hate gnomes.
Gnomes, with their rosy-red cheeks, Karl Malden noses, and hats that look like traffic cones (a fact I based my defense around at my last vehicular assault trial, and which got me off scot-free. Take that, David the Gnome!) I hate gnomes. Those cutesy little peons that live in hollow tree-stumps, ride foxes, sound like Tom Bosley, and steal your belongings in the middle of the night. Oh, that reminds me of a joke.
Why shouldn’t you shoot a gnome holding a pocket-watch with a magic-missile? Because it might be your pocket-watch!
Heh heh, that one still cracks me up.
Anyway, my green coat is missing it’s button and it looks stupid without it, hardly fitting for a hero of men, such as I. It’s my missing ring that bothers me the most though. I’ve worn that Green Lantern ring everyday for more than a year, ever since my ally from Texas, The Roaming Persian, gave it to me. It wasn’t cheap either. It cost her $100+ bucks. And before I got that ring, I had worn several other Green Lantern rings for a few years beforehand. I feel naked. My finger feels funny, too light perhaps, and if I should present to you my middle finger today, it’ll be to show you how bizarre it looks without my ring of emerald glory on it.
I know the gnomes did it.
You know, gremlins can be pretty bad too, always messing with aircraft, but at least they always bring beer to a party. Or sometimes a bottle of orc-wine. Orc-wine isn’t that bad either. Sure, it tastes foul as hell, and it’s filled with trace-amounts of things you don’t even want to know about, things like blood (it’s anyone’s guess where it’s from) and orc-backwash, and it’s not that unusual to take a swig and find a fingertip in your mouth (again, it’s better not to ask questions), but it gets you bollocksed! A few swigs of that and you’ll be in an out-of-this-world-mellow-stage all night long. And orc-wine is so much more appealing ever since they actually started bottling the stuff in glass bottles, as opposed to sheep intestine, which is what they used to use. Eat your heart out, Two-Buck Chuck!
Not that I like gremlins. I just like them slightly more than gnomes. Gnomes can make a mean stew, but it’s not like they ever make enough, or share. Frickin’ Father Dowling watching little midgets.
My ring wasn’t there, where I always put it, by the computer, this morning. Sure, my uncle was sleeping out there on the couch, he could have moved it, but why? No, it was those damn gnomes. And just maybe that gnome is putting the ring to better use than I did, I just wore it for show, but I have this feeling that wherever that ringed gnome may be, he’s just forming a construct of a green hot tub with green gnome girls in bikinis in it. Bikinis and those stupid pointy hats. Aww, hell. Maybe it’s time I traded in for a Flash ring.
I’m gonna get those gnomes. I’ll get them real good. I know just what I’ll do. I’ll go over to that deli and convenience store just off of El Camino, the one that the gnomes run, and steal myself a bag of Doritos. Let’s see how THEY like it. Yeah, that’ll show ‘em.
Awwwww, heck.... who am I kidding. I can’t do that, I’m no criminal. I’m a fighter of evil, a hero of men. Those stupid gnome Doritos are as safe as ever. Still, I have this persistent feeling that tonight as I cruise around in the Virginmobile, I’m going to “accidentally” run over some “traffic cones”, and if I should find a leprechaun’s pot ‘o gold, you can be damn sure I’ll deposit some ass-pennies!
Be seeing you,
The Virgin Prince
Fucking gnomes.
Now I’ll admit to perhaps being a bit biased. I’ve hated people of the mythical persuasion for some time now, ever since little Harry Potter and his smarmy little band of annoying, precocious British friends left a bag of flaming dog poop on my porch. Or perhaps it was that time unicorns crapped on my windshield, or the time Chitty-Chitty Bang-Bang parked in my driveway, or maybe, it was the time those wood-elves in Berkeley sold me that crappy hemp backpack for way too much, and then it fell apart 3 days later. Stupid tie-dye-wearing wood-elves. Yes, I hate the creatures of myth and legend, and I especially hate gnomes.
Gnomes, with their rosy-red cheeks, Karl Malden noses, and hats that look like traffic cones (a fact I based my defense around at my last vehicular assault trial, and which got me off scot-free. Take that, David the Gnome!) I hate gnomes. Those cutesy little peons that live in hollow tree-stumps, ride foxes, sound like Tom Bosley, and steal your belongings in the middle of the night. Oh, that reminds me of a joke.
Why shouldn’t you shoot a gnome holding a pocket-watch with a magic-missile? Because it might be your pocket-watch!
Heh heh, that one still cracks me up.
Anyway, my green coat is missing it’s button and it looks stupid without it, hardly fitting for a hero of men, such as I. It’s my missing ring that bothers me the most though. I’ve worn that Green Lantern ring everyday for more than a year, ever since my ally from Texas, The Roaming Persian, gave it to me. It wasn’t cheap either. It cost her $100+ bucks. And before I got that ring, I had worn several other Green Lantern rings for a few years beforehand. I feel naked. My finger feels funny, too light perhaps, and if I should present to you my middle finger today, it’ll be to show you how bizarre it looks without my ring of emerald glory on it.
I know the gnomes did it.
You know, gremlins can be pretty bad too, always messing with aircraft, but at least they always bring beer to a party. Or sometimes a bottle of orc-wine. Orc-wine isn’t that bad either. Sure, it tastes foul as hell, and it’s filled with trace-amounts of things you don’t even want to know about, things like blood (it’s anyone’s guess where it’s from) and orc-backwash, and it’s not that unusual to take a swig and find a fingertip in your mouth (again, it’s better not to ask questions), but it gets you bollocksed! A few swigs of that and you’ll be in an out-of-this-world-mellow-stage all night long. And orc-wine is so much more appealing ever since they actually started bottling the stuff in glass bottles, as opposed to sheep intestine, which is what they used to use. Eat your heart out, Two-Buck Chuck!
Not that I like gremlins. I just like them slightly more than gnomes. Gnomes can make a mean stew, but it’s not like they ever make enough, or share. Frickin’ Father Dowling watching little midgets.
My ring wasn’t there, where I always put it, by the computer, this morning. Sure, my uncle was sleeping out there on the couch, he could have moved it, but why? No, it was those damn gnomes. And just maybe that gnome is putting the ring to better use than I did, I just wore it for show, but I have this feeling that wherever that ringed gnome may be, he’s just forming a construct of a green hot tub with green gnome girls in bikinis in it. Bikinis and those stupid pointy hats. Aww, hell. Maybe it’s time I traded in for a Flash ring.
I’m gonna get those gnomes. I’ll get them real good. I know just what I’ll do. I’ll go over to that deli and convenience store just off of El Camino, the one that the gnomes run, and steal myself a bag of Doritos. Let’s see how THEY like it. Yeah, that’ll show ‘em.
Awwwww, heck.... who am I kidding. I can’t do that, I’m no criminal. I’m a fighter of evil, a hero of men. Those stupid gnome Doritos are as safe as ever. Still, I have this persistent feeling that tonight as I cruise around in the Virginmobile, I’m going to “accidentally” run over some “traffic cones”, and if I should find a leprechaun’s pot ‘o gold, you can be damn sure I’ll deposit some ass-pennies!
The Virgin Prince
