gnome

by Bill Tiepelman

Gnome in Chrome at Twilight

Meet Grimble “Greasefinger” McThorn—a gnome with a taste for chrome, a heart for mischief, and an unbreakable loyalty to the open road. Grimble wasn’t your typical lawn gnome, no sir. While others spent their days smiling politely at passing squirrels, Grimble had a bigger agenda: causing mayhem across the highways and deserts of Gnomeland. With his black helmet, leather vest, and trademark smirk, he was ready to take on the world—or at least prank it to pieces. The Legend of The Twilight Ride The story begins one fateful evening when Grimble heard tales of an enchanted bar known as "The Toad's Last Sip." This was no ordinary watering hole; it was a place where gnomes went for drinks so strong they’d leave you thinking you could ride a unicorn bareback through a thunderstorm. But more importantly, it was rumored that on this particular night, the bar was hosting the “Twilight Rider’s Challenge,” a legendary bike rally where pranks weren’t just welcomed—they were expected. Grimble’s eyes sparkled under his helmet. “A place where chaos is encouraged? Well, don’t mind if I do!” he chuckled, revving up his chopper, Rusty Thunder, a bike with more chrome than good sense and a growl loud enough to make a cactus shiver. Prank Stop #1: The Cactus Cafe About halfway to the Toad's Last Sip, Grimble came across a small roadside café called the Cactus Cafe. A group of gnomes were sipping espresso and nibbling on tiny biscotti, looking way too calm for Grimble’s liking. He smirked and pulled over, deciding it was high time to “liven” things up. Grimble sauntered in, eyes gleaming with mischief, and ordered a cup of coffee. As the barista turned his back, Grimble casually reached into his vest pocket, pulled out a handful of jumping beans, and dumped them into the sugar jar. Within seconds, pandemonium erupted. Sugar containers hopped off tables, biscotti bounced out of hands, and bewildered gnomes tried (and failed) to catch their rogue coffee additions. Grimble took a slow, satisfied sip of his coffee, watching the chaos unfold with a grin. “Sweetener's got a real kick, huh?” he remarked to a flustered barista before casually strolling out, leaving the café in a state of hopping madness. Prank Stop #2: The Law Gets a Surprise Back on the road, Grimble spotted a familiar figure in his rearview mirror: Officer Bigfoot, the grumpiest gnome cop on the Gnomeland highway. Officer Bigfoot had been trying to catch Grimble in the act for years but had yet to succeed. And today, Grimble was feeling especially cheeky. With a smirk, Grimble reached into his bag and pulled out a small vial labeled "Mystic Smokescreen." He slowed down just enough for Officer Bigfoot to catch up, then cracked open the vial and tossed it behind him. Instantly, a cloud of sparkling purple smoke erupted from his bike, enveloping the road and obscuring everything in a dazzling haze. Officer Bigfoot, blinded by the swirling sparkles, veered off the road, right into a patch of prickly cacti. Grimble chuckled as he heard a faint shout of "MCTHORN!" from somewhere in the purple cloud. He sped up, whistling a merry tune. Another prank, another triumph. The Toad’s Last Sip: Where Pranks Are Made Legend Finally, Grimble arrived at The Toad’s Last Sip, where gnomes from all over had gathered to take part in the Twilight Rider’s Challenge. The bar was a raucous scene, filled with laughter, music, and the smell of questionable mushroom stew. Grimble strode in with a swagger, ready to make his mark. The first prank of the night? A little surprise for the bartenders. Grimble slipped behind the counter and switched out the normal bar snacks for his special “Flame Popcorn,” seasoned with gnome chili powder. Within minutes, unsuspecting patrons were dashing to the bar for water, faces red and eyes wide with shock. “What’s the matter?” Grimble asked with a grin. “Too hot to handle?” He tipped his helmet at the bartender, who was laughing too hard to care. One Last Ride As midnight approached, Grimble decided it was time for his grand finale. He’d heard whispers about the “Ancient Troll’s Tankard”—a massive stein that was said to bestow legendary strength on any gnome who dared to drink from it. Naturally, Grimble saw it as an opportunity to have a little fun. With a wink to the crowd, he climbed atop the bar, raised the tankard high, and poured the entire thing over himself, letting the mystical brew drench his helmet and jacket. For a moment, the crowd was silent, watching in awe. Then, with a bellow, Grimble flexed his tiny arms and roared, “I AM THE MIGHTIEST GNOME ALIVE!” The crowd erupted in laughter and applause as he flexed his “muscles” and struck ridiculous poses. Just as he was about to take his bow, he heard a familiar shout from the doorway. “GRIMBLE MCTHORN!” It was Officer Bigfoot, covered in cactus needles and looking madder than a troll with a stubbed toe. Grimble grinned, tossed the tankard to the bartender, and yelled, “Sorry, Officer! Looks like the road’s calling!” He hopped onto Rusty Thunder, revved the engine, and tore out of the bar, leaving a trail of laughter, cheers, and one very furious cop in his wake. The Legend Lives On As Grimble sped off into the sunrise, the patrons of The Toad’s Last Sip raised their glasses in a toast to the most mischievous gnome on the road. And thus, the legend of Grimble “Greasefinger” McThorn grew—a tale of pranks, rebellion, and a gnome’s unquenchable thirst for chaos. The End (Or perhaps, just the beginning of another ride)    Bring Grimble’s Mischievous Spirit Home If you love Grimble “Greasefinger” McThorn’s wild, prank-filled journey, bring a piece of his rebellious spirit to your space! The artwork "Gnome in Chrome at Twilight" by Bill and Linda Tiepelman is available in various formats that perfectly capture the humor and adventure of this gnome on the open road. Check out these exclusive options: Tapestry - Transform any wall into a backdrop of adventure with this vivid tapestry, perfect for bringing Grimble’s spirit into your home. Metal Print - Add a modern touch to your decor with this high-quality metal print, showcasing the gleaming chrome details of Grimble’s bike. Puzzle - Relive Grimble’s escapades piece by piece with this fun and challenging puzzle, perfect for fans of whimsy and adventure. Wood Print - Embrace a rustic look with this wood print, bringing warmth and character to your walls with Grimble’s unforgettable twilight ride. Let Grimble remind you every day that life is best lived with a little mischief and a whole lot of adventure!

by Bill Tiepelman

Gnome on a Chrome Crusade

In a world too small for his ambitions and too mundane for his taste, a gnome named Rufus "Rusty" Ironbeard decided to hit the open road. No longer content with the daily grind of garden duties and pond-watching, he strapped on his black helmet, threw on a worn leather vest over his plaid shirt, and revved up his custom chopper—an impressive chrome-adorned machine that sparkled in the sunset. Rusty was no ordinary garden gnome. No ceramic smile or fishing pole for this guy. He was a rebel, a wanderer, and, quite frankly, a bit of a troublemaker. Known in the gnome community as "that guy with the attitude," Rusty had a history of defying the norms. And now, with a sunset ablaze on the horizon, he was about to embark on his biggest escapade yet—a wild ride to the mythical bar known as "The Gnome's Last Call," said to serve brews potent enough to knock a dwarf off his stool. The Open Road (Or as Gnomes Call It, the "Tiny Highway") As Rusty sped down the highway, the desert stretching out on either side of him, he felt a thrill he'd never experienced before. With each mile, he grew bolder, flipping off cacti and honking his tiny horn at bewildered lizards sunbathing on the asphalt. A gang of fellow gnomes on bikes joined him along the way, their miniature motors roaring and their beards flying in the wind. “Alright, boys!” Rusty shouted over the sound of their engines, “Tonight, we drink like trolls and sing louder than banshees!” The other gnomes raised their fists, cheering in unison, their voices like a pint-sized thunder. A Slight Detour: The Law Gets Involved Of course, no good gnome adventure is complete without a little run-in with the law. As Rusty and his crew tore through the desert, they failed to notice the flicker of red and blue lights flashing in the distance. Soon, the shrill sound of a police siren filled the air. A human cop on a ridiculously oversized motorcycle pulled up beside Rusty, his face a mix of confusion and annoyance as he squinted down at the posse of tiny bikers zooming along the road. “You little…gnomes?!” the cop stammered, not quite believing his eyes. Rusty, never one to miss an opportunity for mischief, grinned up at the officer and gave him a thumbs-up. “Aye, Officer Big Pants, just a couple of gnomes out for a scenic ride. What’s the problem?” Rusty asked, as innocently as a leather-clad gnome could manage. The cop sighed, rubbing his temples. “I don’t even know where to start. But you’re going 20 in a 65. That’s not exactly…efficient.” Rusty cackled. “Efficiency is overrated, mate. It’s about the journey, not the speed!” With that, he revved his engine, spit out a wad of sunflower seed shells at the cop’s feet, and sped off, leaving the officer bewildered and probably wondering if he’d had too much coffee that day. The Gnome’s Last Call Eventually, after countless dusty miles and one particularly impressive detour involving a questionable roadside burrito stand, Rusty and his crew arrived at The Gnome’s Last Call. The bar was everything they’d dreamed it would be—a cozy, dimly lit hole in the wall, tucked into the shadow of a massive boulder and illuminated by the glow of neon mushrooms outside. Rusty kicked open the door (well, he tried—it was a heavy door for a gnome, and after a few tries, he managed to nudge it open enough to slip inside). The smell of ale, herbs, and grilled mushrooms filled the air, and the place was packed with rowdy gnomes, dwarves, and the occasional goblin. They strolled up to the bar, where a grizzled gnome bartender with a scar across one eye greeted them. “What’ll it be, boys?” he growled. Rusty grinned. “The strongest brew you’ve got. We’re here to drink ‘til we can’t tell an elf from a cactus!” The bartender chuckled, reaching below the bar and pulling out a dusty bottle labeled “Granny’s Doom Brew.” Rusty eyed the bottle suspiciously. “What’s in that?” “You don’t wanna know, kid. Let’s just say it’s got a kick,” the bartender replied, pouring the thick, bubbling liquid into shot glasses no bigger than thimbles. With a smirk, Rusty raised his glass. “To gnomes on the road! May our beards stay wild and our bikes stay shiny!” The gnomes clinked their tiny glasses together and downed the brew. Instantly, Rusty’s eyes went wide, and his vision blurred as the potent drink worked its magic. “That’s… that’s some strong stuff,” he gasped, holding onto the bar for support as the room started to spin. One Last Ride When the sun rose the next morning, Rusty and his gang stumbled out of The Gnome’s Last Call, clutching their aching heads but laughing at the wild night they’d survived. Stories were shared, exaggerated, and completely fabricated as they prepared for the ride home. “Reckon I might retire after this one,” Rusty joked, slapping one of his friends on the back. “Find myself a nice garden to settle down in. Maybe plant a few daisies, flirt with a mushroom or two.” But as they rode off into the sunrise, he knew that was a lie. The call of the open road was too strong, the thrill of the unknown too intoxicating. Rusty was a gnome on a chrome crusade, and nothing—not cops, cactus stings, or even Granny’s Doom Brew—was going to change that. The End (or, as Rusty would say, “Just another stop on the ride”).     Join the Chrome Crusade – Limited Edition Prints Available If Rusty Ironbeard's daring road adventure speaks to your rebellious spirit, you can bring a piece of his journey home! This image, "Gnome on a Chrome Crusade", is available in our archive as a limited edition print, perfect for adding a touch of humor and adventure to your space. Discover it along with other unique pieces in our Image Archive. From prints to high-quality downloads, let Rusty remind you that life’s greatest adventures start on the open road—whether you're a gnome or not!

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

A Gnome’s Day Off

There comes a time in every gnome’s life when he just needs to sit back, crack open a cold one, and say, “Screw it.” That’s where this little guy is today—tired of the endless nonsense of magical quests, potion brewing, and dealing with the fairy community’s constant drama (seriously, those winged little monsters never stop bickering). He’s been working overtime lately, mostly trying to fix the forest's plumbing after a particularly feisty group of trolls got into the enchanted springs and turned the water into root beer. Did you know trolls can down gallons of fizzy sugar water in minutes? Now you do. And it’s a real problem when your magical water source bubbles like it’s permanently on a sugar high. But today, no more of that. Today, our gnome friend is calling it quits. He’s swapped his staff for a Corona and his magical map for a dingy, old cooler he found in the back of a wizard's yard sale (don’t ask, it’s a long story that involves a drunken sorcerer and a very unfortunate rabbit). Look at him. Perched there in his ripped jeans, his hat so massive you could fit a family of squirrels under it. He’s the very picture of “don’t give a flying broomstick.” That beard? Pure wisdom. Or maybe just an excellent beer filter. And that cooler? That’s not just any cooler. It’s seen things. Dark, sticky, inexplicable things. But most importantly, it’s keeping his beer ice-cold, and that’s all that matters today. He stares out at the cracked wall in front of him, the perfect metaphor for his soul right now: a little broken, a little rugged, but still holding it together with a bit of duct tape and the occasional prayer to the gods of “just get me through the day.” A Magical Hangover? You might be wondering, “What’s a gnome doing with a Corona anyway? Shouldn’t he be drinking some mystical brew from the heart of the forest?” Nah. Our gnome’s not about that life anymore. He tried that once, and let’s just say the hangover from fairy mead is the kind of thing that makes you rethink all your life choices. Nothing like waking up in a unicorn’s stable, wearing nothing but a leaf crown and no memory of how you got there. That’s when he switched to the basics. Corona. None of that fancy enchanted crap that messes with your head. Just a regular beer for a regular day off. Simple. No frills. No magical hallucinations. And definitely no waking up under a bridge being yelled at by a troll who thinks you stole his favorite rock. Relaxation Level: Maximum So here he is, on the floor, leaning against the wall, a relaxed and slightly buzzed gnome, trying his best to forget about the absurdity of his life for a few hours. It’s not that he hates his job. I mean, who wouldn’t love turning invisible, speaking to animals, or using a wand to make pancakes float directly into your mouth? But even a wizard needs to chill out sometimes. And what better way to unwind than with a cold beer and the knowledge that somewhere, some fairy is probably losing their wings in a prank gone wrong, and it’s not your problem today. The wizard council can handle it. Or not. Whatever. Today, that’s their mess. As he takes another sip, he smiles—or at least we think he does. It’s hard to tell with all that beard. But one thing’s for sure: this gnome has mastered the art of magical laziness. Some say it’s a skill. Others call it a lifestyle choice. Our gnome just calls it “Tuesday.” The Aftermath Will he get back to his duties tomorrow? Probably. Will he face another nonsensical quest that involves saving the enchanted woods from some ridiculous creature no one’s ever heard of? Absolutely. But right now, none of that matters. All that matters is this moment, this beer, and the fact that he’s not dealing with a single enchanted animal, talking mushroom, or overly emotional sprite. As the last bit of Corona slides down his throat, he lets out a contented sigh. The world can wait. After all, even magical beings deserve a break from the chaos. And if anyone asks where he is, just tell them the truth: The gnome’s taking a damn day off.     If you’re loving the vibe of this gnome’s well-deserved day off, you can bring him into your own home—or better yet, your own break room. This image is available on prints, art downloads, and for licensing. Just head over to our gallery to get your hands on a little slice of magical relaxation. After all, who wouldn’t want to kick back with a gnome that knows how to enjoy a cold one?  

by Bill Tiepelman

Moonshroom Mischief: A Gnome’s Night Out

There are few things in life Clyde the Gnome loved more than a bottle of Shroomy Moonshine. Tonight, he had several. The potent brew, made from God-knows-what fungi and who-knows-where ingredients, was a staple in Clyde's life, especially during these lonely, booze-fueled treks into the woods. The night was cool, the moon hung low, and Clyde was ready for trouble. His vision was already swimming, but it didn't stop him from popping open another bottle with a loud crack, spilling a bit of the liquid gold onto his dirt-covered boots. "Ah, who needs fancy boots anyway," Clyde muttered, waving his bottle dismissively at his own feet as he tilted his head back and took a long gulp. The stars above spun lazily, almost as if they were having a private joke at his expense. "To the Woods, Let’s Go Ride!" "To the woods!" he slurred triumphantly, raising his bottle in the air like some deranged conqueror. "Let’s go ride!" Ride what? He had no idea. But it didn’t matter. His alcohol-soaked brain was convinced that something, anything, was waiting out there for him to tame. Maybe a squirrel, maybe a badger. Maybe even a tree stump if it came down to it. Tonight, he was on a mission. He stumbled forward, swaying between trees, his oversized red hat flopping around like a flag in the wind. The forest floor was a mix of fallen leaves, mushrooms, and roots waiting to trip him up. Clyde had no concern for any of that though. No, he was lost in a world of his own—where everything was a little too bright, a little too blurry, and everything definitely felt funnier than it actually was. His boots thudded against the forest floor, scuffed and worn from countless nights of gnome-sized debauchery. The soles were so thin that each step felt like a direct conversation with the earth. "Damn dirt," he growled, shaking his foot out as if that would get rid of the clumps of mud building up around his toes. His foot caught on a large mushroom, sending him sprawling face-first into the dirt. The Fall For a moment, all was quiet. Clyde’s face was planted firmly in the ground, his bottle rolled off to the side, now just a sad casualty of his inebriation. And then—laughter. Deep, booming, gnomish laughter echoed through the trees. Clyde rolled over, wiping the dirt from his bushy white beard, his eyes wide and glistening with mischief. "Ha! Tripped on a shroom! Ain’t that poetic!" he bellowed into the night. The forest remained silent, indifferent to his mirth. But Clyde didn’t need anyone to appreciate his joke. He laughed harder, clutching his sides as he lay flat on his back, staring up at the moon. His hat had fallen off somewhere in his tumble, but he wasn’t in the mood to look for it. Hats were overrated anyway. "Nature’s my friend...and dessert!" he giggled to himself, reaching out and grabbing a handful of nearby mushrooms. He sniffed one suspiciously, squinting at it under the dim light. Then, with a shrug, he popped it into his mouth. "Tastes like dirt. But dirt’s good! Good for the soul, right?" he mumbled between mouthfuls. A Gnome’s Late-Night Philosophy Eventually, Clyde picked himself up and continued his aimless journey through the woods. His bottle of Shroomy was half-empty now, but the night was young, and he still had plenty of stumbling left to do. His steps were more staggered than before, though, as if the forest floor had suddenly turned into a trampoline designed to make fools out of the drunken and clumsy. At some point—maybe minutes later, maybe hours—Clyde plopped himself down on a fallen log. His tiny gnome legs dangled off the edge, boots caked in mud, his pants torn at the knees from yet another fall he didn’t remember. But Clyde didn’t care. He sat there, swinging his legs like a child, staring into the gloom of the woods, where the trees loomed like giant shadows. He took another swig of his Shroomy Moonshine, the liquid burning its way down his throat, and sighed deeply. "Y’know…," he started, talking to no one in particular, "life ain’t so bad when ya got a bottle of this stuff, some good ol' mushrooms underfoot, and the whole forest to yourself." He paused, burping loudly. "Except for the damn squirrels. They’re little shits." As the night wore on, Clyde’s drunken musings grew more philosophical—or at least, what he thought was philosophical. "Maybe the trees are alive," he whispered conspiratorially, eyes darting to the nearest oak. "Maybe they’re listening. Maybe they’re just waiting to get revenge on us gnomes for all the times we’ve pissed on 'em." He blinked slowly, swaying in his seat. "But...eh. Who cares? A tree can’t hold a grudge... right?" The Final Stumble After another hour—or was it two?—Clyde had enough. He stood up shakily, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. His bottle was empty, his body aching from all the falls he could vaguely recall. The forest, once his playground, now seemed like a giant, looming creature ready to swallow him whole. But Clyde was undeterred. With one last, triumphant yell, he declared, "The woods may have won this round, but I’ll be back! You can’t keep a gnome down!" Then, without much ceremony, he promptly tripped over another mushroom and collapsed into a heap. And there he stayed, fast asleep, snoring loudly, a content smile on his dirt-smeared face. The bottle of Shroomy Moonshine lay beside him, and the forest, indifferent as always, carried on around him.     There once was a gnome named Clyde, Who drank ‘til his eyes opened wide. With Shroomy in hand, He could barely stand, But yelled, "To the woods! Let’s go ride!"   His boots were all scuffed from the dirt, And his brain was too fogged to assert. He tripped on a shroom, Then laughed in the gloom, Saying, “Nature’s my friend… and dessert!”         If you're interested in prints, art downloads, or licensing options for this image, you can find more details at archive.unfocussed.com.  

by Bill Tiepelman

Pumpkin Grove Guardians: Gnomes Under the Harvest Moon

In a far corner of the enchanted forest, where the trees whispered secrets and the pumpkins grew a little too perfectly round, lived two gnomes. Their names were Hazel and Gourd, and while they were as mismatched as a Halloween costume found on discount, their love story had a certain quirky charm—much like them. Gourd, as his name suggested, was obsessed with pumpkins. Obsessed might even be an understatement. The gnome had an entire system for growing the roundest, orangest, most perfectly symmetrical pumpkins in the entire forest. His pumpkin patch was the talk of the woodland community, even drawing occasional admirers from passing fairies who couldn't resist snapping a photo (or painting, since fairies were old-school like that). Gourd loved his pumpkins almost as much as he loved Hazel. Hazel, on the other hand, was a bit more... unpredictable. If Gourd was a perfectly carved jack-o'-lantern, Hazel was the pumpkin that got dropped, bounced a few times, and then rolled off into the bushes. In the best way, of course. She was spontaneous, fun, and had a habit of creating the most bizarre Halloween concoctions. Pumpkin spice soup with a hint of ghost pepper? Sure. Candied bat wings? Why not? She even made gnome-sized witch hats out of leftover squash. For Hazel, life was too short not to embrace the chaos. The Great Pumpkin Proposal It was Halloween, naturally, the night when the enchanted forest came alive with glowing pumpkins, mischievous fairies, and a general sense that anything could happen. Gourd had spent weeks preparing his pumpkin patch for the occasion, perfecting each pumpkin with the dedication of a sculptor chiseling their masterpiece. Tonight wasn’t just any Halloween. Tonight, Gourd was going to propose to Hazel. Now, you might be thinking, “A pumpkin patch proposal? Isn’t that a little... basic?” And you’d be right. But Gourd was anything but basic when it came to his love of pumpkins. This proposal wasn’t going to be just some candle-lit dinner next to a jack-o'-lantern. Oh no. He had a plan. A grand one. Earlier that day, Gourd had spent hours carving the most impressive pumpkin in his patch. It was huge—so large, in fact, that Hazel had questioned whether or not it was legally a pumpkin anymore or some kind of squat orange monster. She didn't know that inside that pumpkin was the ring—nestled safely in a tiny compartment Gourd had carved himself. Tonight, as they strolled through the glowing patch, he was going to lead her to the special pumpkin and pop the question. But, as with all things involving Hazel, nothing ever went according to plan. A Spooky Twist “You know,” Hazel said with a playful grin as they walked hand-in-hand through the pumpkin patch that night, “you really should let some of these pumpkins have faces. They’re just sitting there, staring blankly into the night. It’s creepy.” Gourd chuckled. “These are serious pumpkins, Hazel. You can’t go carving faces on everything, you know.” “Oh, can’t I?” Hazel challenged, her eyes twinkling with mischief. That’s when Gourd knew he was in trouble. Before he could protest, Hazel darted ahead, plucking a small, harmless-looking pumpkin off the ground. She pulled a tiny carving knife from her belt—Hazel always carried around random tools for reasons Gourd could never quite understand—and began etching a face into the pumpkin’s surface. “Hazel, wait! That’s—” Gourd began, but it was too late. As soon as Hazel finished carving the pumpkin, its eyes began to glow a deep, eerie orange. The pumpkin trembled in her hands before letting out a long, raspy cackle. “Oh no,” Gourd muttered, rubbing his temples. “That was one of the cursed pumpkins, wasn’t it?” “Cursed?” Hazel asked, her face lighting up with excitement. “You didn’t tell me there were cursed pumpkins! This is amazing!” Before Gourd could explain, the cursed pumpkin hopped out of Hazel’s hands and began bouncing across the patch, cackling like a tiny maniac. It careened through rows of pumpkins, knocking them over like bowling pins as it went. “Stop that thing!” Gourd yelled, but it was too late. The cursed pumpkin slammed right into the giant, proposal-sized pumpkin. With a dramatic puff of smoke, the enormous pumpkin split in two, revealing the tiny carved compartment and, much to Gourd’s horror, the ring, now sitting in the middle of the chaos like the world’s most obvious clue. The Surprise Proposal Hazel gasped, her eyes going wide as she caught sight of the ring. “Is that—wait, are you—?” Gourd, seeing that the plan was well and truly ruined, sighed heavily and dropped to one knee in the pumpkin carnage. “Hazel,” he began, sounding more defeated than romantic, “will you marry me?” There was a long pause. Hazel blinked. Then, slowly, a grin spread across her face. “Of course I will!” she squealed, throwing her arms around Gourd and knocking him backward into the pumpkin guts. For a moment, they lay there, tangled in vines and seeds, laughing at the absurdity of it all. The cursed pumpkin, seemingly pleased with itself, hopped away into the night, still cackling. Happily Ever After—Pumpkin Style Later that evening, as they sat together under the twinkling lights of the forest, Hazel admired the ring on her finger. “You know,” she said, smirking, “I think the cursed pumpkin really added something to the whole proposal. Gave it a little... spice.” Gourd, still picking pumpkin seeds out of his beard, rolled his eyes. “I swear, only you would find the silver lining in a cursed pumpkin ruining my big moment.” “Oh, come on,” Hazel teased, nudging him playfully. “It was perfect, and you know it. After all, who else can say they were proposed to by a gnome who grows the best pumpkins in the entire forest?” Gourd chuckled, pulling her close. “I suppose you’re right. But next time, let’s try to keep the cursed pumpkins out of it.” Hazel grinned. “No promises.” And so, under the glow of the pumpkin patch and the twinkling lights of the enchanted forest, Hazel and Gourd began their happily ever after—complete with pumpkins, curses, and all the quirks that made their love story one for the ages. Because really, what’s love without a little magic... and a few pumpkin-related disasters?    

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

Biker Gnomes: Romance on the Woodland Path

Interviewer: Well, this is a first! I don’t think we’ve ever had gnome bikers in the studio before. You two look like you’ve been on quite the ride—tell us, how did you meet? Gus the Gnome (stroking his beard): Oh, it’s a classic love story. I was cruising down the woodland path on my hog—er, I mean, my mushroom-powered bike—and there she was. Just standing there with that bandana and a wrench in her hand. My heart couldn’t take it. Rosie the Gnome (adjusting her goggles): Yeah, well, his bike was making more noise than a disgruntled badger. I had to fix it. Can’t have him stalling out in the middle of my forest, y’know? Interviewer: So, it was love at first repair? Gus: You bet! She tuned me up, and I’ve been running smooth ever since. I knew I couldn’t let this one get away. Not when she handled a wrench better than I did. Rosie: Pfft, it wasn’t just the bike. He’s got that whole rugged, “I don’t care” thing going on, but he’s soft as a marshmallow when you get past the leather. Interviewer: And Rosie, what’s it like being with a gnome who rides through life on two wheels? Rosie (laughs): Oh, it’s a blast! We take the bike out, feel the wind in our beards—well, his beard. I just hang on and make sure he doesn’t drive us into a mushroom patch. There’s something freeing about it, just us and the open forest trails. Gus: She’s the best co-pilot. Knows when to smack me upside the head when I’m going too fast, and she always packs snacks for the road. Can’t ask for more than that. Interviewer: So, what’s the secret to keeping your relationship revved up after all these years? Gus: Easy—adventure. We don’t sit still. Life’s too short for that. Whether it’s a ride through the forest or a pit stop for some mushroom ale, we’re always doing something. Rosie: And laughter. I mean, look at this guy. How can you not laugh when he’s wearing goggles bigger than his head? Gus (grinning): Hey, they’re functional. Safety first, sweetheart. Interviewer: Sounds like you two are the perfect mix of tough and tender. Any big plans for the next ride? Rosie: Oh, we’re thinking of cruising down to the southern mushroom grove. They’ve got a gnome biker rally happening next month. Should be a good time—lots of bikes, beards, and brews. Gus: And maybe a little mischief along the way. You know, the usual. Just us, the bike, and the open trail. Interviewer: Well, I don’t think we’ve ever met a couple quite like you two! Keep the wheels turning, and thanks for sharing your story. Ride safe! Gus: Always. Just gotta keep the wind in my beard and the love of my life by my side. Rosie: *rolls eyes* He’s such a sap. But yeah, what he said.     The Backstory of Gus and Rosie: Biker Love on the Woodland Trail Gus and Rosie weren’t your typical gnome couple. While other gnomes were busy gardening or foraging, these two were roaring down woodland paths on their custom-made mushroom-powered bike. Gus, with his gruff exterior and iconic black leather jacket, has been a biker gnome for as long as anyone can remember. He spent his early years riding solo, leaving a trail of dust—and curious gnomes—in his wake. Enter Rosie, a gnome with grease under her nails and the ability to fix anything with wheels. She was the local mechanic, known for tuning up everything from wagons to woodchuck-powered scooters. When Gus rolled into town with a bike that sounded like it was on its last legs, Rosie saw it as a challenge. She tuned up his bike and, in the process, tuned up his heart. Since that fateful day, Gus and Rosie have been inseparable. They ride the forest trails together, enjoying the wind in their beards (or in Rosie’s case, the wind in her curls) and stopping at every gnome tavern along the way. Their love of adventure and each other keeps them young, even as the mushrooms around them grow old. With a mix of grit and grace, Gus and Rosie have shown the gnome world that love isn’t about settling down—it’s about gearing up for the next adventure.     Feeling inspired by Gus and Rosie’s adventurous love story? Now you can bring a piece of their wild ride into your own life with these unique products! 🏍️🍄 Add a touch of gnome biker charm to your space with the “Biker Gnomes” art print, perfect for your home or office. Transform any room into a woodland retreat with the stunning tapestry featuring Gus and Rosie in all their leather-clad glory. Looking for a fun way to spend the evening? Challenge yourself with the “Biker Gnomes” puzzle and piece together this unique love story! For those on the go, carry the adventure with you in style with the tote bag featuring these rebellious gnomes! Gear up for your next adventure and grab a piece of Gus and Rosie’s story today! 🍂

by Bill Tiepelman

Spells, Pumpkins, and Gnome Mischief

In the heart of the haunted hollow, there sat a gnome. Not just any gnome—this was Garvin, the self-proclaimed “Master of Spells” and “Pumpkin Aficionado.” Spoiler alert: he was terrible at both. Garvin wasn’t your typical, cutesy lawn gnome. No, no. This one had big plans. With his oversized witch’s hat, adorned with fake flowers he stole from Mrs. Willowbottom’s garden, and his broom that had never swept a thing in its life, Garvin was ready to cause some mischief. Or at least, that was the plan. “Alright, pumpkin,” he muttered under his breath, glaring at the jack-o'-lantern next to him, which glowed a bit too cheerfully for his taste. “Tonight’s the night we make magic happen.” The pumpkin didn’t respond. It was a pumpkin, after all. Garvin huffed. “You know, some witches get a talking cat. I get...you. A vegetable with a face. Great.” The broom next to him seemed to mock his lack of witchy credibility. But it wasn’t the broom’s fault that Garvin hadn’t quite mastered the whole “flying” thing. Or sweeping, for that matter. He gave it a kick for good measure. It did nothing, of course. With a dramatic flourish, he waved his hands, trying to summon something spooky, something powerful. “Abra...kadabra?” He paused, frowned. “Wait, no. Alaka-zam? Oh, whatever.” Nothing happened. Well, aside from a gust of wind that knocked over a nearby stack of firewood. Real spooky stuff. Frustrated, Garvin leaned back against the pumpkin and crossed his arms. “I’m starting to think this whole witchy gnome business is overrated. Do you know how much this stupid hat itches? And don't even get me started on these striped socks. They're cutting off circulation.” The pumpkin glowed, casting a warm light on Garvin’s disgruntled face. For a moment, the gnome just stared at it. Then, with a sigh, he nudged it again. “Look at you, all smug with your perfect little glowing grin. Bet you’re really proud of yourself, huh?” Suddenly, a bat flew overhead, casting a shadow across the moonlit yard. Garvin flinched, then quickly composed himself, pretending he hadn’t just jumped out of his skin. “Oh, yeah. That’s real original. A bat. On Halloween. Didn’t see that coming.” He rolled his eyes. But as the bat disappeared into the night, Garvin allowed a small smirk to creep across his face. Maybe tonight wasn’t so bad after all. After all, it was Halloween—a night for witches, gnomes, and all sorts of spooky mishaps. He picked up his broom, not to fly it (let’s not kid ourselves), but to lean on it like a walking stick. “Alright, pumpkin,” he said, “let’s go see if we can find some candy to ‘borrow.’ After all, if I can’t conjure magic, I can at least conjure up a sugar rush.” And with that, Garvin, the most sarcastic, spell-challenged gnome in the haunted hollow, shuffled off into the night, ready to cause just the slightest bit of mischief... or at least get his hands on some chocolate. The pumpkin, as usual, said nothing.     Bring Home the Mischief! Love Garvin the gnome and his magical, sarcastic adventures? Why not invite him into your home! Whether you're decorating for the spooky season or just want a quirky reminder of Halloween mischief, we’ve got you covered. Choose from a variety of products featuring "Spells, Pumpkins, and Gnome Mischief": Framed Prints – Add a touch of gnome magic to your walls with this beautifully framed print! Tapestries – Drape your space in whimsical charm with a cozy tapestry of Garvin and his pumpkin companion. Greeting Cards – Share the fun with friends and family with gnome-inspired Halloween greeting cards. Stickers – Slap some spooky, gnome-filled goodness on your laptop, notebook, or anywhere that needs a dash of Halloween fun! Embrace the enchantment with a touch of sarcasm – Garvin wouldn’t have it any other way!

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

Leaf-Crowned and Heart-Warmed

Interviewer: Well, aren’t you two just the picture of fall romance! Tell us, how did this autumnal love story begin? Cedric the Gnome (stroking his beard): Ah, it was a crisp fall day many, many seasons ago. I was out gathering acorns, minding my own business, when suddenly— Willa the Gnome (interrupting with a smile): He tripped over his own boots and rolled straight into my pumpkin patch! Knocked over three pumpkins and squashed a squirrel. Most romantic moment of my life. Cedric (laughing): Hey, I meant to do that! It was all part of my plan to catch your attention, my dear. Willa: Uh-huh. Sure. I couldn’t decide if I wanted to laugh or throw a pumpkin at him. But his beard was full of leaves, and he looked so ridiculous, I couldn’t help but fall for him. Interviewer: And from that day on, the fall foliage wasn’t the only thing falling, right? 😉 What keeps the spark alive after all these years? Cedric: Oh, it’s simple. I keep showering her with leaves and compliments. And, of course, the occasional acorn necklace doesn’t hurt either. Willa (blushing slightly): He’s a charmer, this one. But really, it’s the little things. Like when he sweeps up the fallen leaves around the yard without me asking, or when he sneaks an extra honeycake into my lunch basket. Cedric: And let’s not forget your famous pumpkin stew, my love. That stew has magical powers, I swear. Keeps me warm in more ways than one. Interviewer: Sounds like you two have figured out the secret to gnome love. So, what’s next for this fall-tastic couple? More pumpkin patches to conquer? Willa: Oh, I think we’ll take it easy this season. Maybe just enjoy the sunset and watch the leaves fall. Every autumn with him is an adventure, even if it’s just sitting by the fire. Cedric (grinning): I couldn’t agree more. Just me, her, and a good pile of leaves to jump into. Interviewer: Well, if that isn’t the perfect fall plan! Thanks for sharing your story, Cedric and Willa. You two are truly “leaf-crowned and heart-warmed.” 🍂     The Backstory of Cedric and Willa: A Gnome Love Rooted in Autumn Cedric and Willa's love story is as timeless as the changing of the leaves. It all started when Cedric, a rather distracted gnome with a talent for tripping over his own feet, found himself tumbling into Willa’s pumpkin patch. He’d been on a mission to gather acorns for his famous “Acorn Ale,” but fate—or maybe just some poorly tied boots—had other plans. Willa, known around the village for her autumn wreaths and pumpkin stew, wasn’t exactly impressed by Cedric’s less-than-graceful entrance. But there was something about his goofy grin, his beard full of leaves, and the way he scrambled to gather the pumpkins he’d knocked over that made her heart flutter. Maybe it was the crisp fall air, or maybe it was the way Cedric apologized with a bouquet of freshly gathered maple leaves. Either way, Willa found herself falling for him faster than the autumn leaves. Years have passed, and while Cedric still manages to trip over a vine now and then, Willa wouldn’t have it any other way. Their life together is filled with cozy fires, pumpkin pies, and long walks through the forest where they collect the season’s most beautiful leaves. For Cedric and Willa, fall isn’t just a season—it’s a way of life. Their love, much like the autumn colors, grows richer with each passing year.     And if you can’t get enough of Cedric and Willa’s autumn charm, why not bring a little of their cozy magic into your own home? 🍂 Snuggle up with the “Leaf-Crowned and Heart-Warmed” throw pillow, perfect for those crisp fall evenings. Carry a bit of fall magic with you wherever you go with the tote bag featuring this heartwarming gnome duo. For those who love to decorate, add a touch of whimsy to your walls with the framed print. Or, share some autumn love with friends and family through the greeting card, perfect for sending warm wishes! Get your own piece of Cedric and Willa’s story today! 🍁

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.  

by Bill Tiepelman

The Enigmatic Zombie Gnome: Brain on the Rocks

It wasn’t easy being undead. And for a gnome, it was especially awkward. Gerald, formerly known as “Gerald the Garden Defender,” now just went by “The Enigmatic Zombie Gnome.” Partly because it sounded mysterious, but mostly because no one in their right mind would mess with a brain-holding zombie gnome. Gerald, once a proud protector of suburban lawns, had been through some stuff. It all started when some dipshit sorcerer—probably fresh off his third Dungeons & Dragons campaign—decided he needed a few gnome corpses for "experiments." A couple of chants, a blood moon, and one botched spell later, Gerald and his fellow garden buddies were up and walking. Except now, they weren’t trimming hedges or scaring squirrels. No, they were dragging their sorry, rotting butts around, contemplating life’s bigger questions. Like, “Why the hell was Gerald holding a brain?” “This can’t be mine,” Gerald muttered, staring at the dripping, mushy mass in his hand. He squeezed it lightly. A satisfying squelch. “Feels a little too fresh to be mine, honestly. Or maybe I’ve just been dead too long to remember.” He scratched his cobweb-covered hat, which, let’s be real, was holding on to its last shred of dignity by a thread. Literally. Wandering around the garden, Gerald glanced at the other zombie gnomes. Steve—who still had a daisy growing out of his eye socket—was gnawing on a stick. Classic Steve. And Larry? Larry just stared into the distance with a vacant look, drool pooling on his chin. Probably thinking deep thoughts about existentialism or some crap. Or maybe he was just wondering where his pants went. It was a toss-up. “Right,” Gerald mumbled, tossing the brain up like a football. He caught it with an impressive splat. “Guess I should find the idiot this belongs to.” Gerald was no hero. He didn’t give two dead rat turds about whose brain it was. But he also didn’t want to be mistaken for some gory IKEA mascot lugging a squishy accessory everywhere. He had standards. Off to the Neighbors Gerald shuffled past the rusty garden gate and out onto the sidewalk. The sun was setting—thankfully, because zombie gnomes in broad daylight? Not exactly “incognito.” The first stop was Mr. and Mrs. Johnson’s place next door. They were old, weird, and smelled like prune juice, but if anyone’s brain had spontaneously vacated their skull, it was probably one of them. Gerald gave the doorbell a try, but his green, decomposing finger went straight through it. “Perfect,” he groaned. He was about to kick the door in when Mrs. Johnson opened it, staring wide-eyed at the gnome standing on her welcome mat, brain in hand. “Oh dear, what have you got there?” she asked, squinting through thick bifocals. Gerald groaned. If she had a brain at all, it was clearly on its last neurons. “Is this yours?” Gerald asked, thrusting the brain toward her like a broken UPS package. “Found it in the garden. Thought you might’ve dropped it. Though honestly, if it was yours, you probably wouldn’t even notice. No offense.” Mrs. Johnson tilted her head. “I don’t think so, dear. I’m quite sure mine’s still in here somewhere.” She tapped her temple with a bony finger. “Right. Yeah, sure,” Gerald muttered under his breath. “Well, if you happen to lose it, you know where to find me.” He waved the brain for emphasis, letting a chunk of it plop onto her doorstep. “Whoops. My bad.” And with that, he shuffled off down the street. The Bar Crawl Next stop, the local dive bar. Maybe someone there had misplaced their brain—Gerald certainly wouldn’t be surprised, judging by the clientele. The bar was dimly lit, reeked of stale beer, and was populated by the same two guys who had probably been glued to their stools since the Reagan administration. Gerald dragged himself in, brain still in tow, and plopped onto a stool. The bartender—a grizzled man who looked like he’d seen one too many zombie flicks—just stared. “We don’t serve gnomes,” he grunted, polishing a glass with all the enthusiasm of someone hoping for an early death. “Not here for a drink,” Gerald replied, propping the brain on the counter. “Unless you’ve got something that’ll make this less squishy. Got any formaldehyde on tap?” The bartender raised an eyebrow. “Buddy, if that’s your brain, I think you’ve had enough drinks already.” “Ha. Ha. Hilarious,” Gerald said with a roll of his milky, undead eyes. “But seriously. Anyone lose this? Saw some of your regulars out back, and let’s be honest, this brain probably has more function than half of them combined.” The bartender snorted, wiping down the counter. “Try the morgue, pal. Maybe someone there’s missing a few marbles.” Some Questions Are Best Left Unanswered By the end of the night, Gerald still hadn’t found the owner of the brain. And after running into a couple of particularly brainless joggers, he was starting to wonder if it was worth keeping around at all. He gave it a last squish, smirking at the satisfying sound. “You know what? Screw it,” Gerald decided, tossing the brain into a nearby hedge. “Someone’ll find it. Or not. Either way, I’m done being the neighborhood lost-and-found.” He stretched, groaning as his bones popped. “Back to the garden for me. Maybe tomorrow I’ll lose a limb and someone will return it. Or maybe, just maybe, I’ll find out whose dog keeps crapping on my lawn.” As Gerald shuffled back to his post, he couldn’t help but smile. Being undead was a pain in the ass, but hey—at least he wasn’t completely brainless. Unlike Steve.

by Bill Tiepelman

Groovy Getaway: Gnomes' Nature Fest

In the heart of the whispering woods, under the canopy of ancient trees, there existed a secret known only to the most whimsical of creatures. Here, the Gnome couple, Ziggy and Marla, hosted the most enchanting of all gatherings, the 'Gnomes' Nature Fest'. It was a celebration that marked the beginning of their nomadic journey, an annual event that brought together all manner of magical beings. Ziggy, with his beard as wild as the untamed river, and Marla, whose laughter was as melodious as the dawn chorus, were the very spirit of the forest. They adorned their trusty Volkswagen van, a relic from a time when love and peace were the mantras of the day, with the most intricate patterns and vibrant colors. It stood at the center of the fest, not just as a vehicle of travel, but as a symbol of the boundless journeys that life offered. As the dusk crept in, casting a golden glow over the clearing, the fire crackled to life, casting dancing shadows upon the faces of the gathered throng. Gnomes, fairies, and even the wise old owls came forth, drawn by the allure of the fire's warmth and the promise of stories that would be told. The night was young, and the air thrummed with the melody of acoustic guitars and the soft murmur of enchanted tales. "Are you ready for another escapade, my dear Marla?" Ziggy asked, his eyes twinkling with a familiar spark of adventure. Marla nodded, her hand finding his in the glow of the firelight, her smile an echo of all the joyous journeys they had embarked upon together. They stood together, the flames reflecting in their eyes, as their friends encircled them, each creature a character in the tapestry of stories that wove through the fabric of the fest. The Gnomes' Nature Fest was more than an event; it was a moment in time where every soul present could be their truest self, united by the wanderlust that pulsed through the veins of the forest. As the night deepened, Ziggy and Marla took to the makeshift stage by the fire. The crowd hushed, the crackling flames playing accompaniment to the unfolding tale. "Beyond these woods, beyond the misty mountains, there lies a realm where the sky showers not rain, but falling stars," Ziggy began, his voice a soft incantation. Marla's fingers danced in the air, weaving a tapestry of starlight that shimmered above the audience, her magic bringing Ziggy's words to life. "This realm, known as Astralis, is only visible during the Geminid meteor showers," Marla continued, "when the veil between worlds is thinnest. It is there that the Starweavers craft the threads of fate, weaving the very essence of existence." The crowd watched, entranced, as tiny orbs of light swirled around them, a reflection of the celestial bodies far above. Ziggy's gaze met Marla's, a silent acknowledgement of their shared secret. They had been to Astralis, guided by the stars, on a night much like this one. "To reach Astralis," Ziggy whispered, "one must not only believe in the impossible but also possess a heart unburdened by the trappings of the mundane world." Just then, a shooting star streaked across the sky, casting a brilliant light over the gathering. Gasps and cheers erupted as each attendee made a silent wish, a tradition as old as the fest itself. The Gnomes' Nature Fest was not only a celebration of their love for travel and discovery but also a reminder of the limitless possibilities that lay in the hearts of dreamers. As the fire dimmed to embers, the forest whispered its secrets, and the magical beings dispersed, carrying with them tales of the night. Ziggy and Marla retired to their painted van, their spirits full, knowing that the story of Astralis would continue to inspire long after the fire's last glow had faded. For in every gnome's heart burned the fiery ember of adventure, and the Gnome's Nature Fest was but a prelude to the countless journeys that awaited in the realm of the imagination.     As the tales of Astralis wove their magic into the hearts of all present, a collection of keepsakes were offered, each a tangible piece of the magic to be cherished in daily life. The "Groovy Getaway: Gnomes' Nature Fest" poster, capturing the essence of Ziggy and Marla's enchanted campsite, now available for those who wish to hold a piece of this whimsy on their walls. For those desiring a more tactile memento, the intricate designs of the gathering were transformed into a vibrant tapestry, a puzzle to piece together with loved ones, and even a throw pillow to add a splash of color to any nook. For those chilly evenings reminiscent of campfire nights, a soft fleece blanket awaits to wrap you in the warmth of a thousand stories. Each item in the collection is a tribute to the spirit of exploration and the joy of gathering, a piece of the Groovy Getaway to call your own.

by Bill Tiepelman

Mystic Fumes: Chronicles of the Sage Gnome

Once upon a time, in the heart of the Enchanted Evergreen, where the leaves swayed to the rhythm of the winds and the air was always crisp with the scent of pine and earth, there dwelled a gnome named Alder. Alder was not just any gnome; he was a sage, known throughout the mystical realms for his wisdom and his age-old tradition of celebrating the day of 420 with a grand festivity known as the "Gathering of the Greens." Every year, on this special day, Alder would invite creatures big and small, from the bashful burrowers to the dignified dryads, to partake in the Gathering. It was a day marked by laughter, storytelling, and the sharing of the forest's natural gifts. Alder, with his long white beard, spectacles radiating the hues of sunset, and a pointy hat woven from the rainbow’s very essence, would be at the center of it all. The legend goes that many moons ago, Alder discovered a peculiar herb while tending to his garden. This herb, with its distinctive jagged leaves, released a fragrance that seemed to embody the freshness of the woods and the sweetness of the earth. The sage gnome, ever curious, rolled the leaves into a slender paper made from birch bark and ignited it with a spark from his flint. The first puff was like the breath of the forest itself, filled with whispers of peace and harmony. Alder knew at that moment that this gift was meant to be shared. Thus began the tradition of the Gathering of the Greens. On 420, the woodland creatures would bring their favorite herbs, sharing stories of yore and dreams of the future. They would sit in a grand circle around Alder's cottage, where a table laden with the finest munchies – honeyed acorns, berry tarts, and dandelion tea – awaited them. Alder would then light the ceremonial herb, and as the smoke spiraled up to the canopy, a sense of unity and joy would blanket the forest. But the Gathering was more than just merriment. It was a day of truce, where all disputes were forgotten, and every creature, regardless of their past, could start anew. The smoke was their witness, and the sky their canvas, as resolutions were made and friendships forged. As the evening descended, fireflies would lend their light, and the festivities would continue under the moon's watchful eye. Music would fill the air, with minstrels and bards taking turns to serenade the night. The forest itself would seem to dance, swaying to the strumming of lutes and the melody of flutes. And at the stroke of midnight, Alder would stand, raising his cup filled with elderflower brew, and proclaim, "To the herb that unites us, to the forest that shelters us, and to the peace that we cultivate—may it grow as wild and as free as our spirits!" This was the spirit of 420 in the Enchanted Evergreen, a celebration of all that was green and good, a day when the wisdom of the sage gnome Alder reminded everyone that joy was natural, peace was possible, and harmony was more than a myth. It was the legacy of the Gathering of the Greens, a tradition that would bloom and thrive for as long as the streams sang and the winds whispered through the boughs of the ancient trees.     Explore the "Mystic Fumes" Collection Mystic Fumes Poster Adorn your walls with the wisdom of ages encapsulated in our "Mystic Fumes Poster". Every detail of the sage gnome's tranquil forest setting is vividly brought to life, inviting onlookers to pause and lose themselves in a world beyond their own. Mystic Fumes Gaming Mouse Pad Enhance your gaming setup with a touch of enchantment with our Mystic Fumes Gaming Mouse Pad. Precision and whimsy collide, offering both comfort and charm to your daily quests and endeavors. Mystic Fumes Puzzle Immerse yourself in the challenge and tranquility of our Mystic Fumes Puzzle. Piece together the wisdom of the sage gnome and his mystical abode for a relaxing retreat into puzzle-solving bliss. Mystic Fumes Tapestry Transform any room with the allure of the enchanted forest with our Mystic Fumes Tapestry. Drape your space in the tales of the sage gnome, a backdrop that whispers legends and dreams to those who dwell amongst its threads. Mystic Fumes Weekender Tote Bag Carry the essence of magic and adventure on your shoulder with the Mystic Fumes Weekender Tote Bag. Robust, roomy, and resplendent with the image of the contemplative gnome, it's perfect for those who take the enchantment of the forest wherever they roam.

by Bill Tiepelman

The Gnome's Dragon: A Mythical Bond

The Misadventures Begin "Ah, the burdens of being unfathomably powerful and irresistibly charming," grumbled Griswold, the gnome, his words heavy with sarcasm as he deftly dodged a puff of dragon's breath. "Do try to keep up, Searwing," he teased, casting a sardonic glance over his shoulder at the mighty dragon trailing behind. Searwing, with scales that shimmered like a sunset trapped in onyx, huffed indignantly. His massive head lowered to Griswold's level, eyes gleaming with an intelligence and annoyance only a creature of his majestic stature could possess. "I could incinerate you with a sneeze, little one," he rumbled, the heat of his words tickling the gnome's pointed hat. Griswold smirked, twirling his broom like a bard with a lute. "And yet, here you are, playing nanny to a gnome. Fate has a sense of humor as twisted as a goblin's spine, eh?" Together, they ventured through the twisted canopy of the Enchanted Forest, their banter a melody amidst the symphony of the wilderness. Griswold, with a step light and mischievous as the morning dew, led the way with the confidence of one who could talk his way out of a dragon's maw—mostly because he had, on more than one occasion. They were on a quest most peculiar, to retrieve the Whispering Acorn, a seed of legend said to sprout wisdom itself. Many had sought it, drawn by tales of its power, but Griswold sought it for a reason far more personal. "If I'm to be saddled with a dragon-sized conscience," he had declared, "it might as well be one that offers decent conversation." As day gave way to the silver caress of moonlight, the duo reached a clearing. The air buzzed with magic, the ground was carpeted with glowing mushrooms, and at its center stood the oldest oak in the forest, its branches cradling the stars. "Behold," whispered Griswold, a rare reverence threading his voice, "the Sentinel of Secrets, where our prize awaits. Now, let's nab that acorn before something nasty decides to interrupt." Searwing's tail swept the ground, his gaze alert. "Your propensity for trouble is unparalleled, gnome." With a grin and a wink, Griswold replied, "Why, thank you, Searwing. I do pride myself on my talents." A Twist in the Tale Griswold approached the Sentinel, his fingers dancing in anticipation. But as he reached out, the tree's eyes—previously unseen—snapped open. "Ah, another tiny thief come for my treasure," boomed the tree, its voice like the rustling of a thousand leaves. The gnome recoiled, feigning shock. "Thief? I am Griswold the Great, friend to beasts, defier of odds, and charmer of... well, everything. I merely seek an audience with your esteemed acorn." The oak rumbled with laughter. "Many titles, tiny one, yet none proclaim you a listener. The Whispering Acorn cannot be taken—it must be earned." Griswold's brow furrowed, his snark momentarily misplaced. "Earned? And pray tell, how does one earn the right to conversate with a nut?" "By facing a trial," replied the oak. "Succeed, and the acorn is yours. Fail, and you shall become a permanent resident of my boughs." Without hesitation, Griswold accepted. "Let's get on with it then. I've got places to be, dragons to irk." The trial was a riddle, one that echoed the complexities of nature and the simplicity of truth. Griswold listened, his mind whirring with thoughts, quips, and retorts. Finally, with a glint of triumph in his eyes, he gave his answer, infused with his characteristic wit. The tree paused, the forest held its breath, and then—laughter, rich and deep, filled the air. "Correct, gnome. Your wisdom is as sharp as your tongue." With a flourish, the Whispering Acorn fell into Griswold's waiting hand. It hummed with potential, and for a moment, Griswold's facade of jest wavered, revealing the earnest curiosity beneath. "Well, Searwing, it seems we've won the day," Griswold beamed, pocketing the acorn. "Now, let's return before this blasted nut starts giving me lectures on morality." The dragon snorted, a plume of smoke curling from his nostrils. "I suspect it will have much to say about snarky gnomes and their mischievous ways." Griswold chuckled, patting the dragon's snout. "Then we'll make quite the pair, won't we? Come, let's away. Adventure and merriment await!" And with hearts light and spirits high, the gnome and his dragon set off, their shadows cast long by the moon, their legend only just beginning to grow.     Explore The Gnome's Dragon Collection Unfurl the legend in your own space with "The Gnome's Dragon" exclusive collection. From the vivid strokes of our posters to the interlocking tales of our puzzles, each product is a gateway to the fantastical bond between Griswold and Searwing. The Gnome's Dragon Poster Transform your walls into a canvas of adventure with our The Gnome's Dragon Poster. Rich colors and exquisite detail turn your living space into an enchanted realm, a perfect tribute to Griswold's audacity and Searwing's majesty. The Gnome's Dragon Jigsaw Puzzle Piece together the mystique with our The Gnome's Dragon Jigsaw Puzzle. Each piece is a fragment of the tale, inviting you to step into the gnome's boots and share in their adventure and humor. The Gnome's Dragon Mouse Pad Let every scroll and click be a whimsical journey with The Gnome's Dragon Mouse Pad. Work and play over the very landscape our heroes tread, accompanied by Griswold's snark and Searwing's wisdom. The Gnome's Dragon Throw Pillow Rest upon the lore with our The Gnome's Dragon Throw Pillow. Cozy up with a tangible piece of the tale, and perhaps dream of your own mythical quests and cheeky banter. The Gnome's Dragon Fleece Blanket Wrap yourself in the warmth of our The Gnome's Dragon Fleece Blanket. Soft, luxurious, and enchanted with the essence of camaraderie, it's perfect for those nights when the air is chill and the heart longs for tales of valor. Discover these treasures and more at Unfocussed, where every product is a chapter in an ongoing saga of magic and mischief. Visit us to bring home a part of the legend today.

by Bill Tiepelman

Nomadic Whimsy: A Gnomadic Tale of Love and Freedom

In an epoch where the world spun stories of haste and high rises, two souls charted a different course—one woven with the golden threads of the horizon and a love that spanned the vastness of the open road. They were not mere figures of lore; they were the essence of liberty itself. Ziggy, with his beard as white as the crest of a breaking wave, and Marley, with braids entwined with the day's wild bounty, crafted their existence in the spirit of nomads of yore. Theirs was a dwelling that defied the shackles of the static, a home that breathed and moved and sang with the heartbeats of myriad places—a Volkswagen van. Upon its canvas were the dreams of a thousand stars and the secrets whispered by the sea. This chariot of wander, the Nomad’s Nook, bore the hues of dusky deserts they'd crossed, forests they'd serenaded, and mountains they'd greeted with the dawn. Ziggy, the chronicler of their odyssey, wielded an ancient camera, its lens a portal to the past's cherished whispers. Each photograph was a parchment where time itself was etched. Marley, with her six-stringed companion, conjured melodies that seemed to sway with the sea's own pulse, her tunes summoning the souls of fellow wanderers, serenading the nomadic tribe. Their journey was not marked by milestones, but by the stories they gathered, each a patch in the quilt of their lives. They traversed landscapes that were as diverse as the human spirit—from the cacophony of bustling streets where neon lights vied for the stars' roles, to the hushed redwoods that hummed ancient tunes. They sought the embrace of nature, where each sunset was not an end but an ode to the morrow. In their wake, the Nomad’s Nook spun a tapestry of encounters—faces and voices that resonated with their own tune of freedom. They wove friendships with the vagabonds, the artists, and the dreamers, each encounter leaving a vibrant stroke on their mobile canvas. With every twilight, as the sun bowed to the sea, they celebrated the moon’s ascent. Cups of tea in hand, their laughter would rise to the firmament, a chorus that intertwined with the symphony of the night. Their presence was a testament to wanderlust—a chronicle of living untethered, unfettered, and in harmony with the cosmos's quiet rhythm. Ziggy and Marley were not just travelers; they were pilgrims of the Earth’s majesty, apostles of the wind. Their love story was inscribed in the sands of countless beaches and whispered in the leaves of emerald canopies. Theirs was a life unchained, a narrative spun from the very essence of love, freedom, and an unyielding zest for the whimsical journey. As the stars took their posts in the skies, Ziggy and Marley, the nomadic minstrels of time and tide, settled into their tapestried nook. With hearts full and spirits kindled, they dreamt under the celestial canopy, drifting on the tides of slumber, only to awaken with the first kiss of dawn’s light, ready to paint new horizons. Home was wherever their hearts beat in unison, wherever their laughter unfurled in the wind. It was a testament to the power of a life lived with authenticity, with wheels ever turning, on the endless road of Nomadic Whimsy.     As the chronicle of Ziggy and Marley's wanderings inspire a sense of freedom, so do the treasures born from their journey, crafted for those who share the nomadic soul’s longing for uncharted paths. Stitch the essence of their adventures into your days with the Nomadic Whimsy Cross-Stitch Pattern, each X a step along their intrepid travels. Glide your mouse across the Nomadic Whimsy Gaming Mouse Pad as you navigate through your own digital journey, inspired by the freedom of the open road. Adorn your fridge or any metallic canvas with the Nomadic Whimsy Magnets, little emblems of the wanderlust that Ziggy and Marley embody. Sip from the Nomadic Whimsy Tumbler, and let each gulp be a toast to the endless horizons and the van that rolls towards them. Tag your life with wanderlust, using the Nomadic Whimsy Luggage Tags to usher in safe travels and heartfelt encounters. Keep your keys company with the Nomadic Whimsy Keyring Tag, a small beacon that guides you back to the nomadic principles of love and freedom. Finally, let the Nomadic Whimsy Vinyl Stickers be your declaration, stuck to surfaces that speak of permanence, that even there, a nomadic heart can thrive. These are not merely products; they are the carriers of the story, the keepers of the spirit, and the heralds of the nomadic dream. Ziggy and Marley’s tale lives on through these artifacts, an invitation to find the whimsy in your wanderings.