adaptive1
Par Member
I would pay money for that stamp.
-
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[Other] Disc Gnomes
- Thread starter attik34
- Start date
Hoss22
Eagle Member
Im not the only one that believes in them! Such a relief im not alone in this!
drblam
Eagle Member
We don't need no sympathizers up in here, sir! Gnomes are the problem, not us.
teemkey
* Ace Member *
Maybe start a line of Disc Golf Demonology.
Nasty Nate
Double Eagle Member
I'd wear a disc gnome t-shirt. It would help spread the word on the course, like a public service announcement. Keep your peepers peeled for any hijinks and tomfoolery!
Onyx
Bogey Member
- Joined
- May 29, 2013
- Messages
- 94
We don't need multiple types of kudzu on the course. Having the plant kind is bad enough.
I hate watching my disc sit down in kudzu, walking to the spot and my disc not being there...
"Go on guys, just play through... Just doing a Fern Gully reenactment over here:wall::wall::wall:
disctildeath
Eagle Member
I think a gnome was snorkeling in the lake at Winthrop when I lost my disc in it a couple of years ago. LOL
drblam
Eagle Member
Okay, so I wrote a little fictional disc gnome story that feels all too real. It's like a horror story, if you love beautiful discs.
I don't know the best way to post it on here, as it will be a wall of text, but I think everyone would appreciate it.
Is there some way to do it as a spoiler reveal or should I just copy and paste the whole big thing?
I don't know the best way to post it on here, as it will be a wall of text, but I think everyone would appreciate it.
Is there some way to do it as a spoiler reveal or should I just copy and paste the whole big thing?
drblam
Eagle Member
"Hey man!" Someone called out to me just as I was teeing off on 15, my personal nemesis hole, the one that had taken far too many of my discs.
I looked around until I spotted my friend rushing over to me from the direction of the parking lot. I forgot his real name, everyone just called him Pusher because he always seems to have the choicest plastic, and as anyone knows, those pretty ones are an addiction unto themselves.
"What's up man?" I said.
He shook my offered hand then pulled me into a tight hug. "It's been awhile, bro!" he said. I couldn't help smiling.
"What you got this week?" I asked, half hoping he had something spectacular and half hoping he didn't have anything new. My wallet couldn't handle too many trips to Pusher's lair.
"Some nice Proton MVP distance driver tester discs, these awesome brainwave dyes, and this," he smirked as he pulled the last disc.
I think I felt my wallet cringe.
It had a Skullboy stamp, a powerful Nordic Shield Maiden, her body built equally for birthing an army of warriors and for leading those warriors in vicious battle. Under her heel she crushed the skull of an undead archer, and in the air she held the real star of the show.
A mighty Ulfberht sword, the flames of the Shield Maiden's ancestors empowered the blade.
As if the stamp weren't enough to make the disc perfect, it had been pressed in a marbled swirl of blue and purple Latitude plastic.
I didn't waste any time, "How much?"
"Happy Birthday," Pusher smiled.
I was frozen, too happy for words.
"It's a Westside Sword, pretty great disc, incredible stamp."
"Dude," I tucked my Sword into my bag, "this is the best gift a guy could ask for."
"Uh, dude," he looked perturbed to see me bag the Sword, "you have to throw it! A disc isn't alive until it's flown, brother, you have to crush it out there and make it happy!"
"I'll throw it, just not here," I looked down the hill at the woods lining the left side of the fairway. The souls of so many discs were in those trees.
Pusher nodded in understanding; he hadn't avoided the curse of those woods. No one had.
I pulled out an old test driver, one I hadn't really gotten to fly properly, knowing that if I lost it I would be able to manage, although I would still be upset. No one likes to lose a disc, no matter how little it is loved.
I let the disc fly. It burned down the right hand tree line, as close as I could get it, knowing it would fade back at the woods on the left side. If it fell inside the tree line, it was as good as gone.
Luckily, my drive hit mid fairway, and skipped to a stop a few feet before the tree line. I could see it plainly, and I kept my eye on it as Pusher launched his own drive. It kissed a tree on the right side, and kicked out toward the road.
Out of bounds in tourney play, completely acceptable for our game as it was as far from the cursed forest as it could possibly be.
"I'll take it!" Pusher shouted.
We gathered our bags, and started down the hill.
I intended to keep my eye on my disc, I knew looking away had caused hundreds of others so much pain, but Pusher's second shot was a beauty. It wove through the trees and hit chains, and though it spat out, it would be a drop in for an easy birdie.
Pusher whooped like Han Solo his own damn self and I turned back to my disc, only to see that it was gone.
"No effing way!" I screamed, running for the tree line, my anger making me insane.
"Dude, don't go in there! No one knows what's in there!" Pusher called after me as I plowed through the tree line.
I heard it first, its little feet scraping in the leaves. Then I smelled the pipe smoke. Then, I saw it clearly, crouched between two trees, staring at me with a mix of anger and fear.
It was a Disc Gnome.
Its face was a grimace, twisted from a thousand magical years of theft, and its beard should have been white if not for the flecks of the forest and destroyed discs that peppered it. Its clothes were tatters, and under its arm it held my disc.
"Give it back, gnome!" I commanded.
The gnome made a sly smile, and let its pipe fall to the forest floor as it clutched my disc in its gnarled hands. It seemed to be pressing and warping the plastic, almost crumpling the disc.
"No!" I shouted. No disc deserved this fate.
Without thinking, I reached into my bag and snatched my Sword.
I didn't take my eyes of the beast until the very last moment of my x step, when I had to line my body up right and generate the most power from my reach back.
I caught sight of the gnome again as my sword ripped from my hands and scythed toward the little bastard. At the very last second, the gnome ducked, dropping my original driver—now a crumpled ball of some type—as my sword took its hat off and even nicked a bit of the monster's hair from its head.
The Sword thunked hard into a nearby tree, sticking in like a—well, uh, a sword—and pinning the gnome's hat there.
The gnome took off, and I ran up to check on my crumpled driver. It had met a fate worse than death, its life as a disc forgotten in its new dimpled blue flesh.
The gnome had reformed my disc into a putt-putt golf ball.
I resolved to bury it later, send it off in a better way. I couldn't bear the idea of some dad in a fanny pack Happy Gilmore putting my disc through the spread legs of a clown. The thought was horrible.
Tucking the ball into my pocket, I looked up to where my Sword should have been stuck in the nearby tree.
My heart sank to see a gash where the disc had been.
"No! No! Nononononono!" I ran to the tree, checked the ground, ran my fingers over the gash, and then fell to my knees, knowing it was futile.
My Sword, the beautiful Skullboy maiden that blessed it, and the gnome's hat were all gone.
I'm not ashamed to admit it, and you wouldn't be either, but I wept. I wept until Pusher dragged me back to my car.
I looked around until I spotted my friend rushing over to me from the direction of the parking lot. I forgot his real name, everyone just called him Pusher because he always seems to have the choicest plastic, and as anyone knows, those pretty ones are an addiction unto themselves.
"What's up man?" I said.
He shook my offered hand then pulled me into a tight hug. "It's been awhile, bro!" he said. I couldn't help smiling.
"What you got this week?" I asked, half hoping he had something spectacular and half hoping he didn't have anything new. My wallet couldn't handle too many trips to Pusher's lair.
"Some nice Proton MVP distance driver tester discs, these awesome brainwave dyes, and this," he smirked as he pulled the last disc.
I think I felt my wallet cringe.
It had a Skullboy stamp, a powerful Nordic Shield Maiden, her body built equally for birthing an army of warriors and for leading those warriors in vicious battle. Under her heel she crushed the skull of an undead archer, and in the air she held the real star of the show.
A mighty Ulfberht sword, the flames of the Shield Maiden's ancestors empowered the blade.
As if the stamp weren't enough to make the disc perfect, it had been pressed in a marbled swirl of blue and purple Latitude plastic.
I didn't waste any time, "How much?"
"Happy Birthday," Pusher smiled.
I was frozen, too happy for words.
"It's a Westside Sword, pretty great disc, incredible stamp."
"Dude," I tucked my Sword into my bag, "this is the best gift a guy could ask for."
"Uh, dude," he looked perturbed to see me bag the Sword, "you have to throw it! A disc isn't alive until it's flown, brother, you have to crush it out there and make it happy!"
"I'll throw it, just not here," I looked down the hill at the woods lining the left side of the fairway. The souls of so many discs were in those trees.
Pusher nodded in understanding; he hadn't avoided the curse of those woods. No one had.
I pulled out an old test driver, one I hadn't really gotten to fly properly, knowing that if I lost it I would be able to manage, although I would still be upset. No one likes to lose a disc, no matter how little it is loved.
I let the disc fly. It burned down the right hand tree line, as close as I could get it, knowing it would fade back at the woods on the left side. If it fell inside the tree line, it was as good as gone.
Luckily, my drive hit mid fairway, and skipped to a stop a few feet before the tree line. I could see it plainly, and I kept my eye on it as Pusher launched his own drive. It kissed a tree on the right side, and kicked out toward the road.
Out of bounds in tourney play, completely acceptable for our game as it was as far from the cursed forest as it could possibly be.
"I'll take it!" Pusher shouted.
We gathered our bags, and started down the hill.
I intended to keep my eye on my disc, I knew looking away had caused hundreds of others so much pain, but Pusher's second shot was a beauty. It wove through the trees and hit chains, and though it spat out, it would be a drop in for an easy birdie.
Pusher whooped like Han Solo his own damn self and I turned back to my disc, only to see that it was gone.
"No effing way!" I screamed, running for the tree line, my anger making me insane.
"Dude, don't go in there! No one knows what's in there!" Pusher called after me as I plowed through the tree line.
I heard it first, its little feet scraping in the leaves. Then I smelled the pipe smoke. Then, I saw it clearly, crouched between two trees, staring at me with a mix of anger and fear.
It was a Disc Gnome.
Its face was a grimace, twisted from a thousand magical years of theft, and its beard should have been white if not for the flecks of the forest and destroyed discs that peppered it. Its clothes were tatters, and under its arm it held my disc.
"Give it back, gnome!" I commanded.
The gnome made a sly smile, and let its pipe fall to the forest floor as it clutched my disc in its gnarled hands. It seemed to be pressing and warping the plastic, almost crumpling the disc.
"No!" I shouted. No disc deserved this fate.
Without thinking, I reached into my bag and snatched my Sword.
I didn't take my eyes of the beast until the very last moment of my x step, when I had to line my body up right and generate the most power from my reach back.
I caught sight of the gnome again as my sword ripped from my hands and scythed toward the little bastard. At the very last second, the gnome ducked, dropping my original driver—now a crumpled ball of some type—as my sword took its hat off and even nicked a bit of the monster's hair from its head.
The Sword thunked hard into a nearby tree, sticking in like a—well, uh, a sword—and pinning the gnome's hat there.
The gnome took off, and I ran up to check on my crumpled driver. It had met a fate worse than death, its life as a disc forgotten in its new dimpled blue flesh.
The gnome had reformed my disc into a putt-putt golf ball.
I resolved to bury it later, send it off in a better way. I couldn't bear the idea of some dad in a fanny pack Happy Gilmore putting my disc through the spread legs of a clown. The thought was horrible.
Tucking the ball into my pocket, I looked up to where my Sword should have been stuck in the nearby tree.
My heart sank to see a gash where the disc had been.
"No! No! Nononononono!" I ran to the tree, checked the ground, ran my fingers over the gash, and then fell to my knees, knowing it was futile.
My Sword, the beautiful Skullboy maiden that blessed it, and the gnome's hat were all gone.
I'm not ashamed to admit it, and you wouldn't be either, but I wept. I wept until Pusher dragged me back to my car.
Curtis_Valk
Eagle Member
Bravo! Good one.
Curtis
Curtis
drblam
Eagle Member
Me too! They just added one to netflix and it inspired me!
discgolferlee
Eagle Member
HAHAH GREAT STORY!!! and best thread on this whole forum. those little bastards are evil.
snapped a rare pic of some on our course. They will eat anything, as long as it's made of plastic
snapped a rare pic of some on our course. They will eat anything, as long as it's made of plastic
drblam
Eagle Member
This is why so many disc golfers are driven to drink!
TheMonger
Newbie
I will sign the petition against the bastard gnomes! They mostly just move my discs around, but others in my area have had many run-ins with them.
Down with Gnomes!
Down with Gnomes!
Beener
Birdie Member
Bastard gnomes stole my yellow sparkle Diamond!
Playing BRP on a beautiful Sunday morning, Sparky decided to pull out of an anhyzer line a little early on #26 and floated O.B. toward the #10 tee. Watched Sparky the whole way as he tracked over to the very sparse bushes. Searched and searched - gone. :wall:
Perhaps it was coincidence, but the next group approaching the #10 tee was looking for a Nuke OS lost on the 140 ft. #9 in the same bushes Sparky landed...
Choke on the sparkles you SOB's!
Playing BRP on a beautiful Sunday morning, Sparky decided to pull out of an anhyzer line a little early on #26 and floated O.B. toward the #10 tee. Watched Sparky the whole way as he tracked over to the very sparse bushes. Searched and searched - gone. :wall:
Perhaps it was coincidence, but the next group approaching the #10 tee was looking for a Nuke OS lost on the 140 ft. #9 in the same bushes Sparky landed...
Choke on the sparkles you SOB's!
smokfraglerock
Par Member
+1 on the story. Love the description of the dye. That story has legs enough to turn it into a longer tale of love, loss, struggle, redemption and revenge.
My gnome story: I was trying different lines to the basket on 7 at McCurry Park. I threw four discs and putted out from three of them. When I looked for the fourth, a white Pro-D Drone that was beating in nicely, nothing. There was no underbrush, the fallen leaves were sparse, and my disc was nowhere. I spent twenty minutes searching for a white disc in October. I picked up three paper plates so there's that.:\ Only way I missed it. Disc gnomes.
My gnome story: I was trying different lines to the basket on 7 at McCurry Park. I threw four discs and putted out from three of them. When I looked for the fourth, a white Pro-D Drone that was beating in nicely, nothing. There was no underbrush, the fallen leaves were sparse, and my disc was nowhere. I spent twenty minutes searching for a white disc in October. I picked up three paper plates so there's that.:\ Only way I missed it. Disc gnomes.
drblam
Eagle Member
Playing a wooded course today, unless it rains, i think I may throw a free gottagogottathrow.com mini in the woods as a sacrifice to protect me from the hundreds of lurking disc gnomes...
