‘A Gnome With See Through Pants’
Part II

part I press here

reading time: 3 minutes



Gasping for air I woke up deep in the belly of a rusty barge in the middle of a filthy lake somewhere in Central Africa.

I was certain it was Central Africa by the distinctive sounds the birds in the vicinity of my newly acquired whereabouts were tweeting, a nifty trait I had picked up during my years in the ornithology department of Asdin Bilabam’s magical zoo of West African birds and Hippopotamuses. 

Still wearing the T.I.T embroidered bathrobe, I had a small piece of Sick Sitshoowant’s special bar of soap stuck deep inside my left nostril, a beard on my chin and a chain with a lead ball around my foot.

As I slowly glanced around I noticed that the beard belonged to a one-armed troll standing on my chest assessing my strength. 

What the Fek? 

The troll followed my every move, glaring as if he wanted something from me. 


As I was trying to figure things out an awkward stare-off ensued.  

And then it hit me. 

‘Are you?’ I stammered as the troll pressed down on my chest.

‘Are you…’

‘Is your name Rumpelstiltskin?’ 


With the dirty back of the wrinkly hand of the one muscly arm he had left, he slapped me right across my face, fixated his beady little eyes right onto mine, leaned forward, hung over my face while foamy spittle started to form in the corner of his lower lip, and answered in a strange whispery voice: 

‘No… My name is Puk, and I am ready to…’

‘How! Yow!! Yow!!!’ I halted the little critter right there and then. 

‘There has to be another way!?’ 

‘Fekedi Fek!’ A sorely miffed Puk grunted while pointing halfhearted towards a badly written sign hanging on the dank walls of the small cabin we were in.  



‘Whut? This is knots.’


I did it again. 

Another genius play on words. Out of nowhere. Just like that. Remarkable, but Puk didn’t seem impressed. He jumped off of me, waddled slightly dismayed towards the metal door and slammed it shut.  

The space I was being held captive in contained nothing more than the metal sheet on which I was laying, a porthole that looked out over the filthy lake and in the corner of it all, one big ball of tangled knots. 

What was going on?

Staring out of the porthole I soon discovered the lake was guarded by an angry Hippopotamus. 


Imprisoned by the one armed troll named Puk, who systematically came to check-up on me through a big peephole in the metal door, there seemed no way out. I had but one chance to regain my freedom: untying knots created by fuck-nuts trying not to knot. 

It was an uphill battle like that Greek fellow Sisyphus, but without the boulder and the hill that went up. The more knots I unknotted, the more I created.

And the days crept slowly by. 

I trained my hands but to no avail. There were just too many knots.

And the days crept slowly by.

A month had passed, when I stumbled upon an adjacent room with a bed, a toothbrush, the key that freed me from the lead ball, some floss and a convenient balcony overlooking the lake, all hiding behind a very unassuming door. It was there and then my sheer genius mind and I devised a cunning new plan to flee from this barge of misery.  

The days that followed, I, with my out of this world sleight of hand, a trait I had mastered during the years I spent as the stunt double of the great Hairy Houdini, unknowingly to Puk, pulled strains of mucus straight out of his big troll nose. 

Once alone again and shaded by the blanket of the dark night, I rolled the mucus between the tips of my now well trained fingers, molding it into tiny little worms which I tied onto the floss and subsequently used to catch fish. 

One fish became two fish, became tree fish, and so on.

And on. 

With my collection of fish I lured the Hippopotamus, jumped on its back and for the next seven hundred and fifty meters separating me from the shore, I threw a fish in front of it.

As long as I had fish to trow, I figured, the Hippopotamus would be distracted enough not to shift its attention to me standing on its back. 

Still one hundred meters to cover. 

Eighty meters. 


Forty four and a half.  


And then it turned on me. 

‘No more man.’ 


‘I ate too many already man.’ 

‘I mean whut? You know how to talk? Why didn’t you say something before?’ 

‘I only speak when it’s absolutely necessary.’ 


‘Cause of the pain man.’

‘What pain?’ 

The Hippopotamus brought me to the shore where it opened its big mouth to show me its ordeal. 

There, in the back of the vast maw, lodged in the hole where there used to be a teeth, a strange plastic white pearl was festering. 


‘Yeah man, I was playing this stupid game, we were all stoned and laughing and before I knew it man.’  

I straight away realized that, with my now well trained hands, it would be a walk in the park, so I cut him a -I dislodge you / you dislodge me- kinda deal. We exchanged paw slaps and I got to work. 


Laying with my back on the fat flaccid Hippopotamus’s tongue, I immediately succeeded in honoring my end end of the deal. 

It was now up to him. 

The Hippopotamus didn’t disappoint and gave me clear directions on a way outta there, so I expressed my gratitude and with the plastic white pearl as a souvenir, I dashed off into the lush jungle undergrowth where I instantly got lost. 

It took me a week surviving on my own piss and raw birds before I ended back up again at the shore of the filthy lake and asked the Hippopotamus if he maybe had an alternative approach of getting me back to the people’s world. 

He called a friend of a friend and out of nowhere a beaver appeared.

Excited, cause I had never ridden a beaver, I once again thanked him, said goodbye and disappeared once more into the lush jungle undergrowth. 

I rode that beaver well over 5 hours until I reached the onset of a boundless desolate desert, it was the furthest the beaver could take me, so I hopped off, said goodbye beaver and looked around.

As far as the eye could see there was nothing but yellow sand being rattled by a hot enticing wind coming from the East. 

I bit the bullet, went for it and one minute in, I was saluted by a fashionably dressed gnome, looking to make a trade. 

‘Is it the people’s world you seek?’ 

Yes, yes indeed’ I hastily replied. 

‘Well well well…’


‘Well well well.’

‘Yes. Well?’

‘I have for you the solution.’

By all the Saints, at last. I vehemently thought.

‘And?’ I requested. ‘How can I procure this solution of yours, oh fashionably dressed gnome?’    

‘I shall trade the solution for your odd looking plastic pearl.’

Hot dang. As I had no plans in keeping the smelly plastic pearl, I gladly gave it up for a trade.

So collecting the pearl, the desert gnome grinned from ear to ear, went deep into the pockets of his see through pants made off the finest Indian silk and presented me with three dry fungi.

‘Knibble exactly thirty se…’ 

My heart stopped as he clumsily dropped the fungi into the desert sand, but unfazed the little gnome picked them up, dusted them off and continued. 

‘Knibble exactly thirty seven times before clicking your heels and they will bring you home hoome hooome hoooome.’ 

He repeated home for added effect. 

Knibble. Knibble.


Lightning struck and before I knew it, I was back in my room sweating, with grains of yellow sand stuck between my two front teeth, a foul layer lingering on my tongue and no recollection of what had occurred.

My crotch reeked of beaver and I felt like taking a shower shoower shooower. 

part I press here

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