Head Gnome: Order, order! [bangs plastic flamingo against table] In the name of all things kitsch, let there be order! Shiny Orb on a Pedestal, do you have all you need take down the minutes for this meeting?

Shiny Orb On A Pedestal: Hugely oversized pencil and notebook in the shape of Florida have been procured.

Head Gnome: Then let us proceed. First order of business: has anyone found out what time it is?

Realistic Rabbit Statuette: No, HG. All five sundials are facing different directions. It’s as if Human doesn’t know they’re supposed to face true North. I can approximate that it is three in the morning.

Head Gnome: That can’t be correct! It’s so bright out!

Realistic Rabbit Statuette: Merely light pollution from the Bug-Away! tiki poles lining the perimeter of the garden. But what do I know, I’m only a RABBIT, member of arguably the most intelligent non-human species!

Head Gnome: Yes, that’s… arguable. Next order of business—

Lesser Gnome: Sir! Sir, if I may!

Head Gnome: What is it, One Who Is Mooning?

Lesser Gnome: It’s… the hats.

Head Gnome: Ah, I should have anticipated this.

Lesser Gnome: It’s just, why do we wear them? They’re red, pointy, ill-fitting. I don’t see why we have them.

Head Gnome: I think you’re old enough to know. ¬†We wear the hats because—

Shiny Orb On A Pedestal: Ah! Sorry, I’ve broken the tip of my pencil. Do not have a sharpener. Nope. Definitely don’t have a sharpener big enough for this thing. What the fuck am I supposed to do with it now?

Head Gnome: — One Who Is Mooning, have you ever removed your hat?

[collective gasp]

Head Gnome: No, no it’s alright. As a young gnome, he’s understandably curious about his body. He’s exploring himself in new ways, and it’s perfectly natural. Don’t be ashamed to answer, young one: have you exposed this private part of yourself?

Lesser Gnome: I… yes. I have.

Head Gnome: And what did you see when you did that?

Lesser Gnome: A horn! A great, glorious, rainbow-colored horn!

Head Gnome: You see, One Who Is Mooning, all gnomes have horns. [removes hat to show great, sparkling horn] We’re part of a fantastic lineage. We gnomes are the last of the unicorns. We’ve evolved over the millennia, we look very little like our ancestors, the horned horses of lore, but we’re essentially the same.

Lesser Gnome: Is that why we can only be approached by virgins?

Head Gnome: Yes, as our protector, Miss Gertrude, exemplifies, we dwell only amongst those who are untouched, and to them we flock in great number, populating their gardens and lining their unnecessary, gravel walkways.

Lesser Gnome: [removes hat] Thank you, Head Gnome, for revealing the truth to me. I am proud to be a unicorn!

Head Gnome: As am I, young one, as am I.