GWD: Bugaboo

You know what gnomes are scared of? Bugaboos. That's right. Of course they are. And you see the unknown etymology of "bugaboo?" It's because it's from the gnomes, like so many of those words. The reference to bugbears is curious, as I'm sure bugbears would gladly eat gnomes if presented with them. A glimpse into the gnomish world, since one can know a people by what they fear as well as what they value -- gnomes clearly fear bugbears. Good to know.

bug·a·boo

Pronunciation: \ˈbə-gə-ˌbü\

Function: noun

Inflected Form(s): plural bug·a·boos

Etymology: earlier buggybow, bugger-bo, of unknown origin

Date: 1598

1 : an imaginary object of fear
2 : bugbear 2; also : something that causes fear or distress out of proportion to its importance

31: Spork

I haven't yet ventured into gnomish cuisine (no worries -- I will get there, Gentle Reader), but before I do, it's vital to mention the spork, which is perhaps the most gnomish of eating utensils one could ever imagine. Not quite a spoon, not quite a fork, both, and neither -- such quizzically chimerical qualities are reflective of gnomish engineering at its finest.

First introduced in the late 19th Century, the spork is yet another bit of Victorian detritus foisted upon the rest of humanity, no doubt by an enterprising gnome. If you went on a field trip to Gnomeland, guaranteed they'd be eating with sporks, there. Even the word sounds stupid, makes you feel stupid for saying it. "Can you pass the sporks, Fizzle?"

You know what other utensils gnomes use at their table, besides the spork? The spife, the knork, and the sporf. Absolutely in the spirit of pointless innovation at the heart of gnomish values. But the spork is, and always will be, the flagship of gnomish cutlery, and so had to get the attention it deserves.

I'm not even dignifying the spork by putting a picture of it here. You know what it is. Avoid it.

Update: Miniature Golf

Glow-in-the-dark miniature golf. Just when you thought it couldn't get any more gnomish, now the gnomes have hapless humans playing miniature golf in the dark. Some of the places include 3-D glasses for yet another pointless innovation to the already pointless enterprise of miniature golf.

The picture in that link above creeps me out -- what is that ogre-like guy doing with that poor kid? I dunno, but he's creepy. Of course, they couldn't just come out and have some grinning glow-in-the-dark fucking gnome in the picture, or nobody would even turn up.

Update: Rube Goldberg Machines

OK Go appears poised to reveal themselves as a gnome-influenced band with their Rube Goldberg Machine video that is like a recruiting video for gnomishness...

30: Dr. Seuss

"And will you succeed? Yes indeed, yes indeed! Ninety-eight and three-quarters percent guaranteed." -- Dr. Seuss

That's right. Beloved children's book writer Dr. Seuss was a gnome -- or at least an assiduous propagandist of gnomish living. I was going to post it yesterday, but it was his birthday, so I cut him some slack.

You're probably amazed it took me this long to even add him, but I waited until I couldn't wait any longer. Seuss is a gnome. His books, his rhymes, his characters, his world -- gnomish, gnomish, gnomish, gnomish -- the reason Seuss has managed his elder statesmanlike stature is because his work is safely confined to the realm of children's literature, where it's permissible (and, perhaps, even encouraged) to give the gnomes free rein. Gnomish sentiments are perhaps tolerable when inflicted upon children; it's when they move outside of the realm of childhood that gnomish antics become intolerable.

A child enjoying "The Cat in the Hat" is one thing. An adult enjoying it is something altogether different. You can probably drive adult friends and coworkers batty just by speaking in Seussian rhymes (note around :48, Jessica saying "No more sporks, and spooknives, and knifeoons -- it's like a Dr. Seuss kitchen down there!" That's taken to be a BAD thing. Yeah, I'm eventually getting to sporks, Gentle Reader).

Any adult who's read them to a child, had to soldier through those trisyllabic-metered rhymes that go on and on and on can see the wicked nature of Seussian gnomishness in action.