I don’t know… call it fan fiction?

Find the cost of Smurfdom

Buried in the ground

Papa Smurf will swallow you

Lay your body down

‘Twas a bight and sunny day in the Smurf village on a Saturday morning ’round eight o’clock. The trees were whispering in the gentle breeze, the butterflies were helping the flowers fornicate, and the Smurfs were cleaning out their mushroom houses for the spring.

“Gosh, Grumpy,” said Clumsy Smurf, “spring cleaning sure can be a chore!”

“I hate cleaning!” replied Grumpy Smurf.

Just then, Smurfette came slinking by, peddling her wares: A box of old books she had decided to give out to the whole village, in accordance with Papa Smurf’s Village Literacy Program.

“Hi, Fellas!” she said. “I was cleaning out my ‘shroom and found these books. Anybody want something to read?”

“I hate reading!” replied Grumpy.

Just then Brainy Smurf showed up, looking all smug and Republican.


“Your hatred of reading only exposes your ignorance!” he chided. “As Papa Smurf always says…”


Brainy awoke several hours later, lying by himself a few yards away from where he last remembered having been. He had suffered severe head trauma, and his collar bone was broken. He needed immediate medical attention. He tried to call out, but his throat was full of blood. Having been an avid reader, Brainy was smart enough to know that unless he was discovered soon, he would surely die. And even if he were to be discovered on this bright and sunny Saturday morning, was Smurf medicine advanced enough to repair the severe trauma to his head? Papa Smurf was good, but not neurosurgery good.  To make matters worse, his fall had broken his glasses, a jagged edge of which was now buried deep in his temple. He just noticed this before he blacked out again.

Meanwhile, Papa Smurf himself was busy with his own spring cleaning. He dusted the cobwebs from his bookshelves, and then polished his wand. After that, he got back to his cleaning, using a small woolly mammoth as a vacuum cleaner and idly humming to himself. He had just barely gotten halfway through the Smurf theme song when Smurfette burst into his ‘shroom, holding a box of books. Before he could tell her to go unload her crap elsewhere, she started:

“Papa Smurf! You can’t use a baby mammoth as a vacuum cleaner! Even an infant mammoth would be large enough to crush a Smurf with its toe!”

“Er, yeah…” Papa mumbled. “Ah, this is a pygmy mammoth, a, ah, very, very rare species… alright, I shrunk it with magic, you happy?”


“But where did you even find a wooly mammoth? For all intents and purposes, we live in medieval Belgium! There haven’t been any mammoths here for thousands of years!”

Papa Smurf threw down the mammoth’s trunk. “Dammit, woman, how do you even know what a woolly mammoth is?”

“I saw one in one of these books… which reminds me, do you want any books?”

Papa Smurf waved his hand around the room at the many books lining the walls and stacked on tables. “Do I look like I need any more books? That reminds me, I was going to tell you something: Go unload your crap elsewhere. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to dust my crystal ball.”

“Good Smurf, Papa Smurf!” declared Smurfette. “Couldn’t you at least wait until I leave?”

“Oh, Ha-Ha! Very funny. Nice attempt at a double entendre. Can I just finish my cleaning?”

Papa picked up his dusting rag and began wiping the ball, but as soon as he wiped away the dust he saw something that alarmed him.

“Holy Sh-sSmurfdom!” he cried. Smurfette ran over.

“What is it, Papa Smurf?”

“It’s Brainy! And he looks as though he’s been in an accident!”

“Oh, that was no accident…” Smurfette began, but then caught herself.


“Nothing. Hurry, we have to rescue him!”

Meanwhile, a small crowd of Smurfs had gathered outside Greedy Smurf’s mushroom, waiting in eager anticipation of that day’s tasty treats. Greedy Smurf’s delicious pastries were infamous in the village.

“I hope they’re sweet!” said Clumsy Smurf.

“I hope they’re free!” said Bum Smurf.

“I hope they’re sturdy!” said Sado-Masochist Smurf, slapping himself on the back of his assless leather chaps.

Suddenly, the door to Greedy’s hut swung open, and Greedy Smurf emerged, proudly carrying a tray laden with pastries.

“E-leven… Smurfberry… Pies!” he declared in a manner most officiating. But before the hungry crowd could approach, Papa Smurf and Smurfette tore past in a blue flash that left Greedy Smurf flat on his back, covered in sticky pies. Papa and Smurfette kept running.

“I hope we’re not too late!” said Papa Smurf

Smurfette wheezed in reply, thinking I gotta quit smoking.

    They arrived beside Brainy’s crumpled body and Papa Smurf knelt next to his fallen apprentice.

“Good Smurf!” he declared. “I ain’t never seen brains like that before!”

Smurfette went pale-blue. “Papa Smurf, what can you do for him?”

Papa carefully examined the bloody mush that used to be Brainy’s namesake.

“Well, right now all we can do for him is try to keep him comfortable. Unfortunately, this goes beyond my expertise. We’re going to need outside help.”

“Oh, but Papa Smurf — Who???”

Meanwhile, in the tower of the evil wizard Gargamel, the man himself was kneeling on a pentagram that had been painted on the floor.

“Oh, Great Satan!” he implored, “Tell me thy bidding, that I may be rewarded with the power to crush the Smurfs!”

The air began to feel static, and Asrael, Gargamel’s wretched cat, felt his fur stand on end.

“That’s it! That’s it, Asrael! I can feel it!” cried out Gargamel, and then continued his invocation: “Oh, Great Satan! Let me do thy bidding in exchange for the power to destroy the Smurfs!!!”

Satan appeared in a red puff, directly in front of Gargamel’s crooked nose. For a moment, the two just stared at each other, Gargamel in sheer terror; Satan in bored ambiguity. Finally, the Dark Prince spoke: “They’re like, eight inches tall and blue. You can’t spot them in the underbrush? I’d suggest you just get some rat poison. Now leave me alone.” And with that, the Father of Lies was gone, leaving Gargamel to drool on himself.

He was shaken out of his terrified stupor when a bird appeared at the window.

“Caw!” it said, dropping the tiny scroll it had carried in its beak onto the windowsill.

“Meow!” said Asrael, pouncing at the bird and nearly falling out of the window to his death when it flew out of the way. Fortunately for him, Gargamel still had good reflexes; he plucked Asrael from the open air before he could plummet and pulled him back inside.


“Killing the messenger, Asrael?” he sneered. “Good boy!” He dropped the cat with a thud and picked up the scroll. “Now what have we here?” he asked no one in particular, taking a jeweler’s glass from his pocket and examining the tiny parchment. “A letter? No one writes me letters! An invitation? No one invites me to anything…!” He unrolled the scroll and began reading. Slowly a smile spread across his evil lips. “…Except funerals!” And then he spent the next fifteen minutes cackling and mumbling to himself.

When he had regained his composure, he began talking to his cat. “Asrael, you won’t believe this! It’s a note from Papa Smurf asking for my help! It seems one of his disciples, a Branie or something, has suffered a severe head injury and he wants ME to help cure him! This is it! This is my chance to destroy that little blue cult! Did you know, Asrael, that Smurfs evolved from a species of oyster? Isn’t that disgusting? But now, finally, we can rid the earth of those little blue blasphemies! Death to the blue oyster cult!”

He had another laughing fit, and this time he could have sworn he heard Asrael laughing, too. When he had finally exhausted himself, he sat down and began composing a plan.

Meanwhile, back in the Smurf village, Brainy had been moved back to his hut and was now lying unconscious in his own bed, with his head a mass of blood-stained bandages. The stem of his eyeglasses still protruded from his temple.

“Duh, shouldn’t we pull that out, Papa Smurf?” asked Clumsy.

“Good idea, Braniac, why don’t you try it? Like he doesn’t have enough problems without us pulling out a chunk of his brain like a Smurfin’ freezy-pop!”

“Too bad we don’t have a Doctor Smurf, huh, Papa Smurf?” remarked Vanity Smurf as he gazed dreamily at himself in his mirror.

“Huh? Oh, yeah, too bad…,” muttered Papa Smurf as he checked Brainy’s bandages.

“I mean, we have all these other professionals…,” Vanity continued, “… bakers, carpenters, astronauts, hookers… but no doctor! Now why do you suppose that is?”

“’Dunno” Papa Smurf muttered as he carefully examined the eyeglass stem protruding from Brainy’s head.

“I mean, really, Papa Smurf…”

Papa spun viciously on Vanity, “Because this is medieval Belgium and I’m the closest you’ll come to a doctor, Sir Asks-A-Lot! Even if we do have a goddamn astronaut that we should just burn at the Smurfin’ STAKE because he makes us question our geocentric universe! So shut the hell up and quit tryin’ to steal my thunder! Now I gotta go perform a colonoscopy on Jokey Smurf.”

An hour later, Papa was sitting next to Jokey, who was curled up on his side in bed with his backside to Papa. Papa Smurf was wearing a pair of special goggles hooked up to a long, narrow line that ran down to a large coil on the floor and then back up behind Jokey. Jokey was looking very uncomfortable.

“Just relax, Jokey…”

“Is it much farther, Papa Smurf?”

“Not far now,” Papa reassured him. But Jockey was impatient.

“Is it much farther, Papa Smurf?” he asked again.

“Yes, it is!”

Just then Smurfette and a crowd of others burst through the door. Papa Smurf jumped and Jokey yelped. If he hadn’t been so blue his face would have been very red, but instead he turned purple.

“Papa Smurf!” yelled Smurfette, “Gargamel and Asrael are coming towards the village!”

“Fine, fine! But would you please knock next time?”

“But what are we going to do? How did he find us?”
“I sent him a map!” Papa Smurf replied, matter-of-factly.

The small crowd of Smurfs that had managed to force their way through the door stood in surprised silence. Finally, one of them spoke.

“Traitor!” declared McCarthy Smurf, pointing an accusing finger at Papa.

“Now calm down, my little Smurfs!” said Papa dismissively. “I asked Gargamel to come here to see if he could help Brainy!”

Gargasmell?” Smurfette said. “He‘s the outside help you sent for?”

“Who better?”

Smurfette stood agape. “Uhm, I don’t know! Big Mouth?”

“Speaking of Big Mouths,” said Papa, “close yours and listen: Gargamel may be a mean old wizard, but that doesn’t change the fact that he’s a capable wizard. Brainy’s injuries are beyond my abilities, but perhaps together Gargamel and I will be able to save him!”

“But Gargamel will kill us all!” yelped Panicky Smurf.

Papa Smurf just laughed. “I don’t think so! I told Gargamel that if he helped us, I would reveal to him the Smurf Treasure!”

The Smurfs looked confused. “What’s the Smurf Treasure, Papa Smurf?”

“That’s the beauty!” replied Papa. “There isn’t one! But Gargamel will think there is, and he won’t be able to resist the idea of all of those rubies and gold coins!”

“There aren’t any, though!” declared Oblivious Smurf.

“That’s just it, you moron! As long as Gargamel thinks there’s a treasure, he won’t hurt us until we show him where it is!”

“But what happens when we have to show him and he finds out we lied?”

Papa Smurf winced, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Look, Brainy needs help and he needs it NOW. We’ll worry about that after we fix Brainy. So just play along.”

The other Smurfs stood in what appeared to be stupefied silence.

“Soooo…” Smurfette finally ventured, “You’d risk the survival of the whole village just to save one Smurf?”

“I admit, I didn’t think this through all the way, alright? But the situation now is, Brainy is a vegetable and Gargamel is coming. Now let’s just deal with it as we always do, as Smurfin’ SMURFS!”

The raucous cheer Papa Smurf had expected did not erupt, so he just pushed through the stunned crowd and made his way out the door. The crowd eventually followed him, leaving Jokey Smurf whimpering on his bed, purple as an eggplant.

Outside, the crowd gathered timidly behind Papa Smurf as they watched Gargamel approach the village with a brown sack slung over his shoulder.

Probably to carry off all that non-existent treasure!’ Papa Smurf mused to himself.

When Gargamel finally reached the small cluster of blue vermin, he just stood, silently fighting off the urge to just start stomping with his big red shoes. It was Papa Smurf who finally broke the awkward silence.

Blue_Plague_Song_Dance (1)

“Gargamel, old friend!” he said, extending his little blue hand. “So nice of you to come on such short notice…”

Gargamel twitched. Papa continued, unabated.

“I realize we’ve had our disagreements in the past, but I know we can put it all behind us and work together to save Brainy.”

A small glob of drool was gathering at the corner of Gargamel’s mouth. Papa Smurf slowly withdrew his hand.

“Er, and, of course, if you help us, I will show you the super-valuable Smurf Treasure!”

At the word “Treasure” Gargamel broke from his stupor. “Papa, ol’ pal! Lovely to see you again! And all the rest of you… s-sSmurfs… lovely. Yes. I agree we should put our petty differences aside for the good of this Branie…”

“Brainy,” Papa corrected him. Gargamel didn’t miss a beat.

“Yes, poor little guy. Um, where is the patient?”

The Smurfs led Gargamel to Brainy’s mushroom hut, and Gargamel tried to suppress his disgust. They live in FUNGUS, for God’s sake!

    Asrael, for his part, was keeping himself under control. Gargamel credited this to the stern lecture he had given the cat before they had arrived on the importance of treasure and all the fish it could buy. In reality, Asrael just wasn’t sure Smurfs were actually edible. They smelled of mold.

A crowd had gathered around them as Hefty Smurf and three of his burly buddies brought Brainy out of his ‘shroom, bed and all, so that Gargamel could examine him. When Gargamel saw what had become of Brainy’s head, a surge of delight went through him. So they CAN be killed!

    “As you can plainly see…” began Papa Smurf, trying to sound like he had an understanding of neurosurgery, “the damage is quite extensive.”

“Yes,” slathered Gargamel, “Quite extensive indeed.” He knelt down to get a closer look at the little blue and red blob, picking up a small twig. Feigning interest, he began gently poking the lump. “What’s that sticking out of his head?”

“The frame of his glasses,” offered Smurfette.

Glasses? Thought Gargamel. But this is Medieval Belgium!

Finally, Gargamel stood.

“Can you help him?” asked Papa.

“Oh, yes, yes yes yes…,” replied Gargamel, dropping the sack he had been carrying and rummaging through it. “Yes, yes, of course I can help!” He eventually pulled out a large shovel and raised it over his head. “All little Branie needs is a visit from Doctor Shovel!”

“No!” cried the Smurfs as he began to bring the shovel down.

“Treasure!” shouted Papa Smurf, and Gargamel halted his shovel in mid-swing.

“Oh… yes, the treasure,” said Gargamel, as if coming out of a trance. “The treasure. Where, exactly, IS this treasure?”

All of the Smurfs looked expectantly at Papa Smurf, who suddenly felt very uncomfortable. “Well, the, ah, the treasure, you see, is, um… here, someplace…”

“Someplace where, exactly?” Gargamel hissed as he took a step closer to the Smurfs, who all took a step back. All eyes returned to Papa Smurf, who was himself now turning purple and sweating profusely.

“The treasure, is, ah… buried…”


“Is in the village…”

“Buried in the village?” said Gargamel. “Well then…!” He turned and rummaged in his sack once more, this time producing a bullwhip. “You’d better get to work!” He cracked the whip, and despite the size of the thing itself its tip was still fine enough to flay a Smurf. Gargamel had had it made to his specifications. Soon Vanity Smurf was lying on the ground, screaming and clutching the shredded remains of his once-beautiful face.

“He ain’t pretty no more!” cackled Gargamel and raised the whip again. The Smurfs started to dig, a few going to find shovels, and the rest just starting with their hands.


Several hours later, as the sun slowly started to disappear behind the hills, the Smurfs had managed to dig several feet into the ground. When one collapsed, the rest simply dug around him. Despite the size of the village, only three shovels could be found. The other Smurfs had to make due with sticks and rocks, which quickly wore their little blue hands down to little red nubs. The shovels were shared, but three shovels among a hundred Smurfs were really no help at all.

“This is horrible!” Smurfette was whimpering for about the millionth time. “Do something, Papa Smurf!”

“Fine, I’ll have a Smurfin’ heart attack, how would that be?” Papa snapped back. “What am I supposed to do? Tell him there’s no treasure? He’ll cut me in half with that whip! No, I think we should stick with my plan of just digging, and when we get to China, run for it and blend into Chinese society.”

“But Papa Smurf…!”

“Call me Changpu!”

“…We can’t keep this up! We’re exhausted! We’re dying!”

“I hate digging!” said Grumpy Smurf, who hadn’t said anything in a while.

Just then Jokey Smurf appeared, still in his pajamas but looking fully recovered from his earlier exam. He began climbing up the back of Gargamel’s long, black robes, struggling to keep his grip on the small yellow package he carried. Gargamel continued to focus his attention on his army of little blue slaves, cracking his whip to keep them in line or himself entertained.

“Look!” the Smurfs whispered to one another as they saw their small, wily friend appear on Gargamel’s shoulder. “It’s Jokey!”

“Well where the Hell has he been for the last three hours?” bitched Papa Smurf. “We’ve been dying out here!”

Jokey stood and tapped Gargamel on the cheek.

“Henh…?” started Gargamel, “What the…”

Jokey handed him the little yellow package with the big red bow on top. Gargamel, startled out of his reveling in Smurf misery and thusly distracted, took the little package and studied it. A present? He pulled the little red bow and BOOM!


Gargamel looked mildly startled, his eyes wide in the black soot that covered most of his face. The explosion of the little ordnance having been just enough to rouse him from his momentary confusion, Gargamel swatted Jokey off his shoulder. Jokey landed hard in the ditch with a bone-crunching thud.

“That’s it!” screamed Gargamel. “No more Mr. Nice Wizard!” He drew back his whip and with a mighty flick of his wrist eviscerated three Smurfs. As their entrails spilled onto the upturned soil, the other Smurfs cried out: “Papa Smurf, why have you brought this horror down upon us?!”

Papa Smurf couldn’t take it anymore. He threw down the shovel he had plucked from Smurfette’s dead hands. “Hold it right there, Gargamel!” he said. Gargamel drew back his whip once more, taking aim at those little red pants.

“Go ahead and kill me, Gargamel, but if you do, you’ll never get the real Smurf treasure!”

This stayed the evil wizard’s hand.

“The REAL treasure?” he hissed.

“Yes,” said Papa, and a gasp went round the pit. Papa Smurf sighed. “The Smurf Treasure is…”


“…FRIENDSHIP!” declared Papa Smurf, mustering every last ounce of his failing strength to throw his arms wide as if expecting a big hug. “Friendship, Gargamel, is the real treasure! The more friends a man has, the richer he is! So why not let us go and be our friend, and you will be one hundred…”

“58!” Morbid Smurf corrected him.

Papa Smurf clenched his eyes tight and let out an angry sigh. “Yes, thank you. …58 friends richer!”

At this, all the Smurfs let out a cheer. Well, it was more of a collective wheezing sound, but the sentiment remained.

“So come and sing the Smurf song with us!” cheered Papa Smurf, turning and raising his hands to conduct his little Smurfs in song. They looked back, bleary-eyed and broken. One spit up a quantity of blood while two others collapsed.

“La…!” was the last thing Papa Smurf said before Gargamel brought the shovel down.

Gargamel went black for a while, but when he returned to himself, all was quiet again. It was just he alone, standing by a pit full of red and blue goo. Even Asrael had been scared off by this final release of ages-old rage. Gargamel sighed with a deep sense of satisfaction, and began throwing dirt into the pit on top of his tiny victims. Was it genocide? Zooicide? What do you call it when you wipe out a whole species? he thought peacefully as he patted the soil down on the little mass grave. It didn’t matter now. All that mattered was that he had done it. He had fulfilled his Oath to the Almighty and wiped that little blue scourge from God’s green earth, and now he could return back into the fold. He could quit his dealings with darkness and return to the Light.

As he strolled westward into the setting sun, he thought bemusedly to himself how things sometimes work out. All of that time, all of that planning, and in the end the Smurfs had wiped themselves out. Gargamel knew a few things about forensics, and he knew that Branie couldn’t have sustained those wounds accidentally. No sir, that Smurf had been thrown. And what other woodland creature is going to throw a Smurf except another Smurf? As Asrael scampered up behind him and joined him on his return, he wondered: Who had done it?

Meanwhile, back in the Smurf’s village, deep in the cavernous nest within Smurfette’s now vacant, bookless mushroom… her eggs were hatching.


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