All I did was buy a garden gnome… ONE LITTLE GNOME!
My neighbor lost his mind over it.
He stormed over, shouting that gnomes bring bad luck and demanded I take it down.
But it’s my yard, and I wasn’t backing down.
That’s when things got ugly.
He started making noise at all hours, leaving his trash near my fence, and glaring at me every time I stepped outside.
Then one morning, I walked into my yard… and I BARELY RECOGNIZED IT!
I swear, it was like he was casting spells or something!
That was the last straw.
If he wanted a war—fine.
I went straight to the store and bought TEN MORE GNOMES.
Lined them up proudly on my porch like an army.
And I could practically see the steam coming out of his ears.
I thought I’d won.
But then…
He did something I NEVER EXPECTED.
Something so petty, so outrageous, it stopped me cold.
And all I can think is—how dare he?
That night, I heard strange noises.
Scraping. Clinking. A soft thud.
I peeked out the window around 2 a.m.—
And there he was. In my yard.
Wearing all black, hunched over, moving fast.
At first, I thought he was stealing the gnomes.
But no…
He was REPLACING them.
When I stepped outside the next morning, I froze.
Every single one of my gnomes had been swapped out… with identical ones.
Same hats. Same size. Same colors.
But every single face—flipped into a frown.
He had custom gnomes made just to mock me!
One held a tiny sign that said, “Retreat while you can.”
Another had a fake tear painted down its cheek.
I stood there, barefoot in the grass, speechless.
This wasn’t just a neighbor dispute anymore.
This was psychological warfare.
And I swear to you… he’s about to regret ever picking this fight.
I didn’t say a word.
I just smiled… and went inside.
By sunset, I had a plan. A diabolical, slightly unhinged plan that would make him wish he never touched a single ceramic hat on my porch.
Step 1: Amazon.
I ordered a motion sensor speaker, a fog machine, a dozen tiny red LED lights, and a gnome costume for dogs. (You’ll see why.)
Step 2: The message.
While he was at work the next day, I carefully rearranged my gnomes—frowns and all—into a perfect circle on my lawn.
In the middle, I placed a new gnome:
Tall, cloaked in black, glowing red eyes. Holding a scroll.
The scroll simply read:
“You have angered the Order of the Gnome.”
Step 3: Nightfall.
I waited until midnight.
That’s when the show began.
As soon as his motion light triggered, the fog machine filled the yard with a low, creeping mist.
The hidden speaker whispered in a gravelly voice:
“You cannot unearth what was once buried…
…The Gnome King awakens.”
And then—my dog (a very obedient dachshund), dressed in his little gnome outfit, ran laps in his yard, dragging a mini shovel behind him.
The scream he let out?
WORTH. EVERY. SECOND.
The next morning, he was already outside dismantling his “sad gnome army.”
No eye contact. No muttering. Not even a glare.
Just silent defeat.
But between you and me?
I’m already planning the next move.
Because the Gnome War… is far from over.
