“Smurfette?”
Papa Smurf’s voice rang out, where it seemed to be devoured by the night. Smurfette lay before him, motionless.
“Smurfette, are you all right?”
Smurfette was not all right, and Papa Smurf should have known that. After all, he was the one that smurfed her.
Smurfed her hard. She didn’t know what hit her.
Papa Smurf attemped to wrest the axe from Smurfette’s chest, but to no avail. He began to beat on the corpse in anger. He wanted his axe back, but the bitch wouldn’t let go of it. He pounded her face with his fists, staining them red. After a while he began to pant, pausing momentarily only to further shout obscenities towards her.
“You smurfing give me my axe! YOU GIVE IT BACK RIGHT THE SMURF NOW!”
Then it dawned on him. He had smurfed Smurfette. He had really done it. He’d always imagined doing it. At lunch, at dinner, at breakfast, during the Smurf meetings.. it was always on his mind, but he never thought he would actually do it. He was delighted. He lowered his face down to hers and gave her a long, slow kiss. He hoped she enjoyed it as much as he did.
“Smurf you, baby.”
He left then, his axe still within her.