Argentina's Creepy Gnome reappeared last week in a new locale, the town of Clodomira, Santiago del Estero province. Similar to the first episode, the phone-video sequence starts with footage of young people out late talking and dancing. Soon a black speck is visible on the screen moving up the dimly lit street toward the group. As it draws closer, the pointy-headed pygmy can be made out strolling awkwardly along the sidewalk. There is a terrified scream as the figure nears, and the video suddenly stops.
Authorities investigating the incident say they found no little person in the vicinity, but did discover a note tacked to a telephone pole that was signed, “Creepy Gnome.” The content of the note has been made public in hopes that someone might recognize the style or content and contact the police.
Dear friends,
As I sit by my small woodland fire writing this, I cannot help but recount the familiar words of the Bard from Act 2, Scene 7 of “As You Like it:”
All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players.
They have their exits and their entrances;
And one man in his time plays many parts...
Good people of Clodomira, I have played many parts in my life. Ambassador’s son. Oxford student. Successful diplomat. Advisor to world leaders. Then, for reasons only God knows, my near perfect existence started to implode. My beloved wife left me for a tattood carni named Garft who somehow was able to satisfy her in ways that I could not.
Then, while on the rebound from losing the love of my life, I was kidnapped by gypsies in Istanbul. They forced me to dress as a deformed child for the purpose of eliciting donations. Needless to say, I felt a prisoner, was a prisoner, and began drinking heavily and smoking opium.
I managed to escape from my tormentors somewhere in Uzbekistan, and made my way through field and forest to the shores of the Mediterranean, where I stowed away on an oil tanker bound for Brazil. In Sao Paulo, I was taken in by a friendly man who said he made nature videos, but whom I quickly discovered was a pornographer who specialized in bestiality. The shame of that period lingers with me still.
From there I have traveled through the jungles and mountains and barrios of this huge continent, searching for peace and a warm bed, but finding only scorn and humiliation. I plead with you that the next time you see me, you do not run in fear or scream, but extend your hand and show mercy to one so small who has suffered so greatly.
Sartre understood my world when he wrote: “Anything, anything would be better than this agony of mind, this creeping pain that gnaws and fumbles and caresses one and never hurts quite enough.”
I feel I have hurt quite enough.
Desmond R. Whitherton III, aka Creepy Gnome
