Seize Him!
From Plastic Tub
The war cry of The League of Gnomes, elicting from both Mormons and Freemasons the limping query, "Who will save the Widow's Son?" Among The Begloved, the proper response is Run!.
As in most ritual utterance, form here is function. The proper way to sully forth with the siezing is with arm extended, rigidly, skeletal fingers bringing forward the bow of the forehead, the longest finger a yardarm against the winds. Like Ceasar, say, or a supervillain. In this last regard, some manner of body deformity is preferable, such as an absence of said finger or a hideously scarred face requiring a metal mask, a veil or in the least, the extended wing of an round-chested red robin. The preferred follow-up includes a rush of cronies from behind tapestries or machinery, cosmic dental-dams. Chase ensues, or, sadly, capture.
Most of which is nonsense, according to inside accounts. Gnomes are a reticent bunch, prone to tomfoolery.
