Crunching and Punching

There was unrest in the forest...

Natural resources were disappearing.

This scarcity alone guarantees turmoil as uncertain markets contract in an uncertain economy.

National financial institutions are occupied as everyday citizenry demand reform. Political parties are pushed to the extremes. Food delivery infrastructures are strained...

Excesses occur. Abuses are chronicled. Reactions recorded.

A global shadow economy emerges as if from a primordial woodland. These were dark days in the forest...

In one of the world’s hidden citadels of power...a long ago deal with the devil was coming due.

The earthbound signer of that unholy covenant knew any further deferment of the deal’s consummation was unlikely...

Contingency plans had long since been arranged. Both personal and professional. He had reached the end game. Still, there were moves to be made...

Like any despot, he had tools at his disposal. Personal charisma...he was lionized by his people as simply, ‘Pappy’ and the levers of power and communication were still firmly gripped within his hands.

He intended to use them.

He would move on two fronts...

On the popular front he would redirect his people’s anger and angst outward...away from him. His target was already selected.

On the political front...a brutal crackdown was to be orchestrated against all internal enemies and opposition. He was playing from the tyrant’s well-worn playbook...

The alliance was one of conveniences. A mating of odd bedfellows...show business types...fringe element groupies...organized crime...drugs...wizards...governmental officials and Village Elders.

The alliance existed to illegally harvest illegal stuff using illegal slave labor for illegal purposes.

The previous sentence would prove too vague to submit to the District Attorney to secure a subpoena; however, the shear number of times I used a variation of the word ‘illegal’ should alert the alert reader that some bad stuff was going down. Truly...some dark shit.

Dancing with this crowd was glamorous under the pulsating lights of the nightclub...less so in the stark light of day. This was evident as they walked through the ‘milking shed’.

Those being milked were long since past crying out. The occasional low moan was all that indicated the horrors occurring deep in the woods...

“Your output is down twenty-percent and the purity is at less than a third!” Complained the celebrated rap singer. “It’s messing up the growers, Yo!”

His companion showed his frustration at, both, the situation and his partner’s tone...

“Outside sources are siphoning off our resources. I told you that! I have already taken the steps to alleviate the situation! The man fumed before continuing,

“The concern is the purity...and that’s YOUR department! These samples (he indicates those wretched occupants of the milking machines dismissively) simply will not do...I need pure extract...”

“The breeding program...?”

“Pointless! No...We need to return to our earlier plan...accelerated implementation of Operation Extract Extraction! Go organize the growers...get good samples...bring them to me.”

They discussed the details of their odious transaction before parting. The celebrated rapper walked back to his car singing snatches of a tune...

“...Headed down to the dungeon wondering...if they got some mooore...” He starts his car...the CD player begins bumping the same tune...”...continue on my mission fish’n...for the yum-yum...but I’m moooving slow...”

In a cloud of smoke and dust the car leaves the clearing and moves down the forest road...

The other man watches him leave before walking back into the ‘milking shed’. His cat follows him.

Inside he looked at the barbaric machines lining the walls. He coldly surveys the torment written on each face...torment...designed...to accelerate the milking process. No. They were inferior samples but he still liked watching them suffer.

Snatches of conversation can be heard...Sally Field and Dolly Parton??

Gargamel, the Wizard, turned to begin his part of the task...thus, eliminating the outside competition for resources. He needed to call in on ‘THE’ leader...’Pappy’. The buses needed to be delivered and the protestors organized...

‘Pappy’ had blood on his hands. The crackdowns had begun the night before. Those deemed un-loyal to the regime were rounded up and simply disappeared.

His primary target had eluded the initial sweep; however, patrols had picked the traitor up about twenty-minutes ago and were bringing him in now.

In these situations it is always a good idea to destroy the intelligentsia. Towards that goal he ordered in the next batch of victims...

The four unfortunates were herded in. A couple of them had been badly beaten...their trousers were torn...dirty...if they were surprised by their newly reduced circumstances...they were too bewildered to show evidence of it. They were lined up in front of ‘Pappy’ and forced to their knees...

Papa Smurf stands up and roars at them...

“FOR CRIMES AGAINST THE VILLAGE OF SMURFS...AND UN-SMURF-MANS-LIKE ACTIVITY...YOU ARE SENTENCED TO SMURFING!”

As his last word echoed throughout the chamber...Hefty Smurf walks up to each in turn and delivers a well positioned 7.62-smurfameter slug to the base of each skull. Poet Smurf, Architect Smurf, Finance Smurf, and Editor Smurf lay dead on the floor. The bodies are dragged away by Stinky Smurf and Sloppy Smurf.

Weepy Smurf bursts out in tears...he is dragged off to the ‘milking shed’...

Counter-Revolution is not for the faint of heart.

Papa Smurf quickly moved to the next order of business. Farmer Smurf and Miner Smurf were ushered in...

“Your farms are being smurfed and collectivized,” Farmer Smurf was informed.

“Also...the mines are to be Smurf-in-alized beginning now.”‘ Pappy’ told Miner Smurf.

“You are both to report to The Smurfittee of Quotas for your new priorities. Smurf-berries and Blue-clay are to be concentrated on in accordance with the new four-year plans!”

Farmer Smurf looked uncomfortable. He shuffled his wooden clogs before blurting out, “The Wartmongers have invaded the fields...the smurf-berries are turning in the dirt...”

Papa Smurf calmly pulls out a blue-clayed, smurfed-nosed .38 special and shoots him between the eyes.

“Will there be smurflems with the blue-clay?” He asks Miner Smurf coldly.

“Oh Smurf-NO!” Miner Smurf assures him as he rushes for the door.

Papa Smurf’s arch nemeses (for this story) is dragged into the room in chains...Brainy Smurf.

“Just what do you think you’re smurfing at??” Brainy Smurf called out indignantly after being pushed to the floor.

His glasses were broken and he was missing the traditional book of “Brainy Quotes” that he normally would be toting about.

“SMUCK YOU!” Yelled an enraged Papa Smurf. His beard quivered. His spit flew. “I am smurfleting the Revolution!”

Papa Smurf walks around the prostrate and cowed Brainy in lazy little circles. The blue-clayed, smurf-nosed .38 special hangs listlessly from his hand.

It does not appear any less menacing for that lackadaisical handling, however.

“Do you really think the Revolution will be finished smurfly by throwing random “Brainy Quotes” at every smurfing problem?” Papa Smurf sneered. Smurfed? No...sneered...

“Why Brainy, brainy is the Smarty Party, party...” Brainy went on as he tends to do...

“You have been de-smurfed from the “Party” and in accordance with de-smurfing protocols," Papa Smurf screams at him. “You will be placed on Mushroom-House-arrest subject to imposition of your ultimate fate...death by smurf-icution!?”

Papa Smurf had him dragged off to Mushroom-House-arrest where he joined Grandpa and Granny Smurf who had been detained earlier in the day.

All three of them were symbols and, as such, required smurfle treatment.

He went into consultation with Alchemist Smurf about ‘sample purities’ and the latest experiments to garner a pure extract. Farmer Smurf’s corpse begins to attract flies. Those flies...come from Stinky Smurf.

No one notices Nosy Smurf leave the room...

Nosy Smurf was skipping through the village as he distilled these new developments. He was still distilling (and skipping) when he happened across Brainy Smurf’s best friend Clumsy Smurf. Clumsy was hanging out with Scaredy Smurf. Nosy relates what he saw...

Scaredy Smurf screams, smurfs himself, and skips off into the forest. Expected.

Clumsy Smurf was fired up with rage...

“We have to go save Brainy!!”

Clumsy and Nosy set off skipping...

Nosy begins shmurf-talking other Smurfs he knows (based on being nosy) and soon forgets about the mission...

Clumsy Smurf trips over a rock and falls down a well...

Both of these well-intentioned Smurfs were out of action.

Meanwhile...buses were being pulled up to the Smurf Administration Building.

In an effort to redirect Smurf rage and discontent against a shifting social landscape...Papa Smurf was aiming that angst against Corporate America...

The buses would ferry the Smurf protestors to Occupy Wall Street!!

The celebrated rap singer, Ludacris, pulled into the grower’s compound and stopped the car. He had been under observation since before turning off the main drag an hour earlier and he was well aware of that scrutiny.

It was the nature of the business. It’s how they all stayed alive. There were no growers in evidence which was also standard operating procedure.

Ludacris got out of the car, walked around the front, and leaned against the fender.

The sun was banked low in the sky. It had been a long drive. He put match to blunt and began smoking the world famous Blueberry Yum-Yum bud. He waited. The growers would come to him.

This is what the growers grew...Blueberry Yum-Yum bud. It was awesome. What made it even better? The pure extract that came only from the ‘milking shed’ of the Wizard Gargamel...freshly harvested Smurf tears.

This was the bottleneck in supply. It is a little known fact that freshly harvested Smurf tears form the essential ingredient of all pure blueberry extract which, has many legal uses, and can be obtained over the counter in Canada and on the Internet.

What was once bountiful was now scarce, however. This was the reason behind Operation Extract Extraction which involved the wholesale abduction of Smurfs to be used in the milking process for their freshly harvested tears.

Attempts to formulate a substitute had failed. The bastard offspring of the occasional union formed by a gifted grower and saucy Smurfette didn’t contain the necessary purity...

Low rumbles and robust grumbles signaled the growers advance through the forest.In terms of space...suddenly...

(Grumble, rumble-Rumble, Grumble)

Where once they weren’t...suddenly they were...

What separates a Garden Gnome from an everyday Gnome? Garden Gnomes grow kick-ass weed called Blueberry Yum-Yum bud. That’s what you need to know.

Oh...you should also probably know what a Garden Gnome knows...that Blueberry Yum-Yum bud...requires nothing gained from the ‘milking shed’.

This was not a sentiment borne of pity for the poor wretched Smurfs in the ‘milking shed’ that endured hours of eye speculum use and repeated viewings of Steel Magnolias...

No...It was a matter of pride in workmanship. Blueberry Yum-Yum bud required nothing gained from the ‘milking shed’...it was already awesome.

The Garden Gnomes were a quarrelsome and fractious lot as they neared the celebrated rap singer. Rather unpleasant was their mood...

(Grumble, rumble-Rumble, Grumble)

It was only the esteem, in which the Garden Gnomes held Ludacris, that got him out of this jam.

Face it...he had street creds and the Garden Gnomes respected that. Still, tempers flared and voices were raised...

“Yo, Yo, Garden Gnomes, Yo.” Argued Ludacris.

“Grumble, rumble-Rumble, Grumble,” Retorted the Garden Gnomes.

This went on for awhile. Eventually, Ludacris got in his car and took off down the forest path.

(Grumble, rumble-Rumble, Grumble)

In was then that the Government agents struck...

A dozen or more, government issued and equipped, S.U.V.s poured into the clearing.

The doors flew open and a good third of the beginning part of the alphabet piled out (with a noted bias towards vowels)...guns leveled...shouting orders...brandishing flashlights...

All the typical pageantry associated with such an event: A.T.F., D.E.A., and F.B.I. All of them.

Trailing these came...sirens blazing...sausages grilling...the Command Post R.V. and the I.H.O.P. Mobile Pancake Truck.

Above this bedlam C.A.M.P. helicopters circled menacingly.

They began rounding up those Garden Gnomes unable to make it to the forest...

Despite their best investigative efforts, however, the awesome Blueberry Yum-Yum bud remained safely secreted within the dark woods...

(Grumble, rumble-Rumble, Grumble).

The proprietress of The Haystack Store was unused to such supply disruptions.

In operation since 1928, they had weathered the Great Depression, World War 2, the Counter-culture of the 1960s, disco from the 1970s and, most recently, a Presidential run from Michele Bachman that people pretended had a chance...

Subtle signs really...delays in shipments...errors in packing...goods damaged upon arrival...odd warehouse accidents.

Truly...it would have gone unnoticed except for the singularity of the bottleneck.

It was becoming increasingly difficult to obtain the pure blueberry extract needed to make her lovingly made, hand-crafted confection...The Smurf-Stack.

A number of factors combined to obscure the paper trail. Collectively, it was known as ‘The Ripple Effect’.

The proprietress of The Haystack Store liked to drink ripple. As such...her shipping paperwork was in disarray.

The bottleneck she tended to concentrate on was the working end of a cheap bottle of wine...rather than the lost shipping documents from a waylaid freight carrier...

Still...awesome Haystacks!

I don’t judge about the ripple thing. In fact...I’m legally bound (by a real Judge) to stop pretending that I am a Judge. A shame really. I believe my time on the Bench had a salubrious effect on the concepts of judicial activism in a post-agricultural and pre-apocalyptic based economy....

I had driven from Reno, Nevada to Humboldt County, California in order to arrange for college transcripts for a prospective job interview. My options had been twofold; order them online with a credit card or in person with cash.

It was easier to get a car than a credit card so I loaded up a borrowed car and headed for Northern California. Internal CD player insisted on playing the theme song to, “The Beverly Hillbillies” for the entire fourteen hour drive.

Several times I had to stop Creative Voice from tossing him out onto the beautifully scenic U.S. 101 Highway.

My endeavors were successful. I love Humboldt State University. I briefly stomped the old grounds. Looked about...marveled at the changes. I headed home. I had to return the car and I had an additional stop I wanted to make...

For some reason...I had the munchies and the timing was propitious. I was passing the world famous Haystack Store. The parking lot was filled with bright blue buses and protesters. And Smurfs. A shitload of Smurfs...?

Ominously...Humboldt County Sheriff Deputies were setting up a defensive line established behind: Plexiglas riot shields, unreasoning hate, pure ignorance and the desire to use their newly issued billy-clubs...

An I.H.O.P. Mobile Pancake Truck pulls to the curb...

Normally, such a display of judicial force would have sent me scurrying along my legally constitutional way...not this time. The Haystacks were just that good.

“Are you kidding?!” Asked an alarmed Creative Voice. “What happened to the whole...scurrying about our legally Constitutional way? That’s always worked in the past...”

“Haystacks dude.”

Creative Voice had no argument. They were just that good. He eyed the police dogs nervously and began emptying his pockets...

“Oh shit,” I agreed, “Pockets...”

Cleansed of any potentially concealed “misunderstandings” we moved beyond the conventional and into the unconventional confectionary store. Were it not for the cotton-mouth...I would have been salivating.

We received jeers for our efforts from the protesting Smurfs...

As Creative Voice, Internal CD player, and I crowded into the store a small bell, hanging above the door, gave a discrete tinkle-tinkle to announce our entry...

It was like a magical world of Haystack wonderfulness. The tasty candies adorned the glass-enclosed shelves while ambient lighting occasioned a ‘fuzzy’ feeling. It was clean and smelled like a candy store...confections were being confected...

“Argh...” Creative Voice gave a strangling noise as he rushed to the counters...

Internal CD player switches on...The Doors...’Riders on the Storm’.

I observe the scene...

The establishment’s owner, The Haystack Store proprietress, was passed out in a chair behind the register. The discreet tinkle-tinkle of the doorbell proved unable to rouse her from...The Ripple Effect.

(Sleeping-snort, sleeping-snort)

There were two customers. They were drinking espresso and finishing off a plate of haystacks. Their gaze traced out the window as they watched the unfolding social upheaval in the parking lot.

I could tell they weren’t from around here. They wore Phrygian caps and talked Belgium...

(I understand that ‘Belgium’ is actually a country, staffed with Belgians, and not a language. I’m no philistine. However, that said...I was unable to distinguish if their patter originated from the northern Flanders region, where Dutch predominated, or if they hailed from the more southern Wallonia area where French prevailed.)

As such...I arranged for a simplistic mental construct to suit my needs. I’m an American. We do that. In my mind, they now... ‘talked Belgium...’

We got to talking...in fractured English. Their English was pretty good...mine looked like an 8^thgrade math test (a fraction reference). In my defense...I was ‘tired’ from the long drive...

Their names were Pierre and Andre. Pierre asked to be called Peyo...

We had entered into a lively debate regarding the relative merits of various breakfast foods.

Creative Voice was systematically plundering The Haystack Store’s available inventory of prepared Haystacks.

He would bring us plates before retreating to an empty table to devour his portion of the snacks...at one point he was crushing up the Haystacks on the table and snorting them...

(Haystack abuse-snort, Haystack abuse-snort)

(Sleeping-snort, sleeping-snort)

Pierre and Andre were in town to apply for a job with the International House of Pancakes, as translators. Talk of unemployment invariably led to a discussion of the protesters outside.

As a just-right-of-center member of the Democratic Party, I noted the left-ier positions of Pierre and Andre as regards worker’s rights...and societal responsibilities...

“So, you guys are Commies?” I ask Peyo.

(I understand that Belgium is actually a Constitutional Popular Monarchy with a complicated blend of Parliamentary parties that would be best described as left of center and (hardly) Communist. I’m no philistine. However, that said...I was inadequately versed in the finer nuances of their party system to correctly ascribe them a specific partisan affiliation with any hope of accuracy.)

As such...I arranged for a simplistic mental construct to suit my needs. I’m an American. We do that. In my mind, they were now ‘Commies’.

“Ah, no! Mon Ami!” Andre laughed loudly .“You Americans...always are applying simplistic mental constructs to complicated problems. Alas...You are Americans...that is what you do! That is very funny my friend!”

We toasted one another’s health with cups of purloined espresso. I like to think that the Atlantic Ocean got a little less wide as a result of our interaction.

It was then that that the parking lot turned deadly...

What was the actual trigger that started the Boston Massacre? The Shot heard Around the World? The Haymarket Riots of 1886? The Haystack Store Riots of 2011?

Pieced together; the surveillance tapes, inaccurate memories, and amateur cell-phone cinematographers caught the action...

The troubles appeared to start in the middle of the line for the I.H.O.P. Mobile Pancake Truck...

A Smurf got jostled. A cop overreacted.

Billy-clubs got used.

More than maple syrup was spilled that day...

We watched the melee unfold from the window while eating Haystacks...

(Crunch, crunch...Crunching, crunching)

Internal CD player...Black Eyed Peas... (From their breakout Elephunk Album)...”Where is the Love...”

Cops started punching Smurfs...Smurfs started punching cops...

(Punch, punch...Punching, punching)

(Haystack abuse-snort, Haystack abuse-snort)

(Sleeping-snort, sleeping-snort)

(Crunch, crunch...Crunching, crunching)

The two guys from Belgium began talking rapidly. In Belgium. I missed most of this as I continued to watch the carnage unfold. The I.H.O.P.Mobile Pancake Truck continued to serve breakfast...

Peyo turned to me and explained the situation...he was actually Pierre Culliford and his companion was Andre Franquin...creators of the Smurf franchise. They were going to talk the Smurfs down and end the riot...

“We have been hearing rumblings out of Smurf village as well,” Pierre confides. “Problems with Papa Smurf, if you can imagine that?”

I was surprised. Papa Smurf always seemed like a rock on the snippets of the cartoon I would occasionally catch on Saturday mornings. I was no expert. I had been in my twenties when the Smurfs rocketed to fame...I pretty much missed that train...

It was time to settle up with the proprietress of The Haystack Store before hitting that last stop. I still had to get the borrowed car back to Reno. Turning from the negotiations that were beginning in the parking lot, I surveyed the interior of the store...

The place was a shambles. Shelves were bare. Crockery was smashed. An old silver ornate samovar lay emptied on its side and dented on the top. Creative Voice lay passed out with his head inside it. Sugar crash.

I estimated the damage and gave what I could before dragging Creative Voice out to the car.

(Tinkle-tinkle) As we left...

(Sleeping-snort, sleeping-snort)

“Slpurpst...” She said as she woke up and looked around at her once pristine shop.

“What the fuck, Yo?” She gasped upon noticing the carnage. She notes the condition of her Grandma’s antique samovar...She notices the money. She counts it.

“What the fuck, Yo?” This was directed at the four dollars in her hand...

It had been eighteen years since I last attended Humboldt State University...but I believe it was the third turn-off to the right...

Not that I was going to the University. No. I was looking for the mushroom patch that I used to frequent which made attending Humboldt State University such a fun experience back in the day. It was moving on towards twilight...

I located the turn off and moved slowly down the narrow bumpy trail. Branches brushed the side of the car...the bouncing wakes Creative Voice...

“We almost there?” He asks yawning.

“Yeah...couple more bends I think...”

The lights swept across a rock that looked like a bear and I knew I was there. The trail opened up into a wide glade. The glade was occupied...

“WOOT! WOOT! PUFNSTUF! YO, YO!” Hollers Creative Voice out the window...

Within the clearing stood Marco Smurf, Mango Smurf and, surprisingly...H.R. Pufnstuf...they looked to be conducting a weed transaction.

According to my research, Marco Smurf was the go-to-Smurf if you wanted to obtain, what was euphemistically referred to as, ‘spices’. In his Old English hat and British accent...he hinted at the larger world outside Smurfville...plus...he scored killer ‘spices’...

No one would know that fact better then the Smurf standing to the left of Marco and immediately across from H.R. Pufnstuf...Mango Smurf.

Mango had lived in the tropics for years and typically would be represented in the cartoon series as wearing pajama bottoms and sandals. He likes peace and quiet...thus his relationship with Marco...

H.R. Pufnstuf, of course, needs no introduction. Whereas I largely missed the Smurf phenomenon...Pufnstuf, Creative Voice, and myself go way back. We’re friends.

In fact...I recall many a time the three of us would be in my bedroom, on the northwest side of Chicago, (Mom...being a single mom...would be at work), and we would smoke the morning away before beginning my chores.

In a nod to the sensibilities of the creators of the Pufnstuf television franchise...Creative Voice and I would be getting high...Pufnstuf would be doing what he did on the show. He’s a professional. But after the show...

Introductions were quickly made with those Smurfs I knew only by reputation and Wikipedia research.

I was surprised to see Tracker Smurf there as well. He had been concealed behind Pufnstuf’s bulk when we pulled up.

Tracker Smurf was relating the various activities that had occurred in the forest that day. From the D.E.A. raid on the Garden Gnome compound to the brutality being waged behind closed doors in the Smurf Administration Building.

I added the information that I had gleaned at the world famous Haystack Store...which...I understand...is now closed for renovations...

Creative Voice and Pufnstuf moved off to discuss old times. They were reliving the rerun of Episode 14, Season two when they heard noise coming from behind a bush...

(Grumble, rumble-Rumble, Grumble)

(OH! OH! Stick to my blue like glue you dirty gifted Gnome!!) This from an obviously amorous Smurfette...

(Grumble, rumble-Rumble, Grumble)

Pufnstuf looks at Creative Voice and whispers, “They’re smucking...”

Creative Voice and Pufnstuf dissolve into giggles...

Internal CD player makes his choice...The theme song to the Beverley Hillbillies... stops...clicks...swirls... two more clicks...Luther Vandross...

On the other side of the glade, the three Smurfs and I were engaged in more weighty pursuits...

Discussion of John Locke’s Two Treatise of Government and the demise of the Third Comintern, had transitioned into a feisty debate regarding the salubrious effects of judicial activism in a post-agricultural and pre-apocalyptic based economy. Eventually...I asked about the ability to score mushrooms on such short notice...

We were interrupted by a snatch of conversation...

Daryl Hannah and Olympia Dukaskis??

We followed the voices deeper into the woods. The horrors we found will be etched upon my psyche until the day I die. I shouldn’t have been so quick to eat those mushroom caps given to me by Tracker Smurf.

It was shaping up to be a rough trip...mushroom wise I mean...

It looked like a big mushroom but it would probably be better describes as...a milking shed?

We entered. The walls were covered in wide-screened plasma television sets. High end shit. Each set was playing the same movie...Steel Magnolias. It was horrific. I eat another cap...

We gently released the captured Smurfs and removed the eye speculums. The D.V.D. player was shut off and the disk removed. This was done in silence. We moved further into the building...

We find Weepy Smurf in a locked room. Dead. Drowned in his own tears. We move further into the building. I eat another cap...and two stems...

Perhaps the worst atrocities we commit against one another are the atrocities we reserve for those who are different. We found evidence of this in the final room we entered...

In a cage...the rarest of smurf...the albino smurf who yielded the crystalline tear of pure T.H.C. and (not incidentally) a dandy substitute for pure lemon extract for those interested in that type of commodity...

It is a little known fact that freshly harvested Smurf tears (from the rare albino smurf) form the essential ingredient of all pure lemon extract which, has many legal uses, and can be obtained over the counter in Canada and on the Internet...

The remnants of a tattered régime waited in a small clearing for their exit plans to come together.

When Peyo pulled into Smurf Village, at the head of the Blue Bus caravan...Papa Smurf knew the game was up...

He quickly published his political testament; thus, designating his successor...Pretentious Smurf...and activated his personal escape route...

In the madness that followed, papers were burned, artwork looted, and accounts closed.

Papa Smurf slipped out of the Smurf Administrative Building along with Alchemist Smurf, Stinky Smurf, Pushover Smurf, and Hefty Smurf.

Hefty Smurf had brought up the rear...

That had been six hours earlier. Stinky Smurf had, somehow, gotten separated and was hiding in a tree when he was found by an angry mob and torn apart.

It would be later revealed that the ever-present clouds of flies, which typically accompanied him, gave away his position...

The surviving leadership was on edge. The ‘Travel Agent’ was late. They were speaking in low voices when they heard the airplane. They all craned their heads skyward.

Call it an innate sense of survival...Hefty Smurf backs away from the group...

It was a cloudy night. Winds at higher elevations resulted in an ever shifting cloud patterns silhouetted against the illuminated moon...an illumination that was weak...

It was almost as if the celestial bodies were averting their faces in shame at the events they had witnessed this terrible day...

“THERE!” Cried out Alchemist Smurf.

Flying low, a Westland Lysander Mk III emerged from the clouds. The venerable aircraft, favored by British Intelligence during World War 2, for extraction of agents from behind enemy lines, was moving slowly with its Bristol Mercury air-cooled Radial engine straining for the effort...

Hefty Smurf slips into the forest...strips off his party uniform and is gone...

An object drops from the Lysander and falls a distance before a parachute deploys...

(A hundred yards away...the Wizard Gargamel’s cat, Azrael, hears the ruckus and begins to move in that direction...)

The moon glints off the slowly descending parachute. The three remaining Smurfs in the clearing: Papa Smurf, Alchemist Smurf, and Pushover Smurf had their attention directed skyward...

(Azrael stalks closer...)

The capricious clouds separated again and the weak moonbeam illuminated the parachutist...it was the ‘Travel Agent’...they could tell from the briefcase in his hand...

Papa Smurf had arranged with the Travelocity Gnome to flee the village in the event of a...

It was then that Azrael leaped into the clearing and shredded the disposed potentate and his rag-tag followers. The only thing remaining was D.N.A. evidence and a blue-clayed, smurfed-nosed .38 special...

A time of healing could only begin after the Smurfs took stock, reaffirmed that which was good and punished that which went bad...

Brainy was freed from Mushroom-house-arrest along with Granny and Grandpa Smurf.

In a historical coronation ceremony, he was elevated to the throne where he now reigns as King Brainy I.

Granny and Grandpa are named as regents.

Smurf Village adopted a form of government best described as a Constitutional Popular Monarchy. Yes...much like Belgium. Where they talk Belgium.

With so many victims, the Smurfs were at no loss for names and ideas when naming monuments and fountains. Two of the victims stand out, however.

The ‘milking shed’ was closed down, extensively renovated, and reopened under a new name... (And management) as...Weepy’s Water Park and Haystack Emporium!

The Haystack concession was granted in deference to the unauthorized use of Smurf trademark(s) in The Haystack Store’s naming of ‘Smurf-Stacks’. Which are yummy by the way.

Clumsy was found only after the water got really nasty. He was dead. He was not alone. The well had apparently served as the mass grave for the Papa Smurf Regime.

The bodies were left in place, the well sealed, and a new well drilled. Clumsy earned his share of bridges and municipal building named in his honor...

The trials were conducted quickly, brutally, and behind closed doors. Pretentious Smurf, Sloppy Smurf, and Pushover Smurf were tried, convicted and executed.

It was pointed out at the trial that Pushover Smurf was actually killed by Azrael and killing him again would be a bizarre form of double-jeopardy.

It was generally agreed that since he was ‘Pushover’ Smurf they could kill him as many times as they wanted...

Scaredy Smurf was executed and buried in an unmarked grave based on testimony supplied by Nosy Smurf.

All in all...small fries...

Hefty Smurf was tried and convicted in absentia.

Although he was seen leaving the Smurf Administration Building...the trail goes cold shortly after that.

His Party uniform was found in the woods...he may have hooked up with a saucy Smurfette...he wasn’t known as ‘hefty’ by the ladies for nothing...

Some reports placed him at Lehrter Station, outside Berlin, with Martin Bormann as that dirty regime burned down. These reports came from Nosy Smurf so they were largely discounted...

The Wizard Gargamel and Azrael retreated to the former’s godfather’s castle. Hidden behind Balthazar’s strong walls and protected by a moat-monster...they were untouchable.

Shortly after landing...the Travelocity Gnome was detained but with his corporate connections he was allowed to leave...William Shatner posted his bail...

I honestly don’t remember the ride home. I remember being responsible enough to designate a designated driver. I’m not sure my choice was responsible, I picked ...Creative Voice.

He doesn’t have a license. Also, he was driving angry...I had eaten all the mushrooms we got from Tracker Smurf.

It wasn't as if I had a choice really...I was whacked out on Smurf mushrooms and Internal CD player’s legs are entirely too short to reach the clutch.

I remember we hit a rock that looked like a bear. Several times. Once...there was a bear...that looked like a rock...chasing after us and throwing ice cream at the car...

I awakened to the roommates standing over my bed...I squint at them...

In an excellent example of the utilization of the journalistic rule of six...(plus a muffin), my roommates woke me with a barrage of questions, quizzical looks, and a muffin.

The muffin was good. Lemon... Their questions were confusing. My answers would have even more so...

“Who brought the naked Smurfette that’s passed out in our bathtub?” From Erika.

“What happened to my car?” From Jaime.

“When did H.R. Pufnstuf start randomly sleeping on our couch?” From Erika.

“Where did you get a D.V.D. of Steel Magnolias?” From Jaime.

“Why are Ludacris and his lawyers on our porch?” From Erika.

(And sometimes) “How...did you go to Humboldt County and NOT bring back any Haystacks??” From both of them...

I was entirely too out of it to adequately explain...I had Internal CD player explain...

He thinks about it...(click, click)...His choice is a good one. He chose Canada's power-trio rock-group, Rush. Perhaps best characterized as 'The Thinking Man's Rock and Roll Band'. "The Trees" begins to play...

I lay back...close my eyes and munch on my muffin as Internal CD player relates yesterday's events...

"There was unrest in the forest...there was trouble with the trees..."