There she was again.

For the third morning in a row, Mabel had completely ignored everything else around her and plopped down in front of the old TV with a bag of chips, watching...something. Dipper had no idea what; he didn't even know she had the capability to wake up at 6:00 AM on a routine basis. It took an act of Congress to get her up at 7:30 for school at home. As he watched – only slightly hidden by the door frame, but she was paying him no mind regardless – her eyes began to fill with the metaphorical stars and rainbows that signaled an onrush of unbridled happiness.

He wanted to see the show causing this reaction, but his sleepy mind, soothed by the noise of the rain outside, lacked the power to make him move. Instead, he resorted to eliminating possibilities. Tiger Fist never came on this early. Duck-tective was on summer break, and had been since last week. The weird black and white movie channel Stan loved to cry about appealed to neither twin in the least, and certainly wouldn't be filling Mabel's smile with exploding sparkles. Dipper was at a loss.

And it was because he lacked any answers that his brain and nervous system finally connected to make him walk. He half-stumbled into the living room, tripped over his own feet, and landed face-first on the carpet by Mabel's right knee. Only when she said nothing did he exert effort to right himself.

"Good morning to you too," he grumbled, rubbing his forehead. Again, no reply came; the look on her face was something close to reverence. He blinked before directing his eyes at the TV. "What are you watching?"

On screen was a man with an afro, palette in hand and standing before a canvas. The scene was braced by a completely black background. As Dipper stared, he started to paint – or rather, he continued painting. A mottled, blended clump of blue and white color was already on the canvas. "We're just gonna use the old round brush today," he said. "Let's tap in some clouds." As he tapped the brush against the fabric, a cloud shape appeared. "Clouds are very, very free. You put them where you want in your world."

"Oh my gosh," Mabel whispered, eyes bulging. "This guy is amazing."

"What the heck am I even looking at?" Dipper nudged her once, then twice as she simply rocked in place. "Mabel. Earth to Mabel Pines. Hello? Mabel?"

"This is a good exercise to teach you how to make some beautiful clouds."

"I wanna make clouds," she whined. "I can make clouds. I can make clouds that'll freakin' knock your socks off, you lovely man."

Dipper waved his hand in front of her face. She grabbed his wrist and made him yelp slightly. The look on her face was the one she got when she did not want to be bothered. "I'm not trying to interrupt, I just want a clue," he said with a nervous smile.

"Oh!" Mabel returned his expression and waved her other arm at the screen. "This is the best show ever!"

"Huh. You know, that doesn't really help." They watched the guy mix some paint on his palette. "Alazarin crimson? Pretty nifty name for a color."

"Now we just want to create the illusion of mist."

"Mist is awesome! I wanna make some mist!" Mabel toppled forward and rested on her stomach, chin propped on both hands. "Look at that mist, boy. That's some misty mist."

"I still have no idea what I'm looking at. Give me something here." He lost himself for a few moments as he watched afro-man paint. "That is some misty mist. How does he do that?"

"Magic. He says he's an ex-military guy that used to live in Alaska, but I don't buy it. He's a secret paint fairy from Mars."

"I see. Does the Martian paint fairy have a name? Does his show?"

"It's like, Bob, or something. Honestly, he could pick a better secret name. Hobart. Or Wilhelm. Something with fla—oh my goodness look at the foothills!" Mabel started to kick her feet, unable to handle the pure joy searing her veins. "Foothillsssssss..."

"You are enjoying this far too much." Dipper stealthily grabbed a handful of her chips as he kept watching. Mabel's goofy smile became too infectious to ignore. The longer he watched, the more he got into it. "Those really are trees."

"They live in your brush!" she exclaimed, abruptly sitting up. "You gotta push 'em out."

Confused, he grabbed another handful of chips. "Trees live in brushes. Noted."

"I think we'll put a happy little tree right here."

He jumped as Mabel began squealing at a frequency usually reserved for boy bands and the latest inane romantic comedy. She fell onto her back and reached for the ceiling. Her eyes appeared ready to launch out of her skull. "Thehappytrees," she whispered quickly. "I'm a happy tree!"

Dipper shook his head and reached over to lift her back up. "Pretty sure you're not a happy tree. You aren't even a regular tree."

"Like heck I'm not! I'm totally a happy tree. I knit happy sweaters and have a happy pig. I make everyone around me happy!" Her smile failed when she saw Dipper's blank expression. "If anyone around here isn't a happy tree, it's you," she huffed, folding her arms. "You gotta find your inner happy tree, man."

"Are you high?"

"Dipper Pines! I am insulted that you think I would do drugs. Besides Smile Dip. Does Smile Dip count?" She rubbed her chin in thought. "Whatever. The only thing I'm high on right now is this guy's awesomeness."

"Let's put in the indication of some sticks and twigs back here."

He looked over as a massive scowl formed on Mabel's face. "Why are you frowning?"

"When the twigs happen the show is almost over," she grumbled. "I'ma make a sad face now."

"You already are." He facepalmed as she tried to make her frown even frownier. "Stop that. You'll bend your braces or something."

Just as the show ended Stan appeared in the doorway, glaring down at the twins. "I sense excessive happiness," he said, looking at Mabel. "Good, you're frowning. It's a frowny day."

Not for long she wasn't. "Oh! Another one's coming on!"

"Another what?" Stan nudged the kids aside so he could plop down in the yellow recliner. "The Joy of Painting? I've heard of this. This guy is a total hippie."

Dipper was busy watching the opening sequence. "Bob Ross. Finally. Yeah, the name does seem familiar."

"Colors time!" Mabel dropped onto her stomach and watched them scroll across the screen. "Phthalo blue. Pfff. Puh-thalo. Hee. Hee hee hee."

"Watch, he cheats by putting paint down beforehand." Stan slid to the edge of his chair and glared. "Anyone can do this. You just smear some paint on some more paint and bam, artwork."

Mabel snapped her head around and pointed a finger that poked him right in the nose. "Grunkle Stan! How dare you malign the greatness of the Martian paint fairy!"

"I'm not even gonna ask where you got that." He turned her back around. "Look! Sky out of nowhere. He's totally cheating."

"Actually, I think I get what he's doing." Dipper cleared his throat. "The technique allows him to blend color and create different values without having to do the shading himself. It seems so easy because he's letting the paint do the work for him."

"Let the paint do the work for you. Just blend outward from the center."

"Yeah. Like I said." He nodded approvingly, only to shrink back when Stan and Mabel gave him odd looks. "What?"

"Dork." Mabel giggled. "Oo! Happy clouds time!"

"Oh, come on! Are you serious? How can a cloud be happy?" Stan sat back and rolled his eyes. "This guy should have gotten an actual job."

"And of course you can make a happy little buck to put in your pocket, too."

The old man made a noise so weird that both twins scrambled away from him and hid beyond the fish tank. "Uh...you okay? Did you finally swallow your dentures?" Mabel asked.

"People buy this junk?!" His eyes were glittering too; unlike the shine Mabel's had gotten, however, this glow took the rough form of a pair of dollar signs. "Kids, you ever painted before?"

Mabel's hand shot up. "I ate some paint in kindergarten once!" Dipper groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Close enough. We're going to town and buying some supplies. You kids are gonna—I mean, we're gonna paint until we drop. I'm sure your parents will appreciate the artsy-whatever exposure or something."

"Wait! We need canvas! Ses. Canvases. Canvii?" Mabel gave chase as Stan left the room. "And we need to buy the fairy's paint! It won't work if we get some cheap cruddy paint!"

"Since when do you care about painting?" Dipper called, only following them to the doorway.

Stan didn't even turn around as he scaled the stairs. "Since I realized it can make me money!"

Mabel huffed with disgust. "Dang it, painting is supposed to help you find your inner happy tree!"

"I'm not even gonna respond to that."

Dipper watched them disappear at the top of the steps. With a shrug and a yawn, he went back into the living room, sat down, and looked at the TV.

"I think we'll put a little path right here."

"I guess it could be cool to see the technique in action." As he watched, a smile spread across his face. "Heh. Stan interested in painting? That's a miracle. Maybe you really are a Martian paint fairy."