Evil Gnome Stalks Town For Next Victim!

I am sure by now that you have all come across the tale of the evil gnome that is terrorising the Argentinian province of Salta. If not, The Sun (UK) has more, although I am not sure if the video of the creepy little person gives me the willies as much as the appalling grammar in their coverage!

If The Sun doesn't rock your boat, KUTV in Utah has even more.

Now Jennifer has assured me that she saw no evil gnomes during her year in Tucuman, and certainly not on her trip to Salta. She did see a few llamas (or maybe alpacas, she can't tell them apart), but alas, no terror gnomes.

But back to the story, at the end of the video clip on the Sun Website, one of the boys unleashes a rather girlish scream. Another teenager, or perhaps the same one, was apparently so scared he had to go to the hospital. No wonder they lost the Falklands War so quickly, no backbone! IT'S A MIDGET IN A DUNCE'S CAP!!!!

Oh, and now he has his own website: Terrorgnome.com. Although the answer may be more sinister, if you ask me.

My verdict?

¡Viva el mal poco hombre!

Comments

Jes said…

good gawd, thats creepy! i dont care if it IS a giant gnome, a human midget or Brian Peppers... Any of them would frikken freak me out if I saw them shuffle out of the bushes like that! And that scream at the end... its so afraid it made me feel sick.

25 March 2008 at 00:08

Kris McCracken said…

I think that he just needs a hug.

25 March 2008 at 05:51

Ineke said…

lol, no wonder they lost the falkland war.

14 July 2008 at 04:16

Petrea Burchard said…

Poor little guy, he really just needs a better hat. It's the hat that's scary.

18 July 2008 at 15:01

If you want to be loved, be lovable.

Henry admires the view.

Ah, Joe, you never knew the whole of it...

I still have the robot on the job. Here you can see the Tasmanian Museum and Art Gallery . And here is a poem: Soliloquy for One Dead Bruce Dawe Ah, no, Joe, you never knew the whole of it, the whistling which is only the wind in the chimney's smoking belly, the footsteps on the muddy path that are always somebody else's. I think of your limbs down there, softly becoming mineral, the life of grasses, and the old love of you thrusts the tears up into my eyes, with the family aware and looking everywhere else. Sometimes when summer is over the land, when the heat quickens the deaf timbers, and birds are thick in the plumbs again, my heart sickens, Joe, calling for the water of your voice and the gone agony of your nearness. I try hard to forget, saying: If God wills, it must be so, because of His goodness, because- but the grasshopper memory leaps in the long thicket, knowing no ease. Ah, Joe, you never knew the whole of it... I like Bruce Dawe. He just my be my favourite Austral

Zeal, n. A certain nervous disorder afflicting the young and inexperienced. A passion that goeth before a sprawl.

Here I have tried my hand at the homemade sepia-toned photo. I wasn’t happy with the way that the sun had washed out some of the colours in the original, so had a bit of a fiddle because I like the look on Henry’s face, and didn’t want to pass on posting it. I have a tip for those of you burdened with the great, unceasing weight of parenthood. I have a new recipe, in the vein of the quick microwaved chocolate cake . Get this, microwaved potato chips . I gave them a run on Sunday, Henry liked the so much I did it again last night. Tonight, I shall be experimenting with sweet potato. I think that the ground is open for me to exploit opportunities in the swede, turnip, carrot and maybe even explore in the area of pumpkins. Radical, I know. I’m a boundary-pusher by nature. It's pretty simple, take the potato. Slice it thinly (it doesn't have to be too thin, but thin enough). Lay the slices on the microwave plate, whack a bit of salt over the top and nuke the buggers for five minut

This will hurt me...

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