Ugh. There were just too many people around, and every time Mo spotted a gnome, someone got in the way or grabbed it first or distracted him. It made the seventh year grumpy, and he didn't like being grumpy. He finally made his way to the perimeter and started kicking bushes and trying to roust out a gnome that way.

Roust, gnome. ROUST.

Finally, Mo spotted one nobbly little ear poking out of some long grass, and he reached down and grabbed it, dragging the whole potato-head out of the weeds. While the gnome attempted valiantly to give vicious bites, Mo managed to dodge getting wounded. Narrowly, but he was bite-free. "Settle down, mister. No one's hurting you. Much."