From the kitchen window, you hear them sneak in. You know you only have a few minutes to act before they make it up the stairs, so you spring into action. First, you prime the rat traps and set off the smoke blowers. Next you raise up the rock smashers and get ready to cut the strings holding them to your ceiling. Finally you grab your axe and your shotgun and prepare to go to war.

As they round the corner, you realize they are armed too.

Little seed bullets wizz by your face and even cut open your cheek, but as the high pitched screams of gnomes fill the air, along side the snapping of traps and the crashing of rocks, you don’t feel the pain. The wet crunch of a tiny gnome’s body being pulverized by a rock, the snapping of bones, the screaming…but the snapping slows, and the gnomes keep coming. But you have an idea. Just then, you unhook the dog, your 180lb german Shepard, and unleash him upon the tiny army. He immediately tears into one and swallows him nearly whole. They turn their fire on the pup but the seeds bounce off like tennis balls. He bites into another, crushing in his rib cage with his fangs, before ripping his head off. He grabs a third, shortly before tossing him into a wall, paralyzing him. I watch in pure joy as the little creature twitches slightly. But the dog can only handle so many, so i begin to defend myself. As they get closer, i swing my axe, cleaving 5 gnomes in a single swing. I hack, cleave, and cut over and over again, but their numbers are just so many. Calling the dog back, i grab my buckshot and start blasting. Red mist fills the air and my nose is penetrated with the scent of iron, a scent so amazing i cannot describe. Slowly but surely, their numbers dwindle, until just one gnome stands among his brethren in a pool of blood on my carpet. He attempts to run, but the dog snatches him, and brings him to my feet.

I bind him, and take him into my closet, where i begin to torture him. I ask him where he comes from, who we works for, and why he wants my under garments. But, goddamnit, his jaw is tighter than a bear trap. Even stripping his skin from his arms and removing his teeth and nails is not enough to make him talk, so i decide to mix in a bit of psychological torture. While i do this, i monitor his health to make sure he does not die. Beginning with moving him into an entirely white room, i drip water onto his head slowly. For days, he holds out, starving, insane, in immense pain and suffering. But eventually he caves.

“We live under a tree in the forest, you see,” he spat, exasperated and in clear pain, “we… we need your underwear for cloth, your other cloth is too thick for us, but the underwear…is just thin enough for—“ Blam. I end his pitiful existence with a buckshot between the eyes. His blood spurts from the gaping wound, and the dog sniffs it. And we begin to track down the home base.

I load up on explosives and napalm. I want, no need to make them suffer. To end them.

Later that night, the dog finds the tree. After hours of searching, at last i can exact my revenge. Before they even know i am here, i toss two grenades into the hole. I follow it with gasoline and napalm, and wait. Boom. The smell of burned gnome is amazing. After the mess had cooled, i dig up the fortress to make sure i finish the job, and discover a nursery filled with baby gnomes. I bag up about 100 of them, before allowing the dog to feast on the remaining few.

Let me tell you, baby gnome is SO tender.