Smurf Village buzzed with joyful sounds in the middle of a vast forest, during the annual harvest festival. Sixteen little blue creatures danced around in white pants and floppy white caps. Giving thanks to the rain god for bringing plenty of rain, and the sun god for bringing enough sun to grow the plants that fed the other forest creatures, whose fecal waste fertilized their mushroom crops. Papa Smurf led his loyal disciples in a traditional folk dance while singing their favorite magical tune:
"La, la, la-la-la-la, sing a happy song,
La, la, la-la-la-la, Smurf the whole day long
La, la, la-la-la-la, Smurf along with me!"
Every Smurf smurfing loved that song . . . except for Grumpy and Brainy. Those two guys were always out of sync with the usual mind-numbing Smurf harmony. Grumpy was getting sick and tired of pretending to be happy all the time. He turned to whisper in Brainy's left ear.
"Damn, I hate this stupid smurfing song. Let's go to my place and crack open a cold one."
"What an excellent idea," Brainy replied. "This poorly composed juvenile ditty is also getting my goat."
They snuck away from the village green in-between songs, and went to Brainy's small thatched-roof hut on Melody Lane. Brainy tapped a keg of jukkaberry wine and poured it into two wooden cups.
"Cheers, Grumpy!"
"I hate saying cheers," Grumpy grunted. They sat down on a brannabird feather sofa and sipped that bitter tart brew.
"I hate everything about this smurfing Smurf Village," Grumpy grumbled. "We eat nothing but fungus, drinking nothing but scuzzy moonshine, and do nothing but harvest and dance, harvest and dance, harvest and dance!"
"I also disdain this primitive pastoral enclave. A smart Smurf like me needs a broader field to exercise his intellectual faculties."
"I hate the way you talk."
"I love how you hate
every
thing," Brainy chuckled.
"You know what I hate most about my pathetic smurfing life?"
"That Papa Smurf put up a magical force field to keep us from using any swear words besides 'smurfing'?"
"No, something much worse. I hate how there's only one female Smurf . . . and she won't open her legs for smurfing
anyone
!"
"Ah yes, that's quite a frustrating conundrum. How does Smurfette expect us to repopulate the village if her uterus is closed for business?"
"I hate repopulation. I just wanna smurf the smurf out of that hot blonde, and bust my blue Smurf balls all over her blue face."
"Me too, Grumpy. I dearly wish to spray my Smurf spunk on her lovely visage," Brainy sighed. He took another sip and went over to a shelf full of books. "I've been doing a lot of research behind Papa Smurf's back, and I've learned that there's many more Smurfs in distant lands."
"
Really
?" Grumpy gasped in shock.
"Yeah, really. In fact, there's over ten million Smurfs living in a huge village a hundred miles down the river. They call it 'Paris.'"
"
Paris
? What kind of stupid smurfing name is
that
?"
"Well, they're a lot smarter than we are, with democratically elected officials who actually give a smurf about their Smurfs. There's tall buildings all over the place, and scientific endeavors that would blow your backwater mind."
"Oh my smurfing god! Why didn't Papa Smurf tell us we weren't alone in the universe?"
"He wants to keep us ignorant, to keep us loyal. We've been slaving away for a creepy old wizard, picking mushrooms for no pay to fatten his treasure chest."
"Smurf that smurf. Blue Power!"
"Right on, brother. Why don't we sneak away from this godforsaken hellhole, and start a brand new life in Gay Par-ee?"
"You know I ain't gay, Brainy. I'd be smurfing Smurfette every smurfing night, if she let me."
"I wasn't using 'gay' in the sexual sense of the word. I was using it in the archaic superlative sense, to describe mirth and merriment."
"Whatever, you smurfing nerd. Let's get the smurf out of this dump, and have a gay old time!"
Grumpy and Brainy packed their meager possessions and a pound of golden nuggets into two bindles. They stealthily exited the only village they ever knew, marching a mile through the thick forest to a rushing mountain river. They untied a canoe and paddled westward through whitewater rapids.
"Damn, what a wild fucking ride!" Grumpy shouted.
"Holy shit, Grumpy. You just fucking instead of smurfing!"
"So did you. I guess we're out of range of Papa Smurf's magical censorship."
"Hip-hip-hooray, calooh, callay! Liberty, fraternity, equality!"
"Fuck you, Papa Shit! Blue Lives Matter!"
"Stay blue, stay woke!"
The river gradually calmed down and spread out. Five hours later, the skyline of Paris appeared on the horizon.
"God damn, Paris is fucking huge. What the hell is that giant metal thingy?"
"They call it 'The Eiffel Tower.'"
"It looks like a lightning rod to gather energy for magic spells."
"No, these civilized Smurfs stopped practicing sorcery three hundred years ago. It's supposed to be a monument to scientific progress and Smurfish enlightenment . . . but it's really just a kitschy tourist trap."
"God damn, bro. I wish we moved here a lot sooner. With your brains and my attitude, we're gonna make this town our bitch!"
They tied up their canoe on a pier in the heart of Paris, and exchanged their golden nuggets for Euros at a bank on Boulevard du Palais. They turned right on Rue de Rivoli, strolling past many elegant boutiques and cafes, with lots of fashionable Parisian lady Smurfs. They ordered some hot buttery pastries at Cafe Carrete, a historic building from the age of Napoleon Smurfaparte.
"Oh my fucking
god
. This chocolate eclair is way better than those fucking mushrooms that Papa Smurf shoved down our throats," Grumpy beamed with a mouthful.
"Quite an epicurean delight, I must agree. And those dolled-up Parisian ladies are far more attractive than Smurfette," Brainy replied.
"Them bitches are ridonculous, bro. It must be something in the water."
"Perhaps a high concentration of diacetyl cyclopentenolone, stimulating estrogen production in their ovaries."
"I hate chemistry, but I love those civilized hoes."
They strolled further down the Seine, turning northward on Boulevard de Clichy and entering the Red Light District, the sleaziest part of Paris. Red lanterns were hung in various doorways, with absurdly dolled-up Smurfs loitering about.
"What are all those red lights supposed to mean?" Grumpy asked.
"They're a subtle way of indicating a house of ill repute to wayward gentlemen."
"Say
what?
"
"Whorehouses, you simpleton. Brothels, knocking shops, pussy kennels, however you spell it."
"Red is my favorite color," Grumpy chuckled.
They caught a sexy show at the Moulin Rouge, bedazzled by over-the-top singing and dancing. Afterward, they turned a corner onto Rue Saint-Denis, and beheld a very ridonculous lady Smurf in a red glittering sequin dress. Big blue eyes, long shiny ginger hair, perky tits, and wide child-bearing hips. Her skin was shinier than ripe blueberries after a summer storm. Their jaws dropped open in utter admiration. She giggled sweetly and struck a seductive call girl pose.
"
Bonjour messieurs
, you look lost. Can I help you . . . find something?"
"Uh . . . yes, madame," Brainy replied awkwardly, horny as hell. "We just arrived in Paris, and, uh . . . and, uh . . . "
"You're a bunch of hicks from the wine country boondocks, looking to score some tail in the City of Lights?"
"Hell yeah, bitch!" Grumpy grunted. "How do you know we're from the countryside?"
"Because of your floppy white caps. Nobody wears those in Paris anymore, except on Bastille Day."
"What the hell is Bastille Day?"
"Never mind my uneducated companion, madame," Brainy said haughtily. "Let's get down to business, shall we?"
"
Oui monsieurs
," she beamed. "
If
you pay me a hundred Euros apiece."
"A bargain price for a drop-dead bombshell," Grumpy said suavely.
"Come on, let's go inside and get better acquainted." She grabbed those hillbilly Smurfs by the hand and led them into a "house of ill repute," full of hooker Smurfs getting hammered. She led them up a flight of rickety stairs, hearing the muffled sound of moaning, groaning, and ass-smacking.
"My name is Peya. What's your name,
mon chérie
?"
"I'm Brainy Smurf. And this grumpy fellow is Grumpy Smurf."
"How convenient, having two-syllable names that describe your personalities to a T."
"I hate my stupid-ass name," Grumpy grunted.
Peya led them into a small room with a king-size bed. She immediately lifted her sequin dress over her shoulders, with nothing underneath.
"Daayum, girl! That ass is juicier than a jukkaberry," Grumpy beamed, with a big bulge rising in his white pants.
"Your bosoms are utterly divine, like a pair of feather pillows for the sun god Himself," Brainy added dreamily.
"
Merci, les garçons
. I jog five miles a day along the Seine," Peya replied proudly. "Now show me your little Smurf
bâtons
."
"Yes, ma'am!" they replied in unison. They yanked their pants down simultaneously, with a pair of blue dicks springing out in her direction.
"Mmm, those cocks look
très magnifique
. I'm gonna suck 'em like lemon bon-bons."
Peya dropped down on her knees and shoved Grumpy's dick in her mouth while stroking Brainy's dick with her right hand.
"Awww
yeaaaah
, bitch!" Grumpy growled. "Keep munching that big blue baguette!"
"What a superb performance, madame!" Brainy beamed. "This is the finest handjob I've ever received.
Well
