Smurfs belong to Peyo.
Every once in a while, starting from the moment you wake up, the universe decides to warn you that you're going to have a bad day. Now, the universe doesn't convey this with overly grandeur displays of an approaching Armageddon. You won't get fireworks, a meteor shower, or a sudden implosion of the sun. A good example of what will happen can be shown through the events of Hefty Smurf's wonderful (read: despicable) morning.
For a few seconds, Hefty thought it would be a regular, average day. For a few blissful seconds, nothing was wrong. Then he became conscious enough to notice the extraordinarily painful crick in his neck. He winced as he sat up, breathing heavily through his mouth because his nose was plugged up with a disgusting amount of mucus.
He stumbled out of bed, dragging himself to the bathroom for a tissue. There, he made the happy discovery that he had forgotten to flush the toilet the night before. Gagging, he scrambled for the plunger conveniently located next to the bathtub. He gently lowered the red rubber device into the thick, slushy mess that had to have been blessed by Satan himself, willing his gaze not to drift downwards ("Oh smurf, is it purple?").
It was only his nerves of steel that kept his appetite intact. He made his way down to the kitchen, cursing as he tripped on a bucket on the way there. Limping, he finally closed the distance between himself and the cupboard, only to discover that the smurfberry jam had leaked out onto the toaster, leaving both items useless. The final straw was the revelation that the only parts of the bread loaf left were the ends. It was then, as he sat there eating squishy, plain bread, that he came to a miserable conclusion.
It's going to be a very bad day.
Dusting the crumbs off his fingers, he considered going back to bed for the rest of the day. No one would really mind if he got a day off... But no, that wasn't how he did things. He wasn't going to let a little bad luck get him down. After all, the only difference between a good and a bad day is your attitude, right?
Puffing out his chest, Hefty marched out the door like a soldier marching off to battle. He was halfway to the town square when he noticed how quiet it was. Where were all the other smurfs?
I must have gotten up earlier than I'd thought, he realized. Whistling merrily, he walked past his friend's mushrooms, feeling responsible and mature and loads of other hogwash. Passing through the empty town square, he found his way to the bridge over the river Smurf. He happily began lifting logs and nailing down boards, still whistling.
Then, he made a mistake most of us make only once, when we're five years old. He pulled the very bottom log out from under the unstable pile of wood. And, like the apples that spilled all over your mother's grocery cart when you did the same thing in the produce section, the logs rolled and tumbled over each other...
...right into the river Smurf.
Cursing, Hefty ran to the edge, bending over to watch his supplies float away. Meaning that he didn't see the final log racing towards the edge to join it's brothers, merely wondered why he was hearing a rumbling sound behind him.
Then it hit him.
Hefty screamed as he plunged into the rushing water, sputtering and splashing helplessly. The water was freezing, the sun not having chased away the chill it had collected during the night quite yet. By the time he had swum to shore, he was shivering, soggy, and feeling decidedly wretched. Panting, he leaned against a tree to catch his breath. As his heartbeat slowed, he slammed his head against the tree in frustration.
Far above him, the vibrations that sprung from his masochist-action caused a branch to crack and fall, taking the nest of bees down with it.
"GYAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!" Hefty leapt to his feet, swatting at the angry bugs. He turned tail and ran, crashing through bushes and stumbling over rocks in an effort to get away from the stinging nuisances.
When he came to the edge of a swamp, he didn't even think of hesitating. With a cry of desperation, he jumped into the thick, murky bog water. The bees decided getting revenge on the big blue monster wasn't worth drowning in putrescent gunk. They quickly flew away.
Hefty popped out of the water like a maggot out of an egg. He stood there for a moment, covered in sludge, and wondered what deity he had offended so badly. He briefly considered standing there until nightfall, when the day would be over, and he could go home and not arrive in extreme pain. But ultimately, he chose to halfheartedly drag himself onto dry land.
The minute he had solid ground under his feet he collapsed into a puddle of mud. He just couldn't get a break could he? In the sky, a large bird of prey let out a cry as it spotted fresh prey. When he heard the rustle of wings flapping he scrambled to his feet and took off just as a hawk tore up the ground he had previously occupied.
Why me? he thought as he ran for his life. What did I ever do to deserve this?
When he stumbled and fell he thought for sure that it was all over. He was going to get torn apart and eaten by a glorified turkey. There was no way he would survive.
So imagine his surprise when something, he didn't know what it was, appeared out of smurfing nowhere and sent the bird zooming off in a flurry of bloody feathers.
Hefty stared dumbfounded at the creature with a smurf-like build and glowing red eyes. Then, just as suddenly as it had materialized, it vanished.
Overwhelmed by the rapid series of horrific events, Hefty simply continued to burn holes in the place where the creature had stood with his eyes.
Intrigued, Hefty got up followed the thing through a patch of bushes, only to find himself in front of a tall, twisted walnut tree.
He paused beneath its branches. How appropriate that he had chased a monster to a tree that was often told to house evil spirits in ancient mythology. When Hefty heard the branches of the tree creak, he looked up to make sure that the stinkin' piece of wood wasn't gonna fall on him.
He didn't expect to see Nat hanging from the branches by his undersmurfs, though.
He really tried not to laugh, he really did. But it was such a relief that somesmurf, somewhere, was having a bad day too. So he laughed until tears streamed down his face and his lungs burned. "Ha ha ha! Nat, would you (snicker) mind explaining why you are (chuckle) hanging in a tree (snort) by your undersmurfs!"
"Alright, you little hickory nut, stop smurfin' get me down from here!" Nat was obviously annoyed.
"Alright, alright, calm dow-"
A loud cracking sound was the only warning the branch gave before it broke under the smurfling's weight. And down, down, down the ridiculously large and painful-looking stick came, only stopping to tackle Hefty in a big, destructive hug.
When the dust settled, Hefty was crushed under a mixture of splinters and smurfling.
"Uhhh, Hefty? Are you alright?
A despondent moan was his answer.
"Good, cause we still need to find my pants."
Another moan.
When they had found Nat's clothing, Hefty decided to take both himself and the kid back to the village. Hopefully the ground wouldn't explode by the time they got there.
However, believe it or not, they actually made it back to the village in one piece. Although Hefty, covered in a mixture of mud, swamp sludge, bee stings, and water attracted quite a few stares on his way through the village. When Papa Smurf saw them, his eyes nearly fell out of his head.
"My smurfness! What on smurf happened to you?"
Nat quickly sped off to the house he shared with the other smurflings, leaving Hefty to explain by himself.
"I was down by the river, working on the bridge, when-"
"What do you mean, 'working on the bridge'? It's Halloween, I gave everyone the day off. Most of them slept in, so they could stay up late and go trick-or-treating tonight."
Hefty froze, stunned beyond belief.
A day off.
A day everyone else spent in bed, like he should have been doing. Like he'd wanted to do in the first. Smurfing. Place.
Papa watched, concerned, as nerves-of-steel, will-of-iron Hefty smurf broke down and started sobbing like a smurfling.