The Great Gnome Debacle of Phoebe Gibbles and Augustus Garfunkel

The rush

"HRKKKgkkka, ghHhhjrrKk! OyekkkkhHhhHhhHh... kkhhhhg."

Once I collect myself from the pool of flesh I had let myself become, I re-materialize as a solid and hoist myself up using the truck door to see eye-to-eye with the mystery man. The only issue is that his egg-headed father acts as a wall between us, a very skeptical expression plastered across his shiny, sunburnt facade. Still in awe from the dense fellow's charming and boyish nature, I forcibly force myself through the window using my ninja skills, climb over the rustic pink eggman (goo goo g'joob g'goo goo g'joob), and plop down on the left of the freshly surprised gnome connoisseur. His eyebrows, along with his rugged bowl-cut, emit an eerie glow in the 3:50 PM's dusky air. I swallow my pride, along with my excessive saliva, in order to vocalize my predicament as flawlessly as possible.

"KRRkhg. hhHhakkkrgggHh!"

Come on now, Phoebe. Let's try again.

"GANGAGAGAGGAA!!! KRUMP KRUMP!"

What is happening to me?

I press my hands against the bug-gut plagued windshield in an attempt to regain my usual magnetic charisma. I try to formulate a simple sentence, but the presence of the Birkenstock-clad homo-sapien male is much too unnerving for a simple-minded dolt like me to endure. I slam my forehead on the glass, working myself up to say at least one word documented by Merriam-Webster. Although, I do believe krump is a word–a verb–a dance to popular music, especially hip-hop, in a style characterized by rapid, exaggerated movements of the arms and legs. For example, one could say "the alluring girl sat next to me in the truck, making exotic movements one could only describe as a very advanced style of krump."

I look down to the truck floor, and there I see it. My dignity sprawled out across the car mats, right in between my Merrel slides. All liquidy and vulnerable, in such a state of disrepair I doubt I'll ever be able to get it all back into my hybrid cargo-Bermuda short pockets again any time soon.

Lacking dignity, I slam my fists against the ceiling, then finally feel a click. A release in tension. A switch turns on inside my head, putting everything back where it belongs. I look to my right and see coppertop's pudgy, spotted fingers resting on my festive Halloween shirt's sleeve. All of the sudden, the majestic words of Cascada occupy every corner of my mushy, underdeveloped inbred brain...

'Cause every time we touch, I get this feeling.
And every time we kiss, I swear I could fly.
Can't you feel my heart beat fast, I want this to last.
Need you by my side.
'Cause every time we touch, I feel the static.
And every time we kiss, I reach for the sky.
Can't you hear my heart beat so...
I can't let you go.
Want you in my life.