The one thing in life’s instruction booklet that you simply will not find, nor learn, is the forever crucial customs of the Flower Pot Gnomes.

The Flower Pot Gnomes, as you can safely assume, live in flower pots.

One thing that you may not safely assume is that they are all heavily addicted to Sunflower tobacco. Sunflower tobacco you ask? That is what I said when they offered me a pipe full of it.

I came upon them quite unexpectedly, like most of my strange encounters. I was leaving a friends house when I decided to take a look at some flowers blooming by the front door. They were purple and pretty, and I couldn’t deny them. Well, when I bent down to smell the flowers, my nostrils were not engulfed by the sweetness of, well, flowers, but that of what I swore was tobacco. I took another whiff just to make sure, and by golly, that it exactly what it was!! Strange flowers, I thought. I had never come across pretty purple flowers that smelled of tobacco before – and I have smelled lots of pretty purple flowers.

One thing I knew for certain – something must surely be amiss.

And that is when I noticed perfect little rings of smoke rising toward the blue skies coming from beneath a purple petal.

Yes, something most definitely was amiss.

I peered a little closer at the purple flower and brushed it aside. Low and behold, before my very eyes was a gnome sitting atop a tiny mushroom smoking away on a pipe.

“Well, hello there!” I exclaimed. “And who might you be?”

Thankfully, for your sakes, I took one very informative class at the University of Hell on Gnomish. Thankfully.

“Aye!” The Gnome squealed. “Oh, Maniac Gone Awry, it’s just you.”

“You were expecting someone else?”

“Oh, no, I just thought you might stop by sooner. You’ve interviewed every other interesting creature this side of the Mississippi.”

“I’m sorry, I took a sabbatical of sorts.”

“An extended vacation you mean, its been months, Maniac. Are you feeling better?”

“I will be in 15 days.”

“15 days? What happens in 15 days?”

“I quit my day job, and then can go about interviewing and finding interesting creatures like yourself. The world really needs more literature on people like you.”

“Literature? That is a bit extreme, don’t you think?”

“Ok, how about . . .”

“I think your audience will only truly buy this truth as fiction.”

“Fiction!!?? But it’s TRUE!!

“True or not, the people of this Earth are not ready for such ideas.”

“I know, I know. It’s sad. What is a Maniac to do?”

“Do what maniac’s do best Maniac Gone Awry – adventure and tell your tales regardless of the simple minds who will never understand.”

“You are one smart Gnome.”

“I like to think that I am.”

“Well, is there anything you want to say, so that I may relay it to my people?”

There was silence for a while as the Gnome smoked on his pipe and blew smoke rings into the air. He rubbed his beard for a bit and then spoke.

He said, “Well, Maniac, I guess you could report on our love of Sunflower Tobacco.”

“Sunflower Tobacco? I never heard of such thing.”

“I don’t imagine that you have. It is a Gnomish thing. We are very much addicted to it. Would you like to try some,” the Gnome said, raising the black pipe to me.

“Sure,” I replied and took a puff.

It was absolutely wonderful and satisfying. And I would be lying if I didn’t say at that moment I felt as if I could be completely content sitting in a flower pot, smoking Sunflower Tobacco for the rest of my natural life. But then, of course, I wasn’t a Gnome, and I would never fit in flower pot.

“Good, huh?” The Gnome asked.

“Very good.”

“Relaxing, isn’t it?”

“Very.”

“Would you like to come inside and meet the missus?” The Gnome stopped after saying this and then thought better of it. “Well, how about I tell her to come out and meet you.”

“Wonderful,” I said. “But you’ll have to let me take a picture of you two.”

“No problem,” he laughed. No problem at all.”

In a little while, Mr. Gnome’s wife came out from behind a purple flower and said hello. She was the most pleasant Gnome I had ever met. We sat there a while, taking turns puffing on the black pipe and discussed world peace. And then they said something about having to leave and said their goodbyes. But first they struck a pose for me. I thought it turned out to be a very nice picture.

I had a very nice visit, and was glad to have met them.  I tooI had to go, for there were hundreds of creatures that wished to have their say in an interview of their own. And so off I went into the world that only a Maniac could appreciate.

With my tummy satiated on lizard, I decided to travel further into the wilderness of Table Rock country. What I found was nothing short of a nightmare.

After hiking a considerable distance, and scaling a particularly steep granite rock, I accidentally stumbled upon a herd of hungry spiders.

Yes, I said spiders.

And to my unlucky astonishment they were not the small, squish with your foot variety.

No, I could never be that fortunate. But the again, if I was, I’d never have interesting stories to tell.

But anyway, back to the spiders at hand, or rather, ten times the size of my hand.

Frozen half in terror and half in awe, I thought about turning tail and running like hell, but then one of the Enormous Eight Legged Freaks turned one of his billion eyes in my general direction and spotted me.

Drat.

“Aww, lookie here, friends, we have a visitor.”

I had no idea I could understand Spider. They had never taught me that in The University of Hell.

“What? Me? No, I was . . . just . . . passing through. Don’t mind me,” I said as I turned to shimmied back down the way I had come.

“Oh, do not leave us Maniac Gone Awry, we have yet to speak to one another.”

I stopped.

“You . . . you . . . know my name?”

The biggest of the spiders began to approach me on his eight rather creepy legs.

“Maniac, you insult me. Of course I know your name. You are known far and wide around these parts. ”

“I am?”

“Now you insult yourself Maniac.”

“I’m . . . sorry.”

“No need to apologize, Maniac.”

I didn’t know what else to say – so I smiled.

“My name Maniac, is Borgous and this is my tribe. And we’re hungry.”

Gulp.

“We were going to split a lizard we spotted earlier, but it seems someone else got to him first.”

“I, uh, really?”

“Yes, Maniac. Someone did,” the monstrous spider grinned. “And now that we have lost our supper, we need to have it replaced.”

“Of course you do, Borgous.”

“That’s Mighty Borgous to you, Maniac.”

“Yes, Mighty Borgous. What do you suggest?”

“Well, you, unless you have another idea.”

Another gulp.

“Mighty Borgous, I’m really not that tasty. Not even a dash of salt could make me edible for any species – especially as one as great as yours.”

“And how would you know that.”

“Oh, it was published it Maniac Weekly last October.”

“And who was the author?”

“Well, um, me . . .”

“Oh really? What gives you such knowledge?”

“Simple. No one but me could be so knowledgeable about me. I know myself best.”

“Good point, I guess. But who or what else will my tribe and I have for dinner then if we cannot dine on you?”

“Well, Mighty Borgous, there is a path just over that ridge,” I said and pointed to where I knew the Table Rock path was. “Just go sit and wait over there. A traveler will appear before long. I promise.”

Mighty Borgous and his tribe deliberated and then bid me farewell, being sure to tell me that I was very lucky that a dash of salt would not make me an agreeable dinner. And on that note they marched toward the path I had pointed out.

Before long, as I walked in the opposite direction, I thought I heard the screams of innocent hikers, but perhaps it was the sound of some strange new species of bird I have yet to discover.

Yes, and that is what I will continue to tell myself after I watch the 11 o’clock news tonight. It was a bird. A strange and fascinating bird.

The Ladies Lizard of the Audubon Swamp tried his best to avoid me for several weeks. He did the best a lizard could do, but I, Maniac Gone Awry, did better!

I got word from one of my contacts that he had been spotted in the upstate of South Carolina. So, as soon as Nick at Nite finished airing another rerun of Mork and Mindy, I took off after the cheap bastard. After all, he owed me at least one good wish, whether or not he wanted to give it to me.

I was half way up Table Rock Trail and rather out of breath when I saw him.

As pretty as could be, he was laying beside the mountain river, relaxing on a prepared pile of fallen leaves. Very carefully I tiptoed up behind him and placed my hand above his green lanky body. But before I could snatch him his eyes popped open and he spoke.

“Maniac, you really must find better ways to spend your time.”

“What?” He had caught me off guard.

“Imagine all the things you could have accomplished had you not been trying to find me.”

“That doesn’t matter. You owe me a wish. And a good one.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Yes. Yes, you do.”

“No. No, I don’t. You had your two wishes. I granted them.”

“Exactly, two wishes. What kind of idoit grants only two wishes?”

“I’m not an idiot, Maniac. And I told you that I was no genie. I am a lizard. The Ladies Lizard of the Audubon Swamp and I only grant two wishes. That is just how it works. Take it or leave it.”

“But . . but . . . you . . . why in the hell am I arguing with you?! You’re just a lizard!”

And that is when I sorta went what they call a little psychotic.

By looking at the above picture you can only imagine how Mr. Lizard spent his last few minutes on beautiful planet Earth.

It was the most wonderful, fulfilling lunch I had ever eaten.

I came across a field of sunflowers mostly by chance the other day, and decided to investigate.

What I thought was a field of sunflowers ended up being a field of condominiums inhabited by a score of Monarch butterflies and a few rather menacing looking bumble bees.

They were all pretty perturbed at the fact that I was A) not invited, B) that I had not knocked(even though I swore that I had never seen a door), and C) that I was neither a Monarch butterfly or a bumble bee.

After much conversation about how rude I was, I convinced one of each species to pose for a picture. I assured them that I was a professional and that taking pictures of such beautiful creatures had been my calling. I don’t know if they believed me or not. Probably not.

Ms. Monarch came first, and she was a little shy. She demanded that I take her picture through her kitchen window. At first I argued this. I told her that I would not be able to capture her essence, but she wouldn’t allow any thing else. She said something about it not being proper with her being an unmarried Monarch and all or something to that effect. I wasn’t really paying attention because a certain, impatient bumble bee was eying my bent over beehind(sorry, I couldn’t resist.)

After taking Ms. Monarch’s picture, I bustled on over to Mr. Bumble Bee’s residence. He was buzzed(that’s pissed in Bee if you’re wondering) and it was rather obvious, but he still offered me a thimble of honey. It tasted a lot like sunshine, which is very good by the way. If you’ve never sampled it, you should take a side trip to the Sun sometime in the near future. The sun itself is a sight to see. But anyway, he buzzed some directions at me and I did strictly as I was told, afraid that if I did anything other than instructed, I would be screeching in agony while I smashed the hell out of one temperamental bee. And with a quick “click”, mine and Mr. Bumble Bee’s short acquaintance came to end.

As I strode away from the lot of Sun Flower condominiums, I scratched my head thinking nothing weirder could possibly happen. But as I usually am, I was sadly mistaken.

One of the, I’ll call them houses, stretched out in front of my path, and asked for a word with me. I obliged, for I had never had a house talk to me before.

“Before you go,” the sun flower condominium said, “take a picture of me.”

“A picture of you?”

“Yes. Would that be a problem?”

“Well, no . . . it’s just that I’ve never been propositioned by a house is all. It’s a first.”

“Ah . . .”

“May I ask why?”

And her answer was this.

“I am more beautiful and complex than that of my tenants, but you must get close to see. I am not a single flower, but a thousand flowers that create one.”

And with another simple “click”, I continued along the path and crested the hill.

In this darkness I find that I am but a flame that flickers in the wind.

Fragile I am.

Alone I know I am not.

At my core a blistering blue hue burns. My soul.

It encases me. Protects me. But slowly melts from me. It shows my age and reveals stories long forgotten. It is what makes me beautiful and strong.

My life.

In this darkness I find that I am but a flame that flickers in the wind.

And the sole pirate sets sail to the land of the Mysterious and Misplaced. Not knowing the hardships he must face, nor the challenges of the land, without distress, nor fear, he treaded into troublesome waters. He arrived at the land in dismay, but content. He looked at his surroundings: the grey-blue water that encompassed him, the alluring land that lay in front, the mountains sitting hauntingly in the distance, and the sandy floor that stood beneath him. He gazed at the sand, and the intricate pieces of rock destroyed by the ever waking sea. Beside of him he picked up a small twig, and with grace wrote the reason for why he has traveled….

HAPPY BIRTHDAY GABE!

-You have been plundered by Captain Phil… savvy?

She left the land of eternal bliss so that she may come down and savor this.

“Earth is beautiful from a distance,” she had said, “but nothing compares to being there.”

But that was years ago, as you can see. Long before the forest she loved was hacked to bits and made into some firewood. Long before the animals that roamed far and wide to find her perished from this earth forever more. Long before man ever learned her name, and now forgotten it.

But still she sits atop her stone fountain in the opening of the wood that she found ever so intriguing those many years ago. The hands of time have caressed her and eroded her beauty and her grace, but never will she complain.

Upon her chipped finger a robin will forever perch and together they will sing a sweet, sad song filled with infinite silence and untold wisdom.

And no matter what happens to this place, she will always see in it its original beauty, the beauty that tempted her from the land of eternal bliss all those many years ago.

He is the Infamous Ladies Lizard of the Audubon Swamp, and I, Maniac Gone Awry, found him!

For days, I trudged through the swamp, upturning rocks and trees, stopping only to ask the wildlife where I might found the Ladies Lizard of the Audubon Swamp.

Few new where to direct me. Others dare speak his name. But one brave soul spoke loudly.

“Lady, he is over there!”

Turning ever so slowly to the right, I looked, and BEHOLD!!! There he sat! Amongst the green I would have never seen him. He cocked his head and looked at me, a smirk lingering on his face.

“You have found me Maniac Gone Awry, although I have tried valiantly to avoid you these past several days,  Since you have found me, I shall grant you two wishes.”

“Two wishes?”

“What do I look like, a genie?”

“Well, no, not really, but two wishes? That’s a little bit cheap, don’t you think?”

“Maniac, your first wish. I do not have all day.”

“Fine, I wish for three wishes.”

“Granted, you have two more.”

“Oh, you cheap bastard.”

“Was that a wish?”

“No! That was not a wish!!”

“Second wish then, Maniac.”

“I wish to be sane.”

“I’m sorry, no wish can grant that. You are too much of a maniac. Third wish.”

“Third wish? You said it could not be granted.”

“Well, I didn’t know that until I tried to grant it.”

“You cheap bastard.”

“Was that another wish?”

“No! Do you not listen??”

“Very carefully, Maniac.”

“Alright, my third and final wish . . . I wish . . . I don’t know, what would you wish?”

“Hmmm, for you Maniac, I would wish that Mork and Mindy would come on for another season.”

“That’s brilliant! Yes, that is what I wish.”

“Granted.”

And like that he vanished into the green foliage, and I never found him again.

As for Mork and Mindy, Nick at Nite followed through. Reruns, but another season.

That cheap bastard.

It is popular belief, or rather a popular fact, that Kudzu was a gift from the Japanese to stop erosion, but as you can clearly see here, the Japanese simply had a long term plan. One of my sources said it went something like this:

“The American’s are far too lazy, and stupid – the Kudzu will get them eventually – and when it does – America is ours.” [Insert Insane Laughter]

Or maybe, just maybe, it is just nature slowly exacting its toll, one poor bench at a time. As you can tell, the pretty bench is losing the battle to the forever feared Japanese War Plant – Kudzu.

Word to the wise – don’t sit anywhere too long or else the Kudzu will creep up behind you and take its wicked revenge out on your sad, poor soul.

***This message has been edited due to strong language that may have been offensive to some.***

To quote the beautiful flower:

“For all who believe that beauty is perfection, screw you, and your fat, ugly mother too!”

Go ahead. Gasp. The pretty flower shocked me too. Who would have guessed he/she had such an attitude?

I surely wouldn’t have.