The Gnome Who Gave Zero F***s About New Year's
It was a snowy New Year’s Eve in the middle of nowhere—exactly how the gnome liked it. His name? Didn’t matter. Let’s just call him "That Gnome." He wasn’t the cute kind you’d stick in a garden. No, this one was a little rough around the edges, with a long curly hat that screamed, “I’m festive, but also don’t touch me.”
That Gnome was perched on a wooden stump, surrounded by glittering crap that would make even Martha Stewart gag from the excess. A Christmas tree, decked out in so much gold it looked like a Kardashian got to it, loomed behind him. At his feet, champagne bottles were scattered like battlefield casualties, their corks long popped, their bubbly contents half-drained.
“Here we go again,” he muttered, staring at the fireworks that were lighting up the snowy forest sky. “Another year, another pile of resolutions no one’s gonna keep. Cheers to more lies and gym memberships!”
He grabbed his glass of champagne, but not before kicking over a perfectly wrapped gift. "What is this? Socks? F***ing socks again? I live in the damn woods! What part of ‘practical’ don’t you people understand?” He sighed dramatically and took a swig. The bubbles burned just right. He’d definitely regret it tomorrow, but that was tomorrow’s problem.
The Party Nobody Was Invited To
Despite his grumpy demeanor, That Gnome had set quite the scene. Candles flickered, casting a warm glow over the forest clearing. Golden ornaments dangled from nearby trees, glinting in the firelight. A clock, ominously ticking down to midnight, sat on a makeshift table. He’d stolen it from a passing hiker months ago. Recycling, he called it.
“Ten minutes until midnight,” he grumbled, looking at the clock. “Just enough time to regret everything I’ve eaten this week and remind myself that kale is still garbage.”
He leaned back against the stump, watching the world celebrate through his tiny, judgmental eyes. Somewhere, people were singing “Auld Lang Syne,” holding hands, and pretending they weren’t going to ghost half the people in that room by February.
Midnight Madness
The countdown began, and That Gnome groaned audibly. “Ten… nine… blah, blah, blah,” he mocked as the fireworks began to crescendo overhead. “Three… two… one—oh, look! It’s another year where I have to pretend to care!”
The clock struck midnight, and the forest exploded in light and noise. Fireworks crackled, the tree sparkled, and That Gnome raised his glass. “Cheers to you, 2025. Let’s see if you can suck a little less than last year. Though, knowing how this world works, I’m not holding my breath.”
He drained his glass in one gulp and threw the flute into the snow. “That’s it! Party’s over. Go home, you losers!” he shouted to absolutely no one. He was, after all, completely alone.
Resolution? Don’t Hold Your Breath
By the time the fireworks faded and the champagne bottles were empty, That Gnome was passed out in the snow, snoring loudly. His curly hat drooped comically over his face, and his beard was covered in glitter from a champagne mishap. Somewhere in his alcohol-soaked brain, he muttered, “Next year, I’ll try harder. Just kidding—screw that.”
And there he lay, the most festive, grumpy little gnome in the forest, dreaming of a world where people actually gave up on the whole “New Year, New Me” charade. As far as he was concerned, New Year’s resolutions were for suckers, and champagne was the only thing worth celebrating.
So, here’s to That Gnome: the hero we didn’t ask for, but the one we all secretly are. May your New Year be full of snark, sass, and just enough champagne to make it bearable.
Shop the Look
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