The Running of the Gnomes
Mountaineer Ringo Flinthammer was on his third lap between the North Gate and South Gate Passes — Mountaineer Pebblebitty’s orders for the day — when the first nearly naked gnome came panting by.
“Sir,” Ringo blinked, dismounting from Beer Run, “Are ye all right? Do ye need any help?”
“No can do!” the gnome barked. “No help allowed!”
Ringo watched, baffled, as the gnome ran on toward the Stonewrought Pass, somehow avoiding the notice of the huge spiders in that foliage on either side of the road — for now, at least.
“Flippin’ gnomes,” Ringo said, climbing back into the saddle.
“Stand aside!” squeaked a gnome, darting through Beer Run’s legs.
“Get out of the way, dwarf!” called another.
Ringo whirled around to see a sea of pale bare gnome flesh rushing down the hill from Dun Morogh.
“On your left!”
“On your right!”
“Khaz’goroth on a cracker!” Ringo barked. “Where are all ye wee buggers headed?”
“Elwynn Forest!”
“Darkmoon Faire!”
“Take the bloody tram, then!”
“Can’t!” a gnome racing past yelled back.
“Tram’s down!”
“Well, of course it’s down,” Ringo said, “It’s …”
“He means broken!” Another gnome replied.
“Besides,” one of the last gnomes racing past panted, “It’s against the rules!”
“‘Rules?'” a baffled Ringo asked himself, as he pondered the sight of the gnomes running down to the gate. Beer Run snorted and Ringo nodded, tapping his temple with one finger. “These gnomes are crazy!”
((Happy fifth anniversary, Leftovers! Here’s to five more!))
2 thoughts on “The Running of the Gnomes”
Hey, that old fella in the back looks mighty familiar!
And when will the prudish Blizz include an age filter to allow (ahem) “Full Disclosure” so we could have a REAL Naked Gnome Run to prevent cheaters from secreting the odd skinning knife in their skivvies? That tiny knife might not be much but it could distract the spiders a mite. Remember, “You don’t have to outrun the spiders, you only have to outrun yer fellow gnome competitor”…who is being chased by all the spiders sensing the blood after the gnome somehow got a wee nick on the buttock as you sprinted past. Surely the sight of a few truly-naked gnomish butter-bean buttocks would be preferable to such dishonorable shenanigans.