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funny gnome story

Captured Tales

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by Bill Tiepelman

The Ale and the Argument

It started, as most disasters do, with a pint too many and pants too few. Old Fernbeard — retired mushroom forager, self-declared “Alethlete,” and wearer of suspiciously tight suspenders — was three steins deep into his celebratory "It's Tuesday" routine when trouble stomped into the clearing in the form of his wife, Beryl. Beryl Toadflinger wasn’t just any gnome wife. No, she was a capital-W Wife. The kind who could sew lace with one hand while hurling a shoe with the other. She had cheeks like winter apples, a gaze that could sterilize moss, and a voice known to shatter acorns at fifty paces. Her flower-crowned hat wobbled with every stomp, like a dainty warning flare. “Fernbeard!” she shrieked, sending a nearby butterfly into cardiac arrest. “What in the fungus-sucking hell are you doing?! I told you to fix the roof, not fix your blood-alcohol content!” “Beryl, my sweet portobello,” Fernbeard slurred, grinning around his foam-flecked beard. “I’m maintaining hydration. You want me dehydrated on a roof? What if I fainted mid-shingle?” “You fainted into a ditch last week after drinking elderberry schnapps and trying to pole dance with a cattail!” “I was honoring tradition!” he cried, puffing up like a drunk squirrel. “The Summer Solstice requires movement and moisture. I brought both.” “You brought shame and a rash. We’re still not allowed back in the fern glade!” As Beryl launched into a fiery monologue about “mature responsibilities” and “decades of lawn flamingo trauma,” Fernbeard, still smiling, tried to sneak a swig of his fourth pint. It didn’t work. Her hand shot out like a hawk snatching a vole, snatched the mug, and flung it — foam first — into a mushroom with a wet *thwap*. “That was my last barrel of Beardbanger Brew!” Fernbeard howled. “Do you know what I had to do to trade for that?! I danced for a badger. A badger, Beryl!” “Then maybe that badger can help you regrout the mushroom toilet!” Gnomes from neighboring stumps began peeking from behind mossy curtains, watching with the kind of interest usually reserved for lightning storms and nude trolls. Word was already spreading that “Toadflinger’s hit DEFCON Daisy.” Fernbeard’s eyes narrowed. “You know what, Beryl? Maybe I’d get things done if I weren’t being nagged more than a squirrel at nut tax season!” Beryl blinked. Slowly. Like a predator processing its next move. “Well maybe I wouldn’t nag if I had a husband who could tell the difference between a wrench and a garden gnome’s left nut!” “One time, Beryl! One time I fixed the wheelbarrow with a reproductive artifact and suddenly I’m banned from Gnome Depot!” The shouting crescendoed, their floral hats vibrating with rage. A squirrel passed out from stress. Somewhere, a pixie took notes for a future stage play. And then, silence. Pregnant, awkward silence. The kind that only occurs when two people simultaneously realize: they're standing in the woods, shouting about nuts and badgers, wearing floral crowns like angry garden center mascots. Fernbeard scratched his beard. Beryl rubbed her temples. A single beer burp escaped into the air like a fragile dove of peace. “So…” he began, “Dinner?” “Not unless you want it served with a side of shovel.” Beryl stormed off, trailing flower petals and rage like a floral hurricane. Fernbeard stood in the clearing for a moment, swaying in existential dread and ale-induced vertigo. He muttered something about “emotional terrorism via tulips” and kicked a pinecone with the gusto of a tipsy toddler in boots. Back at their stump-home, Beryl was elbow-deep in passive-aggressive rearranging. She flung Fernbeard’s “lucky bark chunk” out the window, relocated his novelty spoon collection to the privy, and scribbled a grocery list that included “eggs, milk, and a new husband.” Meanwhile, Fernbeard had retreated to his Thinking Log — a mossy perch by the creek where he often solved important problems, like “What if worms are just noodles with anxiety?” and “Can I ferment dandelions without another explosion?” He needed a plan. A big one. Bigger than the time he tried to build her a spa and accidentally flooded the mole parliament. He pondered. He farted. He pondered again. “Right,” he muttered. “We need the three R’s: Romance, Regret… and Ridiculousness.” First stop? The forbidden glade. The one they were technically banned from after Fernbeard tried to impress Beryl with interpretive gnome ballet. He’d landed in a bush, exposed himself to a hedgehog, and traumatized three ladybugs into therapy. But today, it was the site of Operation: Make-Up Or Die Trying. He set the scene: fairy lights made from fireflies (consensually borrowed), a blanket made from repurposed moth capes, and a feast of Beryl’s favorite things — acorn bread, candied snail curls, and that weird cheese she always pretended not to like but devoured at 3 a.m. To top it off, he brought out the Secret Weapon: a hand-carved mug inscribed with “To My Wife: You’re Hotter Than Troll Sweat” surrounded by tiny hearts and a questionable drawing of a mushroom. Inside? Beardbanger Brew, aged one week in a haunted thimble. Fernbeard stood there waiting, nervous as a pixie in a knitting shop, until Beryl finally arrived — arms crossed, eyebrow cocked so high it nearly snagged a cloud. “You dragged me out here to what? Beg?” she asked, eyeing the setup. “Begging? Nah. Pleading? Maybe. Offering emotional vulnerability disguised as cheese and beer? Definitely.” She tried to stay annoyed, but her nose twitched at the scent of the candied snail curls. “This better not be another trap like the time you ‘surprised’ me with a romantic tunnel and it turned out to be a badger den.” “That was a navigational error,” he said solemnly. “And they loved us. Invited us to their solstice orgy.” “Which we left in five minutes flat.” “Because you were allergic to the scented moss! I made that call for your safety!” Beryl snorted. But her arms dropped. And her foot stopped tapping. A good sign. “You made all this?” she asked, poking the moth-cape blanket. “And you used the mug. The... mushroom mug.” “Every gnome needs a little shame to grow strong,” Fernbeard replied, gently pushing the mug toward her. “Like fertilizer, but for your soul.” She took it. Sipped. Licked the foam from her lip in a way that made his beard quiver. “You’re an idiot,” she said softly. “A drunken, mushroom-brained, bark-snoring idiot.” “But I’m your idiot.” She sighed. Sat. Tore a piece of acorn bread like it had personally wronged her. Then, without ceremony, leaned against him. They sat there in the glow of stolen fireflies, sipping bad beer and better silence. He reached out, unsure, and laced his fingers through hers. She let him. “We’re not right, you and me,” she murmured, “but we’re just wrong enough to fit.” “Like moss and mold,” he agreed, a bit too proudly. “Don’t push it.” The glade, formerly the site of great scandal and one accidental gnome streaking incident, witnessed something far rarer that night: a truce between two wonderfully wild creatures who fought hard, loved harder, and forgave with the same passion they yelled about roof shingles and fermented socks. Later, when they stumbled home slightly tipsy and totally reconciled, Fernbeard grinned at Beryl in the moonlight. “So… about that pole dancing cattail?” “Try it again,” she said, smirking, “and I’ll shove it so far up your compost chute, you’ll sneeze pollen through autumn.” And just like that, the love story of The Ale and the Argument brewed another batch of chaos, crass affection, and one very lucky gnome who always knew the best arguments ended with dessert and a bruised ego. Love the riotous romance of Fernbeard and Beryl? Keep their tale alive with artful keepsakes from our Captured Tales collection — perfect for those who believe that love is loud, laughter is messy, and every argument deserves a second round (of beer or kisses, your call). Frame the chaos with a vibrant framed print or metal print, and let these gnomes grace your walls with woodland wit. Puzzle out their problems — literally — with a charming jigsaw puzzle, or send a cheeky greeting card to the mushroom in your life who puts up with your nonsense. Explore more chaotic love and gnome-grown giggles at shop.unfocussed.com — because some tales are too weird not to frame.

by Bill Tiepelman

Riding the Rainbow Hummingbird

Deep in the heart of the Enchanted Forest, where the sunlight filtered through the dense canopy like golden syrup and the air was thick with the hum of unseen magic, a certain gnome named Grimble Fizzwhistle was up to no good. Again. “Hold still, you sparkling chicken!” Grimble hollered, clutching at the reins of his highly questionable steed, a giant, iridescent hummingbird named Zuzu. Zuzu, for her part, was not thrilled to have a gnome-sized jockey attempting to direct her aerial maneuvers. She buzzed furiously, her wings a glittering blur, threatening to eject Grimble from her feathery back. “I swear, Zuzu,” Grimble muttered under his breath, “if you dump me in another patch of those stinging nettles, I’ll—well, I’ll…probably just cry again.” Despite his grumbling, Grimble held on tight, his tiny hands gripping the braided spider-silk reins with surprising tenacity. The Plan (Or Lack Thereof) Grimble was on a mission. At least, that’s what he kept telling himself. The truth was, he had very little idea where he was going or why. All he knew was that he had made a slightly drunken wager with his old frenemy, Tibbles Nockbottom, at the Giggling Toadstool Tavern the night before. Tibbles had bet him a month’s worth of honey-mead that Grimble couldn’t find the mythical Golden Nectar—a legendary elixir said to grant the drinker eternal youth and an impeccable singing voice. Grimble had, naturally, accepted the challenge without hesitation. Mostly because he was already three pints in and thought eternal youth sounded like a great way to avoid paying his back taxes. Now, as he soared above the forest, clutching Zuzu’s reins and trying not to look down at the dizzying drop below, he was starting to question his life choices. “All right, Zuzu,” he said, patting her neck with a trembling hand. “Let’s just find this Golden Nectar quickly, and then we can both go home and pretend none of this ever happened. Deal?” Zuzu chirped in response, which Grimble chose to interpret as a begrudging agreement. In reality, Zuzu was plotting the fastest route to the nearest patch of wild orchids, where she could throw Grimble off and snack on some nectar in peace. Enter the Feathered Bandits Just as Grimble was beginning to feel slightly more secure in the saddle, a screeching caw shattered the tranquility of the forest. He looked up to see a gang of magpies swooping toward them, their beady eyes glinting with malice. The leader, a particularly large and scruffy specimen with a missing tail feather, squawked loudly. “Oi! Fancy bird you got there, gnome! Hand her over, and we might let you keep your hat!” “Over my dead body!” Grimble yelled, shaking a tiny fist. “This hat cost me a week’s worth of turnip farming!” The magpies didn’t look impressed. They dove toward him en masse, their wings flapping like a thousand pieces of angry parchment. Zuzu, sensing trouble, let out an indignant chirp and banked hard to the left, narrowly avoiding the dive-bombing birds. Grimble clung on for dear life, his hat flying off in the process. “Not the hat!” he screamed, watching it flutter down into the forest below. “That was my lucky hat!” “Looks like you’re out of luck, short stuff!” the magpie leader cackled, snatching the hat mid-air. “Now scram, or we’ll pluck you bald!” Zuzu, clearly offended by the magpies’ lack of decorum, decided to take matters into her own wings. With a sudden burst of speed, she shot straight up into the sky, leaving the magpies floundering in her wake. Grimble let out a whoop of exhilaration—and then promptly swallowed a bug. “Blasted forest,” he coughed. “Why is everything here out to get me?” The Golden Nectar (Sort Of) After what felt like hours of frantic flying and several near-death experiences, Zuzu finally brought them to a halt in a secluded glade. At the center of the glade stood a single, ancient tree with shimmering golden leaves. At its base was a pool of honey-like liquid that sparkled in the sunlight. “The Golden Nectar!” Grimble exclaimed, sliding off Zuzu’s back and sprinting toward the pool. He dropped to his knees and scooped up a handful of the liquid, his eyes gleaming with triumph. “Tibbles is going to eat his stupid hat when he sees this!” He raised the nectar to his lips—but before he could take a sip, a deep, rumbling voice echoed through the glade. “Who dares disturb my sacred pool?” Grimble froze. Slowly, he turned to see a massive, grumpy-looking toad sitting on a nearby rock. The toad’s eyes glowed with an otherworldly light, and his warty skin shimmered with flecks of gold. “Uh…hello there,” Grimble said, hiding the handful of nectar behind his back. “Lovely weather we’re having, isn’t it?” “Leave,” the toad intoned, “or face my wrath.” “Right, right, of course,” Grimble said, inching backward. “No need for wrath. I’ll just, uh, be on my way…” Before the toad could respond, Zuzu swooped down, grabbed Grimble by the back of his tunic, and hauled him into the air. “Hey!” Grimble protested. “I wasn’t done groveling yet!” The Aftermath By the time they returned to the Giggling Toadstool Tavern, Grimble was exhausted, hatless, and completely nectar-less. Tibbles took one look at him and burst out laughing. “Well, well, well,” he said, clinking his mug of mead against Grimble’s empty one. “Looks like someone owes me a month’s worth of drinks!” Grimble groaned. “Next time,” he muttered, “I’m betting on something sensible. Like a snail race.” But as he glanced at Zuzu, who was perched on the bar and happily sipping a thimbleful of nectar, he couldn’t help but smile. After all, it wasn’t every day you got to ride a rainbow hummingbird. Bring the Magic Home If Grimble’s mischievous adventure and Zuzu’s dazzling wings brought a little wonder to your day, why not make it a permanent part of your space? Explore our collection of high-quality prints featuring this magical moment: Canvas Prints: Perfect for bringing warmth and whimsy to your walls. Metal Prints: For a sleek, modern display of vibrant color and detail. Acrylic Prints: A glossy finish to make Zuzu’s iridescence truly pop. Tapestries: Add a cozy, magical touch to any room. Start your collection today and let Grimble and Zuzu’s tale inspire your own adventures!

by Bill Tiepelman

The Gnome and the Harvest Crown Stag

Deep in the Emberwood Forest, where the air shimmered with golden sunlight and the crunch of leaves filled the air, a gnome named Wimble Leafwhistle was up to no good. Wimble, known as the “Acorn Ace,” had a reputation for turning the most serene woodland events into chaotic spectacles. His partner in these escapades? A regal stag named Chestnut, whose magnificent antlers were draped with garlands of acorns, autumn leaves, and berries. “All right, Chestnut,” Wimble said, perched on the stag’s back and adjusting his oversized red hat. “Today, we’re going to show this forest what true artistry looks like. Forget your boring autumn traditions—this year’s Harvest Festival will go down in history!” Chestnut gave a skeptical snort, his breath puffing in the crisp autumn air. But Wimble, as always, ignored him. He had plans. Big, ridiculous plans. The Festival Scene The Harvest Festival was the grandest event in Emberwood. Woodland creatures gathered under the Great Oak to showcase their finest acorns, pies, and decorations. Squirrels chattered excitedly as they displayed acorn sculptures. Hedgehogs offered steaming mugs of mulled cider. Even the ever-grumpy badgers had baked pumpkin tarts for the occasion. Wimble and Chestnut made their entrance with all the subtlety of a falling oak tree. The gnome had tied tiny bells to the stag’s antlers, which jingled loudly as they trotted into the clearing. Chestnut’s antlers sparkled with dew, and Wimble had even strapped a lantern to his saddle for dramatic effect. “Make way!” Wimble called, waving dramatically. “The Harvest Crown Stag and his loyal squire have arrived!” The crowd turned to stare, their chatter dying down. Elder Maple, the no-nonsense squirrel who presided over the festival, narrowed her eyes. “Wimble,” she said slowly, “what are you up to?” “Up to? Me?” Wimble asked, feigning innocence. “I’m simply here to add a touch of class to your humble gathering.” He tugged on Chestnut’s reins, and the stag reluctantly pranced forward, shaking his decorated antlers. The acorns dangling from the garlands clinked together like tiny bells. The Acorn Contest Wimble’s first target was the Great Acorn Contest, a competition where squirrels showcased their most impressive acorn collections. The entries were neatly arranged on a long table, each acorn polished to a glossy shine. Wimble leaned over to inspect them, his beard twitching with mischief. “Very nice, very nice,” he said, picking up a particularly large acorn. “But wouldn’t it be more... exciting if they moved?” Before anyone could stop him, he sprinkled a handful of enchanted “Jitter Dust” over the table. The acorns quivered, then sprouted tiny legs and began scuttling around like frantic beetles. The squirrels shrieked, diving after their runaway acorns. Elder Maple glared at Wimble. “Really?” she demanded. “What?” Wimble said, grinning. “They’re more fun this way!” The Pie Tasting Next up was the Pie Tasting Competition, a highlight of the festival. Hedgehogs, foxes, and even a family of otters had brought their finest baked goods to be judged. Wimble, of course, had no intention of letting this go smoothly. As the judges began sampling the pies, Wimble leaned over to Chestnut. “Watch this,” he whispered, pulling a tiny vial from his pocket. The label read: “Peppery Pop Powder.” With a flick of his wrist, he sprinkled the powder over the pies. Moments later, the judges took their next bites—and immediately began hiccuping tiny flames. The fox judge yelped, fanning his tongue, while the hedgehog rolled on the ground, sending sparks flying. “Fiery flavor!” Wimble declared, clapping his hands. “A bold choice!” Chestnut groaned, shaking his head as the chaos unfolded. The Antler Parade The grand finale of the festival was the Antler Parade, where the forest’s deer displayed their elaborately decorated antlers. Chestnut, with his dazzling crown of acorns and leaves, was a clear favorite—until Wimble decided to “enhance” the competition. “Hold still,” Wimble said, climbing onto Chestnut’s head and sprinkling a few enchanted berries onto the garlands. The berries began to glow, casting a shimmering red light that lit up the entire clearing. “Behold!” Wimble cried as Chestnut stepped into the parade ring. The crowd gasped in awe—but their admiration quickly turned to confusion as the berries began to pop like fireworks. Bright sparks shot into the air, startling the other deer. One buck bolted, scattering ribbons everywhere, while a doe tripped over her own garland. “WIMBLE!” Elder Maple shouted, shaking her tiny fists. “You’ve gone too far this time!” “Too far?” Wimble said, feigning shock. “This is art!” The Escape Realizing he was about to be chased out of the festival (again), Wimble tugged on Chestnut’s reins. “Time to go, buddy!” he said. The stag snorted, clearly unimpressed, but took off at a gallop, his glowing antlers lighting their path through the forest. Behind them, Elder Maple shouted, “You’re banned from the festival for life, Wimble!” “Promises, promises!” Wimble called over his shoulder, laughing. The Aftermath Later that evening, as they rested under a golden maple tree, Wimble patted Chestnut’s side. “You’ve got to admit, we stole the show,” he said, grinning. The stag rolled his eyes but didn’t protest. “Next year,” Wimble continued, “we’ll need to go even bigger. Maybe... enchanted pumpkins? What do you think?” Chestnut let out a long, weary sigh, but Wimble took it as agreement. “Knew you’d be on board,” he said, leaning back against the tree. As the golden leaves drifted down around them, Wimble smiled to himself. Chaos, laughter, and a touch of magic—just another perfect day in the Emberwood Forest. Bring the Magic of Autumn Home Love Wimble and Chestnut’s mischievous autumn adventure? Capture the vibrant charm and whimsy of their story with our exclusive collection of products inspired by this enchanting tale: Wood Prints: Add a rustic touch to your home decor with this beautifully vibrant scene on wood. Tapestries: Transform your walls into an autumn wonderland with this magical design. Puzzles: Enjoy piecing together the fun of Wimble and Chestnut’s whimsical adventure. Tote Bags: Carry the charm of this magical woodland ride with you wherever you go. Start your collection today and let Wimble and Chestnut bring the beauty and mischief of autumn into your life!

by Bill Tiepelman

Riding the Flamewing Through Fall

In the heart of the Emberwood Forest, where the leaves burned brighter than the sunset and the air smelled of cinnamon and mischief, there lived a gnome named Bramble Knickerbocker. Known as the “Rascal of the Redwoods,” Bramble’s favorite pastime was finding new ways to spice up the already chaotic forest. Today, however, he wasn’t working alone. He had a secret weapon—a small but fiery leaf dragon named Flamewing. “All right, Flamey,” Bramble said, adjusting his spectacles as he clambered onto the dragon’s back. “Today, we’re going to turn this forest upside down. Imagine it: squirrels scrambling, acorns flying, and me, the undisputed king of autumn pranks!” Flamewing snorted, a puff of golden sparks escaping from his nostrils. He flicked his tail, scattering a flurry of maple leaves behind him. Bramble took that as a yes. “Good lad,” he said, patting the dragon’s glowing, leaf-like scales. “Now, let’s get to work!” The Plan The first stop on Bramble’s list was the Acorn Harvest Festival, a beloved event where woodland creatures competed to see who could gather the most acorns. It was a serious affair—too serious for Bramble’s liking. “Let’s liven things up, shall we?” he said, steering Flamewing toward the clearing where the competition was in full swing. Squirrels darted between the trees, stuffing their cheeks with acorns, while badgers and foxes dragged baskets overflowing with the nutty bounty. Bramble reached into his satchel and pulled out a handful of enchanted acorns he’d “borrowed” from a particularly gullible wizard. “These babies will sprout dancing mushrooms when they hit the ground,” he explained to Flamewing. “Hilarious, right?” Before the dragon could protest, Bramble hurled the acorns into the clearing. They landed with soft thuds, and within seconds, bright orange mushrooms popped up, swaying and twirling to an invisible tune. The squirrels froze mid-chew, their eyes wide. Then the mushrooms started singing—badly. “🎵 Acorns, acorns, tasty and round, plant us here and we’ll dance on the ground! 🎵” Chaos erupted. Squirrels screeched and abandoned their hoards. A badger tripped over his basket, scattering acorns everywhere, while a fox attempted to bite one of the mushrooms, only to recoil in horror as it belted out an off-key solo. “This is gold!” Bramble cackled, holding onto Flamewing’s neck as the dragon hovered above the scene. “Let’s see the council top that for entertainment!” The Autumn Blaze The next stop was the Leaf Carving Contest, a tradition where woodland artists transformed fallen leaves into intricate works of art. Bramble had always found it a bit dull—too much concentration, not enough pandemonium. Naturally, he had a plan to fix that. Flamewing landed softly near the contest, his wings scattering a shower of glowing leaves. The contestants looked up, briefly distracted by the dragon’s radiant entrance. “Don’t mind us,” Bramble called, tipping his hat. “Just passing through!” As the carvers returned to their work, Bramble reached into his satchel again and pulled out a small vial of “Whirlwind Dust.” With a wicked grin, he uncorked the vial and tossed the contents into the air. A gust of wind whooshed through the clearing, sending leaves—and half-finished carvings—spiraling into the sky. “My masterpiece!” a hedgehog cried, leaping after a particularly elaborate oak leaf. A raccoon clung to his table, trying to shield his work from the mini tornado, while a deer watched in resigned silence as her entire collection was carried away. “This might be my best work yet,” Bramble said, watching the chaos unfold. Flamewing, however, was less impressed. He swatted Bramble with his tail, nearly knocking him off the saddle. “All right, all right,” Bramble muttered, rubbing his side. “I’ll dial it back. Happy now?” The Grand Finale The final stop on their tour of mayhem was the Emberwood Great Feast, a grand picnic where every creature brought their finest autumn delicacies. Bramble had no intention of ruining the feast—he wasn’t a monster—but he couldn’t resist adding a little flair. “Watch and learn, Flamey,” he said, pulling out a jar of “Sparkling Spice,” a harmless (but highly dramatic) seasoning that made food glow and emit tiny fireworks. He sprinkled it over the pies, soups, and roasted nuts while the feast-goers were distracted by a singing troupe of chipmunks. When the first fox took a bite of glowing pumpkin pie, his eyes widened in surprise. A burst of tiny fireworks exploded from his mouth, lighting up the table. Soon, the entire feast was a sparkling, crackling spectacle. Laughter filled the clearing as creatures sampled the enchanted dishes, delighted by the unexpected display. “Now this,” Bramble said, leaning back in the saddle, “is how you end a day of mischief.” The Aftermath As the sun set over Emberwood, Bramble and Flamewing lounged on a mossy hill, watching the golden light fade into twilight. “You’ve got to admit,” Bramble said, tossing Flamewing a candied acorn, “that was a pretty spectacular day.” The dragon crunched the acorn thoughtfully, then let out a puff of smoke that Bramble chose to interpret as approval. “See?” Bramble said, grinning. “You’re starting to appreciate my genius.” Just then, a familiar voice echoed through the forest. “BRAMBLE KNICKERBOCKER!” It was Elder Maple, head of the forest council, and she did not sound pleased. “Time to go!” Bramble said, leaping onto Flamewing’s back. The dragon took off, his fiery wings scattering leaves in every direction. As they soared into the night, Bramble couldn’t help but laugh. Mischief, magic, and a touch of chaos—what more could a gnome ask for? Bring the Magic of Autumn Home Love Bramble and Flamewing’s mischievous autumn adventure? Bring the vibrant spirit of their tale into your home with our exclusive collection of stunning products: Tapestries: Add warmth and whimsy to your walls with this radiant autumn design. Metal Prints: Perfect for showcasing the brilliance of Bramble and Flamewing in sleek, modern style. Puzzles: Piece together the magic of this autumn escapade with a fun, family-friendly puzzle. Fleece Blankets: Cozy up this fall with a soft, vibrant blanket inspired by this enchanting scene. Start your collection today and let Bramble and Flamewing’s fiery adventure bring a touch of magic to your space!

by Bill Tiepelman

Petals, Pranks, and Tiny Adventures

In the heart of the Wildflower Woods, where the air shimmered with golden pollen and the mushrooms grew as plump as pillows, there lived a gnome named Wibble Thistlewhisker. Known as the forest’s resident troublemaker, Wibble was always up to something—usually something ridiculous. Today, however, he had surpassed himself. He’d recruited a fawn named Petal, whose dainty steps and flower-crowned antlers made her the picture of woodland elegance. Wibble, of course, had other plans. “All right, Petal,” Wibble said, adjusting his red hat and climbing onto her back. “Today, we’re going to prank the forest council and prove that mischief and flowers can coexist beautifully!” Petal blinked her enormous eyes, as if to ask, “Are you sure about this?” But Wibble was already busy tying a garland of wildflowers to her tail, giggling to himself. “Just wait until they see this masterpiece,” he said. “It’s going to be legendary!” The Plan The forest council, a stern group of rabbits, badgers, and a very grumpy owl named Hoarfrost, had gathered in their usual spot under the Great Oak. They were in the middle of their annual meeting, discussing serious matters like squirrel thefts and the mushroom tax. Wibble had overheard their plans earlier and decided it was the perfect opportunity for some “creative intervention.” “We’ll make our entrance during the ‘important announcements,’” Wibble explained to Petal as they approached the meeting. “I’ll deliver my ‘surprise speech,’ and you… you’ll dazzle them with your flower power.” Petal flicked her ears, unconvinced. “Don’t worry,” Wibble said. “I’ve got it all figured out.” The Entrance As Hoarfrost droned on about moss shortages, a burst of petals suddenly filled the clearing. The council looked up in confusion as Wibble and Petal emerged from the underbrush, her antlers crowned with roses and her tail trailing a garland of daisies. “Behold!” Wibble shouted, standing proudly on Petal’s back. “The Flower King has arrived to grace you with his wisdom!” The council stared in stunned silence. Hoarfrost narrowed his eyes. “What is the meaning of this?” he hooted. “We’re in the middle of a serious discussion!” “Serious discussions are overrated,” Wibble replied, grinning. “What this forest needs is a little whimsy! A little… excitement!” He clapped his hands, and the garland tied to Petal’s tail released a flurry of enchanted pollen into the air. Within moments, the rabbits began sneezing uncontrollably, and the badgers’ fur turned bright pink. “WIBBLE!” Hoarfrost bellowed, flapping his wings. “What have you done?!” The Chaos Petal, spooked by the sudden commotion, bolted. Wibble clung to her back as she leapt over mushrooms and wove through the trees, scattering petals and pollen in her wake. Behind them, the council scrambled to regain order. The rabbits sneezed themselves into a pile of dandelions, and the badgers chased their pink reflections in a nearby stream. Hoarfrost took to the air, feathers ruffled and furious. “This is not what I meant by ‘dazzle,’ Petal!” Wibble shouted as they galloped through the forest. Petal ignored him, too busy fleeing the chaos she’d unwittingly caused. Behind them, Hoarfrost’s voice echoed through the trees. “Come back here, you meddling menace!” The Grand Finale Eventually, Petal skidded to a stop in a meadow filled with golden sunlight. Wibble slid off her back, dizzy but exhilarated. “Well,” he said, brushing petals off his tunic, “that could’ve gone better. But did you see the look on their faces? Priceless!” Petal gave him a withering look and flicked her garland-free tail at him. “Don’t be like that,” Wibble said, grinning. “You were the star of the show! Everyone will be talking about this for weeks!” Just then, Hoarfrost swooped down, his feathers still coated in glittery pollen. “You,” he growled, pointing a talon at Wibble, “are banned from all future council meetings!” “What a tragedy,” Wibble replied with mock sincerity. “I was really looking forward to next year’s moss inventory report.” Hoarfrost glared at him for a long moment before flapping back toward the Great Oak. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you!” he called over his shoulder. The Aftermath As the forest slowly returned to normal, Wibble and Petal lounged in the meadow, watching butterflies flit among the flowers. “You know,” Wibble said, “we make a pretty good team. Mischief and elegance—who would’ve thought?” Petal nibbled on a patch of clover, clearly unimpressed. “Fine, fine,” Wibble said. “Next time, I’ll let you pick the prank. Deal?” Petal flicked her ear in what Wibble chose to interpret as agreement. As they made their way back to the village, Wibble couldn’t help but smile. Life in the Wildflower Woods was never dull—especially when you had a partner as stylish as Petal. Bring the Whimsy Home Love Wibble and Petal’s mischievous adventure? Bring the charm and magic of their story into your home with our exclusive collection of whimsical products: Tapestries: Add a splash of whimsy and color to your walls with this enchanting woodland design. Canvas Prints: Perfect for showcasing the magical duo in vibrant, high-quality detail. Puzzles: Piece together the fun and beauty of Wibble and Petal’s adventure with this delightful puzzle. Stickers: Add a whimsical touch to your favorite items with adorable, high-quality stickers. Start your collection today and let Wibble and Petal bring a little mischief and magic into your life!

by Bill Tiepelman

Holiday Mischief with the Reindeer Rider

In the heart of the Snowdrop Forest, where icicles glittered like chandeliers and snowflakes fell as soft as whispers, the annual Festival of Antlers was underway. Every winter, the reindeer gathered to show off their most dazzling decorations, from gold garlands to glittering baubles. For the forest folk, it was the highlight of the season. For Burlap Tinseltoes, the gnome with a reputation for mischief, it was an irresistible opportunity. “This year,” Burlap announced, adjusting his oversized red hat dusted with snow, “I’m going to steal the spotlight—literally.” He stood in front of his trusty steed, a reindeer named Jinglehoof, who looked less than thrilled. “With your antlers and my genius, we’ll be the talk of the festival. All we need are a few... adjustments.” Jinglehoof let out a resigned snort as Burlap pulled a satchel from his sled. Inside was an assortment of ornaments, tinsel, and something ominously labeled “glow powder.” “Trust me,” Burlap said with a wink. “This is going to be spectacular.” The Decorating Disaster As the sun set, Burlap began his masterpiece. He wove strings of twinkling lights through Jinglehoof’s antlers, hung shiny red and gold ornaments at every available branch, and tied a glittery bell to the reindeer’s tail. For the grand finale, he sprinkled the glow powder over everything. “It’s enchanted,” Burlap explained as Jinglehoof shook glitter out of his fur. “When the moonlight hits it, you’ll sparkle like the Northern Lights!” The reindeer in the neighboring stalls looked on with a mix of admiration and secondhand embarrassment. “You’ll thank me later,” Burlap said, stepping back to admire his handiwork. Jinglehoof now resembled a cross between a Christmas tree and a firework display. “Perfection!” Burlap declared. “Now, let’s make an entrance.” The Festival Begins The Festival of Antlers was held in a snowy clearing lit by glowing lanterns. Reindeer paraded through the crowd, their antlers adorned with ribbons, garlands, and other festive decorations. The forest folk clapped and cheered, marveling at the creativity on display. Then came Burlap and Jinglehoof. Or, more accurately, Burlap came riding in at full speed, waving like a maniac while Jinglehoof galloped reluctantly into the clearing. The reindeer’s antlers lit up like a disco ball, scattering beams of multicolored light across the snow. The crowd gasped, then burst into laughter and applause. “Ladies and gentle-creatures!” Burlap announced, standing on Jinglehoof’s back and nearly toppling off. “Behold the most dazzling display in Festival history! Feast your eyes on Jinglehoof, the Reindeer of Radiance!” The crowd roared with laughter and cheers, but not everyone was impressed. Elder Hollyhorn, the head judge of the Festival, stepped forward, her antlers dripping with icicles. “This is highly unconventional,” she sniffed, glaring at Burlap. “And... is that glitter?” “Not just glitter,” Burlap said with a grin. “Magically enhanced glitter.” He snapped his fingers, and the glow powder activated. Jinglehoof’s antlers sparkled so brightly they could be seen from the next village. The crowd “ooohed” and “aaahed” as Elder Hollyhorn squinted in disapproval. The Mishap As Burlap was basking in his triumph, a wayward squirrel, hypnotized by the glittering antlers, leapt onto Jinglehoof’s head. The reindeer reared in surprise, sending Burlap tumbling into a snowdrift. The squirrel, now clinging to the antlers, panicked and accidentally triggered the bell on Jinglehoof’s tail. The enchanted bell let out a loud, echoing chime that startled every reindeer in the clearing. Chaos erupted. Reindeer dashed in every direction, their ornaments flying off like festive shrapnel. A garland-wearing fox tried to calm the crowd but ended up tangled in a string of lights. Elder Hollyhorn was nearly trampled by a stampede of candy-cane-clad fawns. Burlap poked his head out of the snow just in time to see Jinglehoof racing toward the forest, still glowing like a meteor. “Come back!” Burlap shouted, scrambling to his feet. “We haven’t even taken our victory lap!” The Aftermath It took an hour to round up the runaway reindeer, and by the time Jinglehoof was retrieved, his decorations were askew, and Burlap was banned from entering the Festival “for the foreseeable future.” Elder Hollyhorn handed him a broom and pointed at the glitter-covered clearing. “Start sweeping,” she said sternly. Burlap sighed but couldn’t suppress a grin as he watched the crowd chatter excitedly about the night’s events. Sure, it hadn’t gone exactly as planned, but he’d succeeded in making the Festival unforgettable. “Not bad for a gnome with a bag of glitter,” he muttered, sweeping up a pile of glow powder. Jinglehoof nudged him with his nose, looking equally tired and amused. Burlap patted his glowing antlers. “Same time next year?” he asked. The reindeer snorted, which Burlap took as a yes. As he trudged home through the snow, Burlap was already scheming his next big idea. After all, the holidays weren’t about perfection—they were about fun, laughter, and just a little bit of chaos. Bring the Holiday Magic Home Love Burlap and Jinglehoof’s festive mischief? Bring the joy and laughter of their holiday adventure into your home with our exclusive collection of whimsical products: Tapestries: Add a touch of festive charm to your walls with this magical winter scene. Throw Pillows: Cozy up with Burlap’s mischief and Jinglehoof’s glowing antlers on a comfy holiday pillow. Puzzles: Piece together the fun with a delightful puzzle featuring this whimsical duo. Greeting Cards: Share the laughter and festive spirit with friends and family through these charming holiday cards. Start your collection today and let Burlap and Jinglehoof bring the magic of the holidays to your home!

by Bill Tiepelman

Frog Rodeo: Gnome Style

In the heart of the Enchanted Forest, where mushrooms glowed like tiny disco balls and the rivers gurgled with laughter, a gnome named Blimble Puddleflap was preparing for his greatest—and most ridiculous—feat yet: a frog rodeo. Blimble wasn’t known for his practicality or restraint. No, his reputation was built on an endless string of outrageous stunts and pranks that left the forest’s inhabitants either chuckling or plotting revenge. Today’s prank, however, was destined to become legendary. The Plan It all started in the Giggling Lily Tavern the night before, when Blimble overheard a particularly smug chipmunk boasting about his "record-setting" acorn collection. "I could ride a frog across the stream and still gather more acorns than you!" the chipmunk had declared. Blimble, fueled by three mushroom ales and an overabundance of confidence, had leapt onto the table and shouted, "Ride a frog? I’ll ride one so fast it’ll look like a green lightning bolt streaking through the forest!" By morning, the entire forest had heard about Blimble’s bold claim. To back out now would be social suicide. Fortunately, Blimble had a plan. Unfortunately, it was a terrible one. "All right, Ribsy," Blimble said, addressing the enormous, lime-green frog he’d “borrowed” from a lily pad in Tadpole Cove. Ribsy, whose idea of excitement involved sitting very still and occasionally catching a bug, was less than thrilled about the arrangement. “We’re going to make history!” Blimble continued, oblivious to Ribsy’s expression of froggy dread. “I’ll ride you like the wind, and you’ll become the fastest frog this forest has ever seen!” The Ride Begins The clearing by the stream was packed with forest creatures, all eager to witness Blimble’s latest shenanigan. Rabbits, squirrels, and even a few skeptical hedgehogs gathered at the water’s edge. The chipmunk from the tavern was front and center, munching on an acorn and smirking. "This should be good," he muttered. “Ladies and gentle-creatures!” Blimble announced, standing on Ribsy’s back like a pint-sized circus performer. “Prepare to witness the grandest, most daring frog rodeo in history!” Before anyone could respond, Ribsy let out a startled croak as Blimble tugged on the makeshift reins (woven from spider silk, because of course). The frog launched forward with a panicked leap, sending a spray of water across the cheering crowd. “Yeehaw!” Blimble hollered, throwing his arms in the air. “Look at us go, Ribsy! We’re unstoppable!” “Ribbit,” Ribsy croaked, which roughly translated to, “Please let this nightmare end.” The Chaos Unfolds As Ribsy bounded toward the stream, Blimble’s showmanship quickly devolved into chaos. A miscalculated leap sent them careening into a patch of glowing mushrooms, which exploded into a cloud of glittery spores. The crowd erupted in laughter as Blimble emerged from the sparkling haze, clinging to Ribsy’s back with one hand and waving a tiny cowboy hat with the other. “Still going strong!” Blimble shouted, though his grip was slipping and Ribsy looked ready to file a restraining order. Things took a turn for the worse when a dragonfly, apparently offended by the disturbance, decided to join the fray. It swooped down and began dive-bombing Blimble, who swatted at it wildly. “Back off, you oversized mosquito!” he yelled, inadvertently letting go of the reins. Now completely out of control, Ribsy veered toward the stream and leapt with all the grace of a cannonball. They landed in the water with a colossal splash, soaking the front row of spectators and dislodging a nearby family of ducks. Blimble resurfaced moments later, sputtering and still clinging to Ribsy, whose expression now read as “utter resignation.” The Aftermath By the time Ribsy paddled to the far side of the stream, the crowd was in stitches. Even the smug chipmunk was laughing so hard he dropped his acorn. Blimble, dripping wet and covered in glittery mushroom spores, climbed off Ribsy and took a dramatic bow. “Thank you, thank you!” he said, ignoring the fact that Ribsy was already hopping away as fast as his froggy legs could carry him. “And that, my friends, is how you ride a frog like a champion!” The chipmunk approached, still chuckling. “I’ll admit, Puddleflap, that was…impressive. Ridiculous, but impressive.” Blimble grinned. “Ridiculous is my middle name! Well, technically it’s ‘Ezekiel,’ but you get the idea.” The crowd dispersed, still laughing and chattering about the spectacle. Blimble, now alone by the stream, looked around for Ribsy, only to realize the frog had vanished. “Eh, can’t blame him,” Blimble said with a shrug. “I’d probably hop away too.” As he wrung out his hat and started the soggy walk back to his mushroom cottage, Blimble couldn’t help but smile. Sure, he was wet, exhausted, and slightly traumatized by the dragonfly, but he’d done it. He’d turned a ridiculous boast into an even more ridiculous reality—and had the glittery mushroom spores to prove it. “Next time,” he muttered to himself, “I’m riding a squirrel.” Bring the Fun Home Love the hilarity of Blimble and Ribsy’s wild ride? Bring their whimsical adventure into your life with our exclusive collection of high-quality products featuring this unforgettable scene: Tapestries: Transform your space with the vibrant energy of this whimsical artwork. Wood Prints: Add a rustic touch to your decor while showcasing Blimble’s froggy antics. Puzzles: Relive the fun piece by piece with a challenging and delightful puzzle. Greeting Cards: Share a laugh with friends and family with these charming cards. Start your collection today and let Blimble and Ribsy bring a splash of humor and magic to your life!

by Bill Tiepelman

Streamside Shenanigans with the Gnome and Frog

Deep in the heart of the Goldenwood Forest, where the mushrooms glowed like lanterns and butterflies flitted with wings dusted in starlight, a gnome named Gimble Tinklestump was busy planning his next great prank. Known far and wide among the forest folk as the “Giggling Menace,” Gimble had a reputation for creating chaos—and today, his target was none other than Old Tadwick, the grumpiest toad this side of the babbling brook. Perched atop his trusty steed—a massive, lime-green frog named Blep—Gimble adjusted his red hat and grinned. “All right, Blep,” he said, patting the frog’s broad, slippery head. “Let’s give Tadwick something to croak about!” Blep let out a deep, resonant “RIBBIT” and leapt forward, bounding through the forest with the grace of a wet potato. Gimble, clutching the frog’s reins, laughed maniacally as they approached the stream where Old Tadwick held court. The toad, infamous for his booming voice and no-nonsense attitude, was sunbathing on a mossy rock, his warty face set in a permanent scowl. The Setup Gimble and Blep stopped a few paces away, hiding behind a clump of oversized mushrooms. “All right, here’s the plan,” Gimble whispered, leaning down to Blep. “We’re going to convince Tadwick that the forest council voted to make me the new ‘Stream Keeper.’ He’ll lose his warts when he hears that!” Blep blinked slowly, which Gimble interpreted as enthusiastic agreement. Pulling a makeshift “crown” out of his satchel (it was actually a very battered teacup), Gimble hopped off Blep’s back and placed it on his head at a jaunty angle. He then stepped into the clearing with an exaggerated bow. “Greetings, Tadwick the Mighty!” he called out, his voice dripping with mock reverence. Tadwick cracked one beady eye open. “What do you want, Tinklestump?” he growled. “And why are you wearing a teacup?” “Ah, I see you’ve noticed my regal headwear!” Gimble said, puffing out his chest. “I come bearing important news, old friend. The council has decided that I, Gimble Tinklestump, shall be the new Stream Keeper!” Tadwick snorted. “The Stream Keeper? You? Don’t make me laugh.” “It’s true!” Gimble insisted. “As Stream Keeper, it’s my duty to enforce all forest laws. And, uh…” He quickly improvised, “To collect taxes. Yes, taxes! Starting with you, Tadwick.” The Prank Unfolds Tadwick’s eyes narrowed. “Taxes? What nonsense are you spouting now?” “Oh, it’s not nonsense,” Gimble said, trying to keep a straight face. “Blep, bring forth the ‘Official Tax Ledger.’” From behind the mushrooms, Blep hopped into view carrying a large leaf in his mouth. Gimble had scrawled a series of illegible scribbles on it in berry juice, which he now brandished triumphantly. “Behold! The taxes you owe are listed right here. Let’s see… Ah yes, one dozen crickets, three dragonfly wings, and a bottle of swamp juice.” Tadwick sat up straighter, his warty brow furrowing. “This is absurd! I don’t owe you anything!” “Defiance of the Stream Keeper is a serious offense,” Gimble said gravely. “I could have you banished to the Mud Flats!” At this, Blep let out an enormous croak, which Gimble had trained him to do on cue. The sound was so loud it made the nearby butterflies scatter in panic. Tadwick flinched but quickly regained his composure. “You’re bluffing,” he said. “You’re always bluffing, Tinklestump.” “Am I?” Gimble asked, raising an eyebrow. He turned to Blep and said, “Plan B.” Without hesitation, Blep lunged forward, snatched Tadwick’s mossy rock with his sticky tongue, and yanked it into the stream. The sudden splash sent water cascading over Tadwick, drenching him from head to toe. “MY ROCK!” Tadwick bellowed, flailing in the shallow water. “You little pest! Give it back!” “Stream Keeper rules, I’m afraid!” Gimble called out, doubling over with laughter. “All rocks are property of the council now!” The Great Escape Realizing that an enraged Tadwick was now charging toward them, Gimble scrambled back onto Blep’s back. “Time to go!” he shouted, and Blep launched into the air with a mighty leap, clearing the stream in one bound. Tadwick skidded to a halt at the water’s edge, shaking his fist. “You’ll pay for this, Tinklestump!” the toad roared. “Just you wait!” “Add it to my tab!” Gimble yelled over his shoulder, tears of laughter streaming down his face. “And don’t forget to pay your taxes!” As Blep carried him deeper into the forest, Gimble couldn’t stop chuckling. Sure, Tadwick would probably try to retaliate in some hilariously ineffective way, but that was half the fun. For Gimble, life was all about finding the next laugh—and with Blep by his side, the possibilities were endless. “Good work today, Blep,” he said, patting the frog’s head. “Tomorrow, we prank the squirrels.” Blep croaked in agreement, and together, they disappeared into the glowing depths of the Goldenwood, leaving behind a very wet and very grumpy toad. Bring the Whimsy Home Enjoyed Gimble and Blep's mischievous adventure? Let their antics brighten up your day with stunning products that showcase their hilarious escapade. Check out these magical options: Tapestries: Add a whimsical touch to your walls with this vibrant design. Puzzles: Piece together the laughter with a puzzle that captures the scene's playful spirit. Framed Prints: Perfect for framing Gimble and Blep’s hilarious adventure in your favorite space. Tote Bags: Take the fun wherever you go with a stylish and practical tote. Choose your favorite and let Gimble and Blep’s shenanigans become a part of your daily adventures!

by Bill Tiepelman

Tiny Rebel in a Big World

Once upon a time, in a desert much too big for his boots, there was a gnome who went by the name of Grog Thistlebeard. Grog wasn’t your average garden-variety gnome, happy to stand guard over tulips and wave at butterflies. Oh no—Grog had a leather jacket, a custom-painted motorcycle, and a serious thirst for adventure. One evening, as the sun sank behind the rolling desert dunes, casting the sky in hues of fiery orange and purple, Grog adjusted his belt, gave his mustache a final twirl, and revved up his ride—a gleaming motorcycle he lovingly called "Rustbucket." It was anything but rusty, but Grog thought the name gave it character. His mission? To ride from the sandy flats of Cactusville all the way to a mystical place known only as the Big Rock. No one was entirely sure what the Big Rock was, but Grog had heard whispers that it was actually a gigantic cheese wheel left behind by an ancient clan of desert mice. The Road Less Graveled Grog kicked his bike into gear and shot off across the desert, his beard streaming like a wild banner behind him. The desert critters—lizards, jackrabbits, and tumbleweeds—watched in awe as the tiny gnome rocketed past. He had barely hit top speed when he encountered his first obstacle: a cactus. Not just any cactus—this one was big, mean, and had a scowl on its face (or so Grog imagined). “Oi! Watch the spikes, mate!” Grog yelled as he swerved around the prickly beast. “Almost took my beard clean off!” The cactus didn’t respond (as cactuses generally don’t), but it stood as a silent reminder that the desert was full of surprises. As he sped off, Grog muttered, “This whole 'wide open spaces' thing is a bit overrated if you ask me.” A Gnome, a Hawk, and a Borrowed Hat About an hour into his journey, Grog noticed a shadow circling overhead. It was a hawk, and it didn’t look friendly. The bird, seemingly intrigued by Grog’s shiny ride and crimson hat, began to swoop lower and lower. “Back off, featherbrain!” Grog shouted, waving his fist at the sky. But the hawk wasn’t deterred. With a screech, it made a dive straight for him. In a heroic act of self-preservation, Grog took off his hat and threw it as a decoy. The hawk snatched the hat and soared off, leaving Grog safe but slightly miffed. “Great. Now I’ll be the only gnome in the land without a proper pointy hat,” he grumbled, vowing to retrieve it on the way back. “Or find an even pointier one. A rebel doesn’t follow fashion rules anyway.” The Mystery of the Big Rock As dusk settled over the desert, Grog spotted a shape on the horizon. It was the Big Rock—or, as the rumors had it, the Big Cheese. With newfound excitement, he pushed Rustbucket to its limits, the bike rattling and roaring across the sand. Finally, he skidded to a halt in front of his destination. There, standing magnificently against the twilight sky, was the Big Rock. And Grog had to admit, it did indeed look somewhat…cheesy. “Could it be?” he whispered to himself, licking his lips in hopeful anticipation. Clambering off his bike, Grog strode up to the massive boulder, pulled out his trusty knife, and gave it a tentative scratch-and-sniff. His nose wrinkled in disappointment. “Just a rock, not even a whiff of cheddar,” he sighed. “Blasted desert legends. I should’ve known.” Return of the Pointy Hat As he prepared for the long ride home, Grog’s keen eyes caught sight of a glint of red on a nearby cactus branch. There it was—his hat! The hawk had evidently decided it wasn’t as delicious as it looked and had dropped it en route. Grinning, Grog retrieved the hat, dusted it off, and plopped it back on his head. “Ah, much better,” he said, striking a victorious pose. “Now, let’s ride home and tell the gang about how I faced down hawks, cacti, and the legendary Big Rock.” Back to the Garden (With a Few Tall Tales) By the time Grog rolled back into Cactusville, the desert was bathed in moonlight, and his fellow garden gnomes had gathered to hear his story. Grog took a deep breath and began weaving a tale of peril, adventure, and bravery that grew more exaggerated with every word. “...and that’s when the hawk swooped down, eyes like fiery coals, talons as sharp as dragon’s teeth, and I wrestled it barehanded right out of the sky!” he boasted. His audience gasped in awe, even though most of them suspected that Grog’s stories were about as real as the Big Cheese. But that didn’t matter. Grog Thistlebeard was a tiny rebel in a big world, and every adventure—whether real or slightly embellished—was another badge of honor. As he finished his tale, Grog tipped his hat and took a bow, feeling every bit the hero he believed himself to be. The End (Or, as Grog would say, “Just the Beginning”) Bring Grog’s Adventure Home If you’re inspired by Grog Thistlebeard’s epic journey and want to keep his adventurous spirit close by, check out our exclusive products featuring the artwork "Tiny Rebel in a Big World" by Bill and Linda Tiepelman. Perfect for anyone with a taste for adventure and a love for whimsical art, these pieces bring Grog’s daring escapades right into your home: Throw Pillow - Add a dash of rebel spirit to your sofa with this cozy and colorful pillow. Tapestry - Transform any wall into a statement of adventure with this stunning tapestry. Canvas Print - Bring Grog’s desert journey to life with a high-quality canvas print, perfect for any space in need of a little boldness. Puzzle - Piece together the gnome’s adventure with this fun and challenging puzzle, great for fans of both fantasy and games. Let Grog’s courage and charm remind you every day that life is one big adventure—just waiting to be explored.

by Bill Tiepelman

Tranquil Toadstool Tavern

Deep in the heart of the Old Widdershins Woods, where the cell service was nonexistent, and the mushrooms grew big enough to warrant their own zip code, there was a spot few humans had ever laid eyes on. It was neither a pub nor a picnic area but something far more mysterious and slightly questionable: the Tranquil Toadstool Tavern. Its bartender? A gnome named Garvin, though his friends called him "Garvin the Gnarly" due to his propensity for dispensing unsolicited advice with the subtlety of a sledgehammer. Garvin didn’t much care for adventurers, and he really didn’t care for tourists who stumbled into the forest in search of “authentic gnome experiences.” He’d seen enough neon-t-shirted hikers poking at moss with selfie sticks to develop a permanent eye twitch. So, on the rare day a human stumbled upon his spot, Garvin usually hid in the bushes. But today, he was exhausted. A Sip of Solitude Wearing his favorite moss-lined hat (which doubled as camouflage for napping), Garvin settled onto his favorite mushroom stool, grabbed his Corona Extra, and sighed. Finally, he was alone. No bothersome trolls hawking “enchanted rock carvings.” No elves with their lute-playing and glitter-shedding. Just him, his beer, and the comforting smell of damp forest floor. “Here’s to peace and quiet,” he muttered, tipping his Corona in a toast to absolutely no one. The bottle was almost as tall as his torso, and it took both hands to keep it steady. But he didn’t mind—it was a small price to pay for tranquility. Enter the Unwanted Company Just as he took his first, refreshing swig, a loud rustling erupted from the undergrowth. He spat out a mouthful of beer. “Oh, for the love of fungus. Can’t a gnome get a moment to himself?” A squirrel the size of a large house cat—furry, overfed, and glaring—sauntered over, sniffing the air. It was Poppy, the unofficial tavern pest and a bit of a freeloader. She always knew when Garvin cracked open a beer, and she had the audacity to judge him for it. “Isn’t it a little early for that?” she chittered, nose twitching with disapproval. “It’s five o’clock somewhere,” Garvin shot back, rolling his eyes. “Besides, aren’t you supposed to be hoarding acorns or whatever it is you oversized rodents do?” “First of all, I’m a squirrel, not a rodent,” Poppy said, standing on her hind legs, looking indignant. “Second, I have a reputation to uphold. Can’t have the local humans thinking all forest creatures are lazy drunkards.” “You’re lecturing me on reputations?” Garvin scoffed, gesturing to Poppy’s expanding waistline. “Anyway, this is my break. Just me, my beer, and absolutely no small talk.” “You’re doing an excellent job at it,” she retorted, before scurrying off in a huff. The Arrival of the Toadstool Regulars As Garvin raised his bottle again, the usual cast of woodland misfits ambled into view. First, there was Cedric, the fox who considered himself a sommelier, though his idea of “fine wine” was any liquid that didn’t outright poison him. Then came Elowen, the owl who had convinced herself she was a poet despite her only two topics of expertise being night and rodents. “What’s that, Garv? Corona again?” Cedric asked with a smirk, sniffing the air. “I’d have thought a worldly gnome like you would go for something more refined.” “It’s a classic!” Garvin grumbled. “Not all of us are born with taste buds that can detect notes of oak and pretentiousness.” “You could at least squeeze a lime in it, dear,” Elowen cooed, perched on a low branch, feathers rustling with amusement. “A little citrus, a little panache, you know?” “Lime? This is beer, not some alchemist’s elixir!” Garvin grunted, taking another sip. “Besides, I don’t see either of you bringing anything to share.” They both looked at each other, slightly embarrassed. Cedric muttered something about a “wine shortage” while Elowen claimed she was “saving her inspiration” for a reading that night. The Buzzkill Bunny Just as Garvin thought his suffering was complete, yet another figure appeared: Bernie the Rabbit. A self-appointed health coach, Bernie’s entire personality could be summed up in two words: unsolicited advice. “Garvin!” Bernie hopped over, looking mortified at the beer. “You know alcohol isn’t good for you, right? It dehydrates and ages you.” Garvin stared at the bottle, then looked at Bernie, raising an eyebrow. “Bernie, I’m a hundred and fifty-seven years old and have been drinking since before you were a dust bunny. I think I’ll be fine.” Bernie frowned, twitching his nose with exaggerated concern. “Maybe switch to kombucha? I hear it’s all the rage with forest influencers.” Garvin gave him a withering look. “Let me make this clear, carrot-muncher: I’m not switching to kombucha. If I wanted to drink fermented swamp water, I’d visit the bog witch.” “Suit yourself,” Bernie shrugged, hopping away with an air of judgment so thick you could cut it with a butter knife. A Moment of (Finally) Peace At last, the critters dispersed, leaving Garvin alone once more. He took a final, savoring sip, enjoying the earthy quiet that enveloped him. The soft glow of the sun filtered through the leaves, casting an almost magical light over the forest floor. “Ahhh,” he sighed, content. “There’s nothing quite like a cold one and some quiet.” Then, from somewhere in the forest, he heard an unmistakable rustle, followed by a voice shouting, “Hey! I think I see a gnome! Quick, get the camera!” Garvin’s eyes widened as he pulled his hat low over his face, muttering, “Nope. I’m done. Forest’s closed. Everyone go home.” And with one swift motion, he slipped behind the largest toadstool, blending seamlessly into the mossy undergrowth, determined to preserve his peace—even if it meant playing hide-and-seek with every selfie-stick wielding intruder until winter. Some days, being a gnome wasn’t easy. But Garvin wouldn’t trade his little corner of the woods for all the kombucha in the kingdom. Bring a Bit of Gnome Magic Home If Garvin's woodland sanctuary speaks to your heart, why not bring a little "Tranquil Toadstool Tavern" magic into your own space? We’ve got a cozy collection of products featuring this whimsical scene, perfect for gnome lovers and forest dreamers alike: Tranquil Toadstool Tavern Tapestry - Transform any wall into a gnome’s retreat with this vibrant tapestry that brings the forest right to your home. Tranquil Toadstool Tavern Puzzle - Piece together this cozy scene, one mushroom and mossy detail at a time. Tranquil Toadstool Tavern Wood Print - Add a rustic touch to your decor with this print on wood, perfect for any nature-inspired space. Tranquil Toadstool Tavern Beach Towel - Bring a bit of the forest with you to the beach or poolside! And for true gnome aficionados, don’t miss our brand new 2025 "My Gnomies" Calendar. It's packed with charming gnome scenes to keep you company all year long. After all, Garvin may need his peace and quiet, but your walls could use a bit of that gnome magic!

by Bill Tiepelman

Beard, Boots, and Baby Dragon

Deep in the heart of the Widdershins Woods, where even the bravest adventurers dared not tread (mostly because the gnomes had lousy hygiene), lived a bearded gnome named Grimble Stumbletoe. Grimble was infamous for two things: his crass sense of humor and his inexplicably loyal companion, a pint-sized dragon named Sizzle. Together, they were the stuff of tavern tales, mostly told by those who’d had one too many and enjoyed a good laugh at Grimble's questionable antics. The Introduction of Sizzle Now, Sizzle wasn’t your average dragon. He was barely the size of a large cat and looked more like someone had stuck wings on a grumpy lizard. When Grimble first found him, curled up under a toadstool in the early hours of the morning, the gnome’s first words were, “Well, aren’t you an ugly little bugger?” To which Sizzle responded by promptly setting his beard on fire. “Ah, he’s got spirit,” Grimble cackled as he smothered the flames with a slap of his grubby hand. “I like ya already, you little menace.” And thus began the start of a beautiful, if somewhat volatile, friendship. Grimble’s Daily Routines (Or Lack Thereof) Each morning, Grimble would saunter out of his hollowed-out tree, scratch his beard, and take a deep, satisfied breath of the forest air. “Ah, smell that, Sizzle! Smells like freedom. And possibly a dead raccoon.” He’d then look down at Sizzle, who would nod with a solemn understanding, as if to say, “I too, smell the raccoon, Grimble.” For breakfast, Grimble favored a diet of mushrooms, stale bread, and whatever he could scrounge from the woodland creatures, who were less than willing to share. “Oi, squirrel, that’s mine!” he’d yell, occasionally hurling a pebble at a furry thief. Sizzle, meanwhile, would practice his fire-spitting skills, toasting bugs and once nearly incinerating Grimble’s hat. “Careful there, you fire-breathing gecko!” Grimble would say, shaking his finger. “You char my favorite hat again, and it’s roasted squirrel for dinner.” Encounters in the Forest One fine afternoon, as they strolled through a particularly dense patch of undergrowth, they encountered a lost adventurer—a young man in shiny armor, looking as fresh as a daisy and about as clueless as one, too. “Excuse me, sir,” the young man stammered, “have you seen the path to the Great Elven Temple?” Grimble eyed him with a wry grin, then leaned in close, a bit too close for comfort. “Elven Temple? Oh sure, it’s right over that hill. Just mind the goblin nests, the troll dung, and the occasional trap set by yours truly.” He winked. “Might take a while, though. So, unless you fancy an evening spent picking rocks out of yer backside, I’d suggest you turn around.” “I-I’ll keep that in mind,” the adventurer replied, pale and visibly unnerved as he backed away. Once he was out of earshot, Grimble chuckled, “Bloody do-gooders. Always thinkin’ they’re about to save the world or some such nonsense.” Sizzle let out a growl that sounded suspiciously like laughter. Evening Shenanigans As dusk fell, Grimble and Sizzle would set up camp. Grimble, who prided himself on being “one with nature” (mostly because he was too lazy to build a proper shelter), would lie back on a patch of moss and settle in for the night, regaling Sizzle with tales of his “glorious past.” “I once held off an entire pack of wolves with nothing but a pointy stick!” he boasted, making grand gestures. “Mind you, they were about as big as yer average rabbit, but wolves is wolves, right?” Sizzle, unimpressed, would snort a little puff of flame. He had a habit of turning his head as if rolling his eyes, which only encouraged Grimble to embellish further. “Oh, don’t look at me like that. And anyway, you’re no saint, ya little fire-bellied troublemaker. Remember last week when you burnt down old Miss Frumpel’s toadstool cottage?” Sizzle looked away, feigning innocence, while Grimble chuckled. “Aye, she deserved it though, always waggin’ her finger at me, tellin’ me to ‘watch my language.’ If I wanted a lecture, I’d talk to the damn owls!” Grimble’s “Heroic” Deeds One night, a commotion arose from the nearby grove. There was shouting, the clash of metal, and the unmistakable thud of something heavy crashing into a tree. “Adventure calls, Sizzle!” Grimble whispered with an overly dramatic flair, pulling his rusted dagger from his belt. “Let’s see if there’s a few coins to be made out of this mess.” They slunk through the underbrush until they found the source: a band of goblins arguing over a pile of glittering loot. “Oi!” Grimble yelled, striding out from the bushes. “Didn’t yer mothers teach ya not to make such a racket?” The goblins froze, staring at the odd pair. Grimble’s unimpressive stature and Sizzle’s miniature size made for a ridiculous sight, but Grimble was undeterred. “Now, I’ll be takin’ that shiny stuff there, and if ya make it easy, I won’t set my dragon on ya. He’s a vicious beast, see?” At that, Sizzle let out a tiny roar, barely a squeak, which only made Grimble snicker. The goblins, however, weren’t amused. With a series of hisses and snarls, they lunged. The Grand Battle (Sort Of) It was pure chaos. Goblins shrieked, Sizzle spat tiny spurts of flame, and Grimble dodged like a drunken acrobat, yelling insults at anyone who came near. “You call that a swing, you sorry excuse for a potato!” he bellowed, ducking under a goblin’s club. “My gran fights better than you, and she’s been dead three decades!” In the end, Sizzle managed to ignite a few well-placed bushes, which startled the goblins into fleeing. Grimble, panting and looking far more triumphant than he had any right to, picked up a shiny coin and spat on it to polish it. “Aye, well fought, Sizzle,” he said with a nod. “They’ll be singin’ tales of this day for sure. ‘Grimble the Bold and his Mighty Dragon,’ they’ll call it!” Sizzle tilted his head, clearly skeptical, but Grimble ignored him, pocketing a handful of the goblins’ abandoned loot with a gleeful grin. The Journey Continues The next morning, Grimble and Sizzle set off once more, as they always did, with no particular destination in mind. “So, Sizzle,” Grimble mused, “what d’you reckon we’ll find today? Perhaps a damsel in distress? Or maybe some rich fool wanderin’ through the woods, just beggin’ to lose his purse?” Sizzle gave him a sideways glance, a puff of smoke rising from his nostrils as if to say, “Or maybe you’ll just get us into more trouble.” Grimble chuckled, ruffling the little dragon’s scales. “Ah, trouble’s what keeps life interestin’, eh?” With a skip and a swagger, he strolled off into the forest, the laughter of a grumpy old gnome and the tiny roars of his loyal dragon echoing through the woods. And so they wandered on, the crassest, funniest, most mismatched duo in all of Widdershins Woods, much to the terror—and amusement—of everyone they met. Bring Grimble and Sizzle Home If Grimble's antics and Sizzle's fiery spirit brought a smile to your face, why not bring a piece of their adventure home? This delightfully mischievous duo is available on a range of high-quality products that will add a dash of whimsical charm to any space. Check out these Beard, Boots, and Baby Dragon products, perfect for fantasy lovers and humor enthusiasts alike: Jigsaw Puzzle - Get lost in Grimble’s world piece by piece. Tapestry - Transform your wall into the heart of Widdershins Woods with this vibrant tapestry. Canvas Print - Perfect for any room that could use a bit of fantasy flair. Throw Pillow - Cozy up with Grimble and Sizzle’s hilarious companionship. Whether you’re a fan of gnomish humor or just love the idea of a dragon the size of a cat, these products let you bring a little bit of Widdershins Woods into your everyday life. Because, after all, who couldn't use a bit more magic and mischief?

by Bill Tiepelman

Cheeky Forest Dwellers

Interview with the Cheeky Forest Dwellers Welcome to a very special (and chaotic) interview with two of the forest’s most infamous troublemakers. We sat down with the delightful duo, Hank and Gertie, to hear about life, love, and why they refuse to act their age. Warning: this interview contains snark, sass, and mushroom-infused moonshine. Interview Highlights Interviewer: So, Hank and Gertie, thanks for sitting down with us today! You two are quite the pair. How long have you been… uh, “together”? Hank: Together? Ha! She’s been stuck with me since the Summer of ’834. Just sorta latched on like a barnacle on a troll's backside. Gertie: Oh, please. If I’m a barnacle, then you’re the sea slug I’m stuck on. He wooed me with a wilted dandelion bouquet and the promise of free mushroom stew. Real charmer, this one. --- Interviewer: Wow, quite the romantic beginning! So, what’s kept you two together for… checks notes… over a thousand years? Gertie: It’s simple. I keep him around ‘cause he knows how to build a good fire and he’s got a high tolerance for my cooking. And because he’s too slow to run away. Hank: And I stick with her ‘cause she laughs at all my jokes, even the bad ones. Plus, she’s handy with a slingshot when the squirrels get cheeky. Gertie: True. Nothing says romance like warding off a squirrel invasion together. They don’t tell you that in fairy tales. --- Interviewer: Speaking of squirrels… you two have a bit of a reputation in the forest. Care to comment on all the mischief? Hank: Mischief? Us? Look, if we’re not keeping things lively, the place would be dull as dirt. Someone’s gotta keep these mushrooms on their toes. Gertie: Exactly. Life’s short, even for us gnomes. Might as well spend it playing tricks, throwing pine cones, and generally causing a ruckus. Keeps us young. Hank: Besides, we’re practically celebrities ‘round here. The pixies tell legends about us! "The Great Gnome Fart Fiasco of ’976”—ever heard of it? Gertie: *rolls eyes* Let’s not get into that one. We nearly got banished for a year after that stunt. --- Interviewer: I can’t believe I’m asking this, but any relationship advice for the young gnomes out there? Gertie: Sure. Find someone who doesn’t mind that you snore like a bear or that your idea of a bath is wading through a mud puddle once a month. Hank: And someone who can handle your… “unique talents.” Like her mushroom casserole. Tastes like dirt, but you won’t hear me complainin’—mostly because she’d whack me with her ladle. Gertie: That’s the spirit. Just remember, kids, love is all about tolerance. And sometimes a good dose of blindfolds and nose plugs. --- Interviewer: One last question—what’s the secret to staying so… lively? Hank: Easy! A nip of mossy moonshine every morning and a solid diet of insults. Keeps the blood pumpin’ and the heart rate high. Gertie: And don’t take life too seriously. If you can’t laugh at yourself, find someone else to laugh at. Like Hank here. He’s got a face only a blind troll could love. Hank: And she’s got a laugh that could wake the dead. But that’s love, ain’t it? Gertie: *grins* I guess so. Now, if you’ll excuse us, we’ve got a mushroom hunt to get to. And a few squirrels who could use a good scare. With that, the Cheeky Forest Dwellers stomped off, arm in arm, leaving behind only the faint scent of mushroom stew and an echo of mischievous laughter. --- The Secret to Cheeky Love For all their crassness, Hank and Gertie’s long-lived love reminds us that a little snark, a lot of laughs, and a mutual appreciation for mischief may just be the recipe for happily-ever-after… in gnome years, anyway. The (Unlikely) Tale of How Hank and Gertie Met Long before they were the most infamous pranksters of the forest, Hank and Gertie were just two solitary gnomes with reputations for causing trouble in their own unique ways. Here’s the (mostly true) tale of how these two stubborn souls first crossed paths… The Festival of the Fungi It was during the annual Festival of the Fungi—a legendary event held in the deepest part of the enchanted forest. Gnomes, pixies, and critters from all over gathered to celebrate the wonders of wild mushrooms. There was food, music, mushroom-flavored moonshine, and, of course, plenty of mischief. Hank, already a well-known menace, was in his element. He’d spent the whole evening challenging other gnomes to drinking contests and trying to steal hats off the heads of every passing pixie. With his long beard and his wild laugh echoing through the forest, he was hard to miss. Gertie, meanwhile, had come for the mushrooms. She wasn’t interested in festivities or flirtations—she was there on a mission. She had a particular fondness for the rare Glowcap Shroom, which only appeared once a century. Unfortunately for her, the Glowcap patch was surrounded by rowdy gnomes, with none other than Hank smack in the middle, drunkenly challenging anyone who crossed his path. The (Not So) Meet-Cute Gertie rolled her eyes and waded through the chaos, determined to reach her prized mushrooms. Just as she stretched her hand toward a perfect Glowcap, Hank lurched forward and stepped on it, squashing the shroom under his big muddy boot. Gertie: Hey! You big oaf! That was the rarest shroom in the forest! Hank: *looks down, grinning* Whoops. Didn’t see it there. Maybe if you got a pair o’ spectacles, you’d find a shroom without trippin’ over your own feet. Gertie: Tripping over my own feet? I’ve half a mind to wallop you with my basket! Hank: Go ahead, sweetheart. Bet you couldn’t knock over a feather if you tried. And that was all it took. In an instant, Gertie had grabbed her basket, wound up, and whacked Hank squarely across the beard. The slap echoed through the forest, stopping the music and drawing the attention of every gnome, pixie, and squirrel nearby. Hank: *laughing* Feisty one, aren’t ya? I think I like you! Gertie: *glaring* Well, I don’t like you! And I’d like you even less if you keep squashing mushrooms under your clumsy feet. A Prank War Begins Hank, being the foolhardy gnome he was, saw this as a challenge. For the rest of the festival, he followed Gertie around, pulling every prank he could think of. He’d hide her basket, replace her mushroom samples with rocks, and even sprinkle itching powder on her hat. Gertie, far from backing down, retaliated in kind. She “accidentally” spilled mushroom stew on his boots, planted stinkweed in his path, and once even put a toad in his bedroll. By the end of the festival, both of them were exhausted, filthy, and still arguing. But there was something neither of them could ignore—beneath all the insults and pranks, they’d started to enjoy each other’s company. Somewhere between the mushroom stew mishap and the toad incident, a strange, grudging respect had blossomed. A Strange Proposal As the Festival of the Fungi wound down, Hank turned to Gertie, grinning his signature, lopsided grin. Hank: Tell ya what, Gertie. How ‘bout we keep this going? I could use a lady with a mean swing and a taste for mischief. Gertie: *scoffs* Only if you promise not to squash any more Glowcaps under those big, clumsy feet of yours. Hank: Deal. Long as you promise not to hit me with that basket again. Hard enough being a gnome without a concussion. And just like that, they struck a deal—a partnership in chaos, a truce between pranksters, and, perhaps, the beginning of something resembling love. They’d argue, prank, and torment each other for centuries to come, bound together by a shared love of mischief and a mutual refusal to act their age. And that’s how Hank and Gertie, the Cheeky Forest Dwellers, met—over a squashed Glowcap and a mutual willingness to annoy each other for the rest of their very long lives. Bring the Cheeky Forest Dwellers Home! If you’ve fallen for the mischievous charm of Hank and Gertie, why not invite a little of their cheeky spirit into your own space? Our Cheeky Forest Dwellers Collection captures all the humor, sass, and rustic whimsy of this unforgettable duo. Perfect for anyone who loves a good laugh and a touch of woodland magic! Tapestry – Add a bold touch of gnome mischief to any wall with our vibrant tapestry, perfect for bringing a slice of enchanted forest into your home. Framed Print – Capture Hank and Gertie’s timeless snark in a beautifully framed print, ideal for those who appreciate a bit of character in their decor Jigsaw Puzzle – Piece together the charm of this dynamic duo with a puzzle that’s as fun and quirky as they are. A perfect gift for gnome lovers and puzzle enthusiasts alike! Tote Bag – Carry a bit of cheeky charm wherever you go with this sturdy tote, featuring Hank and Gertie’s unforgettable expressions. Embrace the magic, humor, and pure cheekiness of the forest’s most famous gnome couple! Check out the full collection here.

by Bill Tiepelman

Splashing in Magic Waters

Deep in the heart of the enchanted autumn woods, where the leaves were ablaze in shades of red and gold, there lived a gnome named Gribble. Now, Gribble wasn’t your average, everyday garden-variety gnome. No, no. He was as mischievous as they came, with a snicker that could make the trees blush and a wit sharper than the blade he never actually used. Let’s be honest, Gribble was more about fun than work. And then there was Sprout. Ah, Sprout—his pint-sized dragon companion. Sprout was... well, "adorably chaotic" is a good way to put it. With wings too big for his body and a tendency to hiccup smoke rings, he was like a flying toddler with an attitude. Together, they were a walking (or flying) disaster, but in the most entertaining way possible. One crisp autumn afternoon, Gribble and Sprout were on a stroll through the forest, not looking for trouble (which meant trouble was definitely going to find them). They came upon a stream, the water clear and cold, reflecting the fiery canopy of leaves above. Gribble, always up for a bit of nonsense, decided this was the perfect time for a break from ‘important gnome business.’ And by that, he meant absolutely nothing productive. The Plan (or Lack Thereof) "Alright, Sprout," Gribble said, rubbing his hands together, eyes gleaming with glee. "Time for a bath!" Now, dragons don’t traditionally love water, but Sprout, with his unpredictable baby brain, decided today was the day he’d be an exception. With a high-pitched squeal that sounded like a kettle about to blow, he launched himself into the stream, flapping his tiny wings and spraying water everywhere. And by everywhere, I mean all over Gribble’s face. "Ah! You soggy little lizard!" Gribble sputtered, wiping his beard, which now looked more like a soaked mop than the dignified tangle it usually was. "I said you take a bath, not me!" Sprout, of course, was far too busy splashing and blowing little fire-bubbles to listen. Every few seconds, the dragon would hiccup, sending out a spark of flame that turned into harmless bubbles in the cool air. A bubble popped on Gribble’s nose, and he couldn’t help but snort in amusement. The little pest was too cute to stay mad at for long. The Splash War Begins "Alright, Sprout," Gribble said with a wicked grin, rolling up his sleeves. "If it’s a splash war you want, it’s a splash war you’ll get!" He leapt into the stream with all the grace of a rock tied to an anvil. Water exploded in all directions as the gnome belly-flopped into the shallow creek, sending waves cascading over the unsuspecting Sprout, who immediately retaliated with a gust of wing-flapping and shrill giggles. Gnomes weren’t exactly known for their swimming abilities, but Gribble didn’t care. He was having the time of his life. And so it went, back and forth, with Gribble laughing like a madman and Sprout trying his best to drown him in two inches of water. To any casual observer, it looked like a full-blown riot had broken out between a miniature dragon and an overgrown garden ornament. And to be fair, that’s not too far off the mark. "You call that a splash?" Gribble bellowed, swiping a wave toward Sprout, who ducked and responded with an expertly timed tail-flick that sent water straight into Gribble’s open mouth. "Gah! You slimy little..." Gribble sputtered again, but his laughter was louder than his complaints. He could’ve sworn Sprout was actually smirking at him. Cheeky lizard. Serenity, Interrupted As the sun dipped lower, casting a warm orange glow over the forest, Gribble and Sprout finally collapsed onto the shore, soaked and exhausted. The forest around them had returned to its usual serene self, the birds singing sweetly, the leaves rustling softly in the breeze. It was almost... peaceful. Until Sprout hiccupped again. This time, instead of bubbles, a tiny jet of flame shot out, catching Gribble’s boot on fire. "Well, that’s just perfect," Gribble groaned, staring at the tiny flame that had decided to settle on his foot. He lazily dipped it into the stream to put it out. "Thanks, Sprout. Really. Just what I needed." Sprout gave an apologetic chirp and then, with a mischievous twinkle in his eye, splashed Gribble one last time. The gnome sighed dramatically, raising his eyes to the sky. "I don’t know why I keep you around," Gribble muttered. "But then again, who else would set my foot on fire just to get a laugh?" With a huff of mock indignation, Gribble stood up, his clothes still dripping. He looked down at the soaking wet dragon, who was now curled up in the shallows, tail flicking contentedly in the water. Gribble couldn't help but grin. For all their chaos, he wouldn’t have it any other way. "Alright, come on then, you soggy salamander," Gribble said with a smirk, offering Sprout his hand. "Let’s go find something else to ruin." And off they went, leaving a trail of wet footprints and charred leaves behind them, two mischievous companions bound to wreak havoc on whatever unsuspecting corner of the forest they found next. Because in the life of a gnome and his dragon, there's no such thing as a dull moment. If you’ve fallen in love with Gribble and Sprout’s chaotic adventures, you can bring a piece of their whimsical world into your own! Prints, products, downloads, and licensing options for this delightful image are available in the My Gnomies Archive. Whether you’re looking for a splash of magic for your walls or unique gifts that capture the joy of these mischievous companions, explore the collection today!

by Bill Tiepelman

The Laughing Gnome and His Winged Friend

Deep in the heart of the Enchanted Forest, where the mushrooms grow larger than houses and the flowers sing you lullabies (usually to distract you before they spit pollen in your face), lived a gnome named Grubnuk. Grubnuk wasn't your average gnome. While most of his fellow gnomes were busy crafting tiny shoes for even tinier feet or meditating under dew-soaked leaves, Grubnuk preferred chaos. He was the kind of gnome that would superglue your shoes to the floor just for the laugh, then hand you a cup of tea afterward as if nothing had happened. The grin on his face told you everything you needed to know—Grubnuk was trouble. On this particularly sunny day, Grubnuk had one hand held up in a peace sign, the other balancing his trusty sidekick, a miniature dragon named Snort. Why “Snort”? Because this tiny creature had the irritating habit of sneezing fire every time it laughed, which happened to be often, thanks to Grubnuk’s pranks. Together, they made the perfect pair of mischief-makers—one with an endless supply of obnoxious humor, the other a living flamethrower with a sense of timing that could put any comedian to shame. "Alright, Snort, what’s the plan for today?" Grubnuk said, his legs dangling off a mushroom that was about as large as a coffee table, if said coffee table also happened to be made of fungus and poor life choices. Snort let out a squeaky roar, flapping his wings with all the grace of a wet towel being thrown at a wall. His tongue flopped out as he inhaled for another fire-laced sneeze, which, by the way, was precisely how the last gnome village ended up as nothing more than a pile of smoking rubble. Grubnuk, ever the enabler, laughed. He knew exactly what that meant. "Perfect. We'll start by messing with the elves. They're still mad about that whole ‘spiked hair-growth potion’ incident. Apparently, it wasn't as ‘temporary’ as I promised." The two set off through the forest, leaving behind their peaceful mushroom perch. They wove through a meadow of oversized daisies, which Grubnuk casually watered with a bottle of ‘magically enhanced fertilizer.’ The kind of enhancement that ensured the flowers would grow arms and start waving at confused passersby by noon. The Elf Ambush As they approached the elves’ domain—well-manicured treehouses and sparkling pathways—the gnome-dragon duo began to plot their next move. Grubnuk’s eyes gleamed with that special glint of a man... er, gnome… about to ruin someone's day. "Alright, Snort. Phase one: find the leader’s fancy cloak and… modify it." Snort puffed out his chest proudly, a bit of smoke escaping his nostrils as he fluttered off toward the elves' wardrobe line. A few moments later, he returned with a regal-looking cloak in his claws, as well as what looked suspiciously like the elf leader’s underwear (but that was just a bonus). Grubnuk cracked his knuckles and began to sew in a few 'enhancements.' Oh, it still looked as elegant as ever, but now it came with a surprise feature—tiny enchanted spiders that would scurry out from the hem and climb up the wearer’s legs, perfectly invisible to anyone else but the unfortunate soul wearing the cloak. The best part? The wearer would think they were going mad, and that's where the real fun began. Chaos Unleashed As the elf leader strode proudly into view, resplendent in his royal cloak, the mischief began. One by one, invisible spiders crept up his legs, making him swat at the air and twitch uncontrollably. It started with a light scratch, then a frantic shake of his foot, and finally, the cloak was flung off as he yelped, "By the Great Oak, I’m infested!" Elves scattered, some in sheer terror, others pointing and laughing. Grubnuk, sitting behind a bush with Snort, was in absolute stitches, practically falling over with laughter. "Priceless," he wheezed. "Oh, this is going in the prank hall of fame!" Snort, for his part, let out a satisfied snort—a mini fireball escaping his nose and singeing a nearby bush. The elves were too busy dealing with the cloak fiasco to notice. Lucky for them. Grubnuk, however, grinned even wider. “You know what, Snort? We should probably leave before they find out it was us. Again." But the fun wasn’t over. As they snuck away, Grubnuk noticed the elves’ prized ceremonial flowers, the kind that bloomed only once a decade. A wicked thought crossed his mind. "One more thing before we go," he whispered, pulling out a pouch of itching powder. With a devilish glint in his eye, he sprinkled the powder over the delicate petals. By the time the elves got back to their beloved flowers, they'd be scratching so hard they wouldn’t be able to sit still for a week. “Ah, the sweet scent of chaos,” Grubnuk said as they escaped back into the forest, the echo of elf curses chasing them into the trees. The Aftermath Back at their mushroom perch, Grubnuk and Snort settled in for the evening. The sun was setting, casting a golden hue over the forest, while somewhere far off, the elves were still undoubtedly dealing with the aftermath of the day’s pranks. “Another successful day of mischief, my friend,” Grubnuk said, kicking off his boots and leaning back on the soft mushroom cap. Snort curled up beside him, puffing out little smoke rings as if in agreement. “What should we do tomorrow?” Grubnuk mused aloud, already scheming. Snort responded with a tiny sneeze, igniting the edge of Grubnuk’s beard. Grubnuk slapped out the flames, laughing. “Good one, Snort. Always keeping me on my toes.” He patted the dragon’s head affectionately. “But just wait till tomorrow. We’re going after the dwarves next." And with that, the two fell asleep, their dreams filled with new pranks, singed beards, and just the right amount of chaos to keep things interesting in the Enchanted Forest. Bring the Mischief Home! Love the playful, chaotic energy of Grubnuk and Snort? Why not bring a little of that magic into your own space? Check out this vibrant tapestry featuring the laughing gnome and his winged companion. Or, if you're a fan of something more interactive, challenge yourself with this whimsical puzzle. Add a touch of magic to your walls with a beautiful framed print, or cozy up with a throw pillow that’s perfect for your own whimsical naps. Don’t miss your chance to make a little mischief part of your home decor!

by Bill Tiepelman

The Enchanted Duo in Plaid

The Enchanted Duo in Plaid: A Gnome’s Tale In the depths of the forest where the leaves whispered secrets and the wind tasted like honey mead, lived Gornick the Gnome, an eccentric figure known for his extravagant plaid hats and quirky antics. But Gornick wasn’t just any woodland gnome; he was the self-proclaimed "Master of Mischief" in the Hidden Valley of Outlandish Oddities, where magic and absurdity coexisted in a strange, whimsical harmony. One evening, as Gornick sat by his moss-covered toadstool, a puff of smoke erupted from his hat—his largest plaid hat yet. This was no ordinary hat. No, this one had "spells gone wrong" woven into its very fabric. Adorned with dried lavender, pinecones, and suspiciously crunchy berries, it was more of a magical misfire waiting to happen than a fashion statement. But Gornick didn't mind. In fact, he welcomed chaos with open, stubby arms. Sitting atop his lap was Lilith, his tiny witch companion, a doll-sized magical being with a knack for sarcasm and a heart as dark as a cauldron full of bat soup. She wasn’t just his companion; she was his little devil on the shoulder, whispering wicked ideas in his ear like, “Turn those squirrels into sock puppets!” or “Let’s hex the mushrooms to sing bawdy tavern songs at midnight.” One evening, Gornick had grown bored with his usual tricks—floating fireflies, making the river flow backwards for a laugh—so he decided it was time for a bit of real fun. "Hey Lilith," he said, scratching his scraggly beard, "How about we spice things up tonight? I’ve got just the spell." Lilith rolled her tiny, beady eyes, sitting cross-legged on his knee. "If this is like the last time when you ‘accidentally’ set your pants on fire, count me out. My hair still smells like burnt gnome." "That was not my fault!" Gornick protested. "The incantation book was in gnome-ish, and I’m more fluent in... well, whatever this is." He wiggled his fingers, causing a puff of glittery smoke to erupt from under his fingernails. "Besides, this one’s foolproof. We’re going to summon the Great Spirits of the Forest. It'll be a riot!" Lilith looked skeptical, which was her natural expression. "Foolproof, you say? Your last spell turned half the forest into tap-dancing frogs." "Fine," Gornick admitted. "That was a little froggy mishap, but this is different! Trust me, this spell will make us kings of the woodland!" He opened his ancient spellbook, which, truth be told, looked more like a gnomey shopping catalog from several centuries ago, with sections torn out and replaced with random doodles of mustaches. He chanted the incantation, his voice rising to a crescendo: "By the shadows of the twilight tree, by the dew on the midnight pea—oh spirits of the forest, come unto me!" Suddenly, the air grew thick with the scent of pine and something… else. A foul odor, like overcooked cabbage. The ground trembled, and with a great whooshing noise, a figure emerged from the mist. But it wasn’t the majestic, ethereal forest spirit Gornick had hoped for. Instead, it was a squat, greasy creature that looked suspiciously like… a disgruntled hedgehog? The spirit was dressed in a tattered bathrobe, holding a cup of what smelled like day-old coffee. His eyes glowed with the rage of someone who had been awoken from a deep nap. "Who the hell are you?" the hedgehog grumbled. "I—uh, we… summoned you?" Gornick stammered. "Aren't you the Great Spirit of the Forest?" The hedgehog scoffed. "Great Spirit? I’m Frank. And this better be good, because I was in the middle of something important." He sipped his coffee with an expression that said he clearly wasn't buying any of Gornick's nonsense. Lilith snorted, "Well, looks like your foolproof spell just summoned Frank, the slightly cranky hedgehog." Gornick’s face turned a shade of beetroot. "Okay, okay, I admit this is not what I expected. But I can fix this!" He flipped furiously through his spellbook. "Aha! Here we go. This should give us something... bigger!" With a wave of his hand and a chant that sounded suspiciously like someone gargling rocks, Gornick cast another spell. This time, the ground split open, and from the fissure, out crawled a… giant turnip with eyes. It blinked slowly, then looked at Frank. "This… is my cousin," Frank said flatly. "Turny. You’ve summoned a turnip." The enormous vegetable let out a low groan, then belched, filling the air with the smell of compost and rotting leaves. Gornick waved his hands frantically. "Wait, wait, I can fix this!" Lilith was laughing hysterically at this point, nearly falling off Gornick’s lap. "Oh, please don’t. This is the best entertainment I’ve had in centuries!" As Gornick tried to conjure another spell, Turny the turnip had already started wreaking havoc, flattening trees with its massive root-like arms, while Frank the hedgehog looked on in complete disinterest. "I’m gonna need more coffee," Frank muttered before strolling off into the woods, completely unbothered by the chaos. Gornick finally gave up, tossing the spellbook aside. "Well, this is a fine mess," he sighed, watching as Turny knocked over an ancient oak tree with a loud thud. Lilith, wiping away tears of laughter, patted his arm. "You know what, Gornick? Never change. Life with you is like living in a bizarre fever dream." "Yeah, well, at least it's never boring," Gornick grinned. And so, as the turnip rampaged through the forest and Frank disappeared into the mist, Gornick and Lilith sat together, watching the absurdity unfold, content in their strange, magical world where nothing ever went quite as planned—and that’s exactly how they liked it. If you enjoyed this whimsical tale and the enchanting image of Gornick the Gnome and Lilith, you can bring the magic home! Prints, merchandise, digital downloads, and licensing for the artwork are available at our gallery here. Explore a wide range of options to add a touch of woodland magic to your collection!

by Bill Tiepelman

The Mush-room for Debate

There was peace in the forest. Well, there had been peace in the forest until Gilda and Bramble started up—again. “For the last time, Bramble,” Gilda huffed, arms crossed so tightly that even the wildflowers in her crown looked nervous, “you cannot put mushrooms in everything! This isn’t some foraged gourmet forest bistro. I don’t care what you heard from the squirrels!” Across from her, Bramble, ever the optimist (or so he called himself—Gilda had other words for it), grinned through his bushy beard. His oversized hat tilted to one side, festooned with more flowers and mushrooms than any self-respecting gnome should wear. “Now, now,” he said, holding up a finger like he was about to impart ancient wisdom. “You’re not giving these little beauties enough credit. Mushrooms are the foundation of all culinary genius. Why, without them—” “We’d be eating something that doesn’t taste like dirt,” Gilda cut in, her cheeks flushing a deeper pink. “You put mushrooms in the soup, mushrooms in the stew, you even tried to sneak them into my tea! If I wanted everything to taste like the bottom of my shoe, I’d—” “Wait, wait, wait!” Bramble interjected, eyes twinkling with mischief. “How do you know what the bottom of your shoe tastes like? Been nibbling on your boots again, eh? I told you, Gilda, there’s tastier snacks out here, and guess what? They’re mushrooms!” Gilda stared at him, deadpan. “You are going to be the death of me, Bramble. Or, at the very least, the death of my appetite.” She turned and motioned at the forest around them. “There are thousands of other ingredients in this entire forest. Berries, herbs, nuts… Why, I even saw a deer the other day—” “Oh-ho!” Bramble piped up, waggling his finger. “Look who’s thinking about eating Bambi now. And you called me the barbarian.” He stuck his tongue out, clearly enjoying himself far too much. “The deer is off the menu, obviously,” Gilda replied with a sigh. “But we have options, Bramble! You don’t need to make every meal a mushroom festival.” Bramble leaned in, eyes narrowing in mock suspicion. “Tell me something, Gilda. Why the sudden anti-fungus agenda? What did mushrooms ever do to you? Did one offend you in your sleep? Did it—gasp—touch your flower crown?” Gilda threw her hands up in exasperation. “They don’t have to do anything! It’s just common sense not to base your entire diet on something that grows in the dark and smells like... decay!” She glanced at the mushrooms around them, their caps glistening with morning dew. They seemed to be taunting her now, all of them smugly rooted in place as Bramble’s best allies. “Ah, that’s where you’re wrong,” Bramble said, raising a finger in triumph. “Mushrooms are versatile, robust, and quite fashionable, if I do say so myself.” He adjusted the tiny mushroom growing out of his hat for emphasis. “They go with everything. Look at this beauty!” He gestured to the enormous mushroom behind him, its bright red cap looming over them both like an umbrella. “You’re telling me you wouldn’t want this in your living room? Decorative and delicious!” “Bramble, if you put that in the house, I swear I will burn it down myself. And then where will we live? Under another mushroom?” Gilda shot back. Bramble scratched his beard, pretending to consider. “Hmm… I do hear they’re quite spacious if you hollow them out. Cozy, even. Could be the start of a trend—mushroom living, eco-friendly and efficient!” He raised his eyebrows as if he were a revolutionary genius. “Plus, think of the convenience—if you get hungry in the middle of the night, just nibble on the wall!” Gilda groaned, dragging a hand down her face. “The only thing I’ll be nibbling on is my last bit of sanity.” She turned away, mumbling to herself. “I should have married that wood sprite. He at least knew how to cook something besides fungus.” Bramble, undeterred, sidled up beside her, still grinning. “Come now, love. Don’t be such a sourberry. Mushrooms are good for you! Full of fiber, antioxidants, and a little earthy mystery. Besides, without them, what would you complain about? I’m doing you a favor, really.” Gilda shot him a look that could have frozen lava. “Oh, believe me, I would find something. You’re a never-ending source of complaints.” Bramble’s grin only widened. “That’s the spirit! See? This is why we make such a good team. You keep me grounded, and I keep you on your toes. Or at least, toe-deep in mushrooms.” Gilda rolled her eyes but couldn’t help a small smirk creeping up on her lips. “If you even think about adding mushrooms to dessert tonight, I will relocate you to the shed. Permanently.” “Fine, fine. No mushrooms in the dessert… this time,” Bramble relented, his expression still far too gleeful for her liking. As they walked back to their cozy home nestled in the woods, Bramble hummed a merry tune, while Gilda muttered under her breath, something about “one more mushroom and I’m moving into the berry patch.” The sun began to set, casting a golden glow over the forest, and the mushrooms around them sparkled in the soft light. It would have been peaceful, serene even—if not for Bramble’s sudden outburst. “Oh! Wait! What if we made mushroom-flavored jam? It’d be revolutionary! Sweet, savory, a real fusion of—” “BRAMBLE!” And so, the great mushroom debate continued, as eternal as their love, and just as frustrating.

by Bill Tiepelman

Pout and Prank: Gnome Siblings at Play

Interviewer: Oh boy, we’ve got a real sibling rivalry on our hands here, don’t we? Let’s start with the basics—who’s the prankster and who’s the pouter? Finn the Gnome (grinning, tongue out): Obviously, I’m the prankster. What can I say? I was born with this level of awesomeness. See this face? Total mischief, baby! Fiona the Gnome (pouting dramatically): And I’m the pouter. Not by choice, though. I’m just always the victim of his stupid pranks! He glued my flowers to my hat last week! How am I supposed to get them off, huh?! Finn: It was brilliant, admit it. Her head was like a mobile flowerpot! She made the whole forest smell like daisies for days. You’re welcome. Fiona: *Groans* I hate daisies now. Interviewer: Wow, so it sounds like you’ve been the target of a few pranks, Fiona. What’s the worst one he’s pulled on you? Fiona (crossing arms): The worst? Oh, easy. He swapped out all my mushroom caps with fake ones made of toadstools. I went to sit down and ended up with a purple butt for a week. It was so embarrassing! Finn (laughing uncontrollably): HA! That was my masterpiece. And she’s still mad about it! Totally worth it. Interviewer: Finn, do you ever feel bad for your sister, or is it all fun and games? Finn: Look, I love her. But if you’re not pranking your sibling, are you even a real sibling? Besides, she gets me back. Like last month, she braided my beard into a hundred little knots while I was asleep. Took me hours to untangle. Fiona (smiling for the first time): That was my masterpiece. It was even better because you screamed like a baby gnome the whole time. Interviewer: Sounds like there’s some payback in your relationship. Do you two ever get along? Fiona: When he’s not pranking me, he’s okay, I guess. Sometimes we forage together, and he’s actually kind of useful. But then he ruins it by sticking mushrooms in my hair. Finn: Admit it, you’d miss me if I wasn’t around. Who else would keep you on your toes? Fiona: I’d be thrilled to never trip over a fake snake again, thank you very much. Interviewer: Well, it sounds like this rivalry isn’t ending anytime soon. Any final words for each other? Finn: Yeah—watch your back, sis. There’s a mushroom with your name on it. Fiona: And you better watch your beard tonight. I’ve got ideas. Interviewer: Well, there you have it, folks—gnome sibling rivalry at its finest! Finn and Fiona may prank and pout, but deep down, we know there’s love. Or at least something like it. The Backstory of Finn and Fiona: Sibling Shenanigans in the Gnome World From the moment they could toddle around the mushroom patches, Finn and Fiona have been the definition of sibling chaos. Born just minutes apart, these two have been in a constant battle of pranks and pouts, much to the amusement (and sometimes frustration) of the other gnomes in the village. Finn, the wild child of the forest, has never met a prank he didn’t like. Whether it’s switching out Fiona’s toadstools or hiding in the trees to drop acorns on unsuspecting gnomes, Finn lives for the mischief. His talent for trouble is only matched by his infectious grin and his habit of sticking his tongue out at everyone and everything. Fiona, on the other hand, is the more serious of the two—at least when it comes to being the victim of Finn’s tricks. With her flowery headbands and wide, expressive eyes, she might seem like the more innocent sibling, but don’t be fooled. Beneath that pout is a mastermind of revenge, plotting her next move to make sure Finn gets a taste of his own medicine. Let’s just say the last time she braided his beard into tiny knots, it took the entire village to help untangle it. Despite their ongoing prank war, there’s a deep bond between these two. They might annoy the mushrooms out of each other, but when it comes down to it, they’re always there for a good laugh (and maybe the occasional truce). In a world full of mushrooms, flowers, and fake snakes, Finn and Fiona remind us that sibling rivalry isn’t just about the pranks—it’s about the love, too. Even if it comes wrapped in a prank or two. Love the sibling mischief of Finn and Fiona? You can bring a little of their playful chaos into your home with these fun products! 🎉 Add some whimsical charm to your space with the “Pout and Prank” throw pillow—perfect for pranksters and pouters alike. Carry a bit of their sibling rivalry on the go with the tote bag, featuring this quirky duo. Transform your space into a whimsical forest scene with the vibrant tapestry, capturing the fun of Finn and Fiona. Or bring their playful energy to your walls with the beautiful canvas print, perfect for adding some sibling fun to your decor! Get your own piece of their fun and mischief today! 🍄

by Bill Tiepelman

Laughing with Dragons: A Gnome's Joyful Moment

In a forest where the trees never stop gossiping and the mushrooms grow as tall as your ego, there lived a gnome named Grimble Bottomsworth. Grimble wasn’t just your average gnome—oh no, he was the gnome who could out-laugh a banshee, out-drink a troll, and out-flirt a tree nymph (not that the nymphs appreciated it). Sitting atop his favorite oversized toadstool, he was having one of his famous chuckling fits. But this time, he had a new partner in crime: a baby dragon named Snarky. Now, Snarky wasn’t your typical dragon. For starters, he was about the size of a house cat and didn’t breathe fire, but he did occasionally burp out something that smelled worse than an ogre’s armpit. Snarky flapped his tiny wings, perched in Grimble's grubby hand, puffing out his chest like he was the king of this absurdly colorful jungle. Grimble cackled. “Look at this little bugger! Thinks he’s fierce! Ha! You couldn’t roast a marshmallow if it begged ya, could ya, Snarky?” Snarky, feeling the insult (or maybe just responding to Grimble’s constant stench of ale and mushroom stew), let out a tiny, yet surprisingly sharp, flame that singed a bit of Grimble’s beard. The gnome paused, blinked, and then erupted into laughter so hearty that a nearby squirrel dropped its acorn in shock. “Oi! That’s the best ya got? My granny’s breath is hotter than that, and she’s been dead for forty years!” Grimble slapped his knee, almost tipping off the toadstool as his leathery boots dangled in the air. “Bloody brilliant!” The Unfortunate Toadstool Incident As Grimble kept laughing, his mushroom throne gave a low groan. You see, toadstools aren’t exactly made to support the weight of a gnome who spent most of his life binge-eating pies and downing mead. With a rather unceremonious squelch, the toadstool gave way, collapsing beneath Grimble’s rotund rear with a fart-like noise that echoed through the forest. “Well, bugger me sideways!” Grimble exclaimed as he found himself flat on his back, surrounded by the remnants of what was once his beloved mushroom seat. “That toadstool didn’t stand a chance, did it? Too much ale and… well, let’s just say I’ve had a few more pies than I should’ve.” Snarky let out a snicker, which was an odd sound coming from a dragon, but it seemed fitting. The tiny dragon flapped his wings, hovering just above Grimble’s beard, which had now caught a few mushroom chunks. “Oi! You laughing at me, ya scaly little fart?” Grimble grunted, wiping his hands on his tunic, smearing dirt and mushroom bits across it. “Bloody hell, this place is a mess. I look like a drunk dwarf after a wedding feast. Not that I’m much better at weddings either… well, not after what happened last time.” He trailed off, muttering something about a goat and too much wine. A Foul Bet “Tell ya what, Snarky,” Grimble said, still sprawled on the ground, one leg draped over a broken mushroom stalk, “if you can manage to burn that there big ol’ mushroom,” he pointed to a colossal red-capped toadstool about ten feet away, “I’ll get ya all the roasted rabbits you can stomach. But if you fail, you’ve gotta clean my boots for a month! And trust me, they smell worse than a troll after a spa day.” Snarky narrowed his eyes and let out a determined growl that sounded more like a hiccup. He swooped down to the ground, planted his tiny claws, and puffed up his chest. With a snort, he unleashed a pathetic puff of smoke that dissipated in the wind faster than Grimble’s last bit of dignity. “Oh, come on! My piss after a night at the tavern’s got more heat than that!” Grimble guffawed, rolling over and clutching his belly. “Looks like you’ll be lickin’ my boots clean, mate!” Snarky, thoroughly annoyed, darted forward and clamped his tiny jaws onto Grimble’s nose. It wasn’t enough to draw blood, but just enough to make the gnome yelp. “Oi! You cheeky bastard!” Grimble yelped, pulling the dragon off his face and glaring at him, though the effect was lost because he was still laughing. “Alright, alright, I’ll give ya a rabbit anyway, ya little shit.” He scratched the back of his head and let out a deep sigh, the kind only someone who’s eaten one too many pies could muster. The Aftermath As the day wore on, Grimble and Snarky settled into their usual routine of half-hearted bickering, mushroom-smashing, and general forest chaos. Despite their insults and shenanigans, they made quite the pair—both oddballs in their own right, united by their love of mischief and the fact that neither of them could take life (or each other) too seriously. And so, in the heart of the enchanted forest, with his belly full of pie and his beard smelling faintly of burnt mushrooms, Grimble Bottomsworth spent his days laughing with dragons, farting on mushrooms, and reminding anyone who crossed his path that even in a world full of magic, sometimes the best thing you can do is sit back, have a laugh, and let the dragon bite your nose when you've earned it. “Here’s to another day of nonsense,” Grimble said, raising his flask to Snarky, “and may your farts never be hotter than your breath, ya useless little lizard.” Snarky burped in response. “Atta boy.” Bring the Whimsy Home! If you enjoyed Grimble’s wild antics and Snarky’s mischief, you can bring a piece of this magical world into your own! Check out these delightful products featuring "Laughing with Dragons: A Gnome's Joyful Moment": Jigsaw Puzzle – Perfect for piecing together Grimble’s hilarious adventures while enjoying some leisurely fun. Acrylic Print – Elevate your space with a vibrant, high-quality acrylic print that captures every laugh and mushroom fart in stunning detail. Greeting Card – Share a bit of Grimble’s joy with friends and family through whimsical greeting cards that feature this fantastical scene. Don’t miss out on these enchanting collectibles! Whether you’re a fan of puzzles or looking to brighten someone’s day with a card, these products bring the magic to life in your hands.

by Bill Tiepelman

Happily Ever After... Mostly

Happily Ever After... Mostly Interviewer: Good afternoon, folks! Thanks for agreeing to sit down with us. You two look…well, quite the pair! How long have you been together? Jasper the Gnome (rocking the striped hat): Oh, it’s been what? 237 years, love? Greta the Gnome (arms crossed, not having it): Feels like 500. Jasper: She’s kidding! We met at the Gnome Shindig of ’787. She couldn’t resist my moves. Greta (deadpan): Yes, he was dancing on a toadstool and fell right off. I thought he was dead. Should’ve left him there. Interviewer: Wow, sounds like love at first…fall? Greta: More like an unfortunate accident that became a life sentence. You try saying no when a gnome proposes in front of the entire mushroom village. You’re stuck. Jasper (laughing): And what a beautiful life sentence it’s been! Don’t let her fool you—she’s my flower in the garden, my sun in the forest, my— Greta (interrupting): Ugh. Please, you romantic fool, the mushrooms are blushing. Let’s not pretend you don’t spend most of your days “foraging” for fungi with the lads. I haven’t seen you sober since last Midsummer's Eve. Interviewer: Sounds like you both have very…uh, balanced roles in this relationship. How do you keep the spark alive after all these centuries? Greta (rolling eyes): Spark? Oh, there’s plenty of sparks—mainly from me lighting fires under his lazy butt. I do all the hard work. I tend the garden, I ward off trolls, and what does he do? He gives rock 'n roll hand gestures to passing gnomes and pretends he’s still in his “heyday.” Jasper: That’s not true! I’m a provider. I bring home the rarest mushrooms. Just last week I found a Shroom of Ever-Lasting Farts. Very rare. A prized specimen! Greta: Oh yes, and I’ve had the distinct pleasure of experiencing those farts ever since. Thanks for that. Interviewer (laughing): So, what's the secret to surviving centuries together? Greta: You make sure he’s outside when the farts kick in. And you always keep a frying pan nearby…just in case. Jasper: And love! Lots of love! And, you know, forgiving the occasional fart…or ten. Greta: *Sigh* The things I endure for love. He’s lucky he’s cute. Barely. Interviewer: Well, it’s clear you two have something special, even if it's a bit…aromatic! Any last words for the folks at home about keeping a gnome marriage strong? Greta: Don’t. Do. It. Jasper (grinning): Oh come on, love, don’t be grumpy. I’d say, keep laughing. Whether it’s at her grumpy face or my mushroom hunting “skills,” laughter’s kept us going. Greta (softening, just a bit): Hmm. Fine. Laughter…and a frying pan. Interviewer: You heard it here first, folks—farting, frying pans, and laughter. That’s the key to a happy gnome marriage. Thanks for your time, you two! And best of luck with…well, surviving each other. Jasper: Anytime! Now, about that mushroom hunting trip I was talking about— Greta: No. Absolutely not. We’re done here. The Backstory of Jasper and Greta: A Gnome Love (and War) Story It was the year 787, a wild time in the gnome world. Gnome festivals were all the rage, and young gnomes were hopping around from mushroom to mushroom like it was going out of style. In the middle of this chaos was Jasper, a self-proclaimed “wild stallion of the woods,” known for his legendary mushroom-foraging skills and his ability to drink an entire tankard of nectar without collapsing. On the other side of the forest? Greta. Stoic. Stubborn. Not here for anyone’s nonsense. She spent her days in peaceful solitude, tending her garden and perfecting her signature death glare that could freeze a goblin in its tracks. The last thing she wanted was some wide-eyed, happy-go-lucky fool traipsing into her life. And yet, fate—or perhaps just bad luck—had other plans. They met at the infamous Gnome Shindig, where Jasper, in a spectacular display of clumsiness, slipped off a toadstool during an attempt at a particularly daring jig. He landed face-first in Greta’s flowerbed. Covered in dirt and muttering something about “true love,” Jasper was smitten. Greta? Not so much. But as it happens with gnomes, persistence pays off. Jasper wooed her with gifts of rare mushrooms (not the fart-inducing kind, yet) and charmingly awful serenades. Greta, despite herself, began to soften—mainly out of exhaustion from his relentless attempts. And so, under the soft glow of mushroom caps and amidst the buzz of tiny fireflies, they became the oddest couple in the forest. Since then, they’ve endured centuries of gnome bliss: bickering, mushroom hunting, and enough eye rolls from Greta to power a windmill. Their love, while not the stuff of fairy tales, is real. It’s built on snark, fart jokes, and a deep, unspoken understanding that they’re stuck with each other—for better or for worse. And honestly? They wouldn’t have it any other way. Except maybe Greta. She’s still on the fence.