To me, the Smurfs were an ambient childhood experience like the smell of apple juice, Cheerios, and urine. They were something I never consciously stepped towards or moved away from, they were just kinda around for a long time, and then gradually faded away.
The Smurfs were on for four hours every Saturday morning, and I never knew anyone who begged their Dad to set up the Betamax to tape the Smurfs. Kids just ended up watching the Smurfs the way that drunk people end up eating at Denny’s. Nobody does that on purpose either.
But live-action Smurf-themed porn … that’s something to SEE.
You heard me. I said live-action Smurf porn. As in, a bunch of adults wearing blue bodypaint head-to-toe, little white hats, a dude in a red hat and cotton beard as Papa Smurf, a Gargamel and a zoned-out woman playing Smurfette.
The great thing about being a moody dude who spends most of his life online is this: you’re sittting there, all grumpy and tired, feeling your ass expand and wondering where all the adventure went when all of a sudden ANOTHER juvenile, frustrated man-child who you have never met face-to-face sends you something so alien and fucked-up that all of a sudden everything is new again and that feeling of shock and just WRONG shoots through your veins and you get to run tell everyone.
If you want to see the video yourselves, with the FULL UNDERSTANDING that this is absolutely, positively, NOT SAFE FOR WORK, you can do it here:
For those of you that can’t view it at work, I’ve written up a little transcript of the action. The dialogue’s in Spanish, though, and I don’t speak Spanish. However, I’m fairly certain that the dialogue in this little masterpiece is not going to reveal any meaningful hidden subtexts beyond the plot that I’ve sketched out for you here.
Reasonably Well-Built Smurf and Smurfette are having a little chat in the forest when somehow, Reasonably Well-Built Smurf strings together a combination of words so simultaneously erotic and BORING that Smurfette pulls down the front of his pants and indulges herself in the most mechanical round of joyless, uninspired tonsil-flossing that I’ve ever seen.
Reasonably Well-Built’s friend, Stand-In Smurf rocks up, technically cuckolded I’d guess, but arguing his point with all the passion of a Lamborghini salesman cleaning out a microwave. It’s like the two male smurves (?) are roommates arguing over whose turn it is to empty the lint filter in the dryer — something so picayune and principle-based that it takes more strength to keep disagreeing than to just settle the damn thing. And like so many other tiny roommate power struggles the world over, it quickly turns into a three-way.
Smurfette does a quick, abstract impersonation of a set of Chinese finger-cuffs for a few seconds before the film cuts to one of the blue men frantically flailing his failing member while the other guy dejectedly thumps Smurfette from behind.
Then Papa Smurf hits the scene, resplendent in curly white beard and signature white hat The effect is ridiculous and completely unnerving. “Hey guys, I need all those boxes on the left side of the warehouse moved to the right side by the end of the day,” he probably says, “and then I’m going to need you to make a few changes to people’s job titles on the Intranet.”
“Aw, boss, c’mon,” the other Smurfs say, “we were just making a Smurf sandwich for lunch like we always do every day at this time, day after day, every day, for hundreds of years.”
“Step aside, lads,” Papa Smurf says, “I’ll show you how it’s done.” Papa Smurf climbs aboard, and we are briefly treated to a Godless, unnerving POV of EXACTLY what it must look like to be mounted by a man wearing full-body blue makeup, a cotton beard and a ridiculous red hat.
And then, for a moment there, everyone stands around tunelessly whistling the Smurf’s theme song. Except for Smurfette, who is half-heartedly resucitating one of the Smurf’s limp, now-caucasoid-colored member. Then Gargamel busts on the scene, chases all the dudes off, gets Smurfette on all fours and starts unsympathetically stacking logs in her basement like a cruel lumberjack who’s just working hard for the weekend.
Fade to black.
It’s like a meteor that crashed in the backyard, cracking a bunch of glowing green ooze all over the lawn. So here I am with some of the ooze on a stick, saying “wanna see wanna see” and even though you might be like “EWWW, yuck, I’m telling,” you know you’re gonna peek through your fingers and run tell your friends — and for a few minutes we’re all gonna be kids playing again.