In
junior high school, in
wood shop, we created such
masterpieces/
abominations as
amputee smurf and
flattened smurf, not to mention i-can't-breathe-i'm-covered-in-
lacquer smurf. They don't like me.
Later, in high school, i had a friend-styled-boyfriend maybe kinda sorta, who frequently asserted he was a smurf. He said that if you rubbed off the paint, his skin was blue underneath. Later that year, he disappeared, and when he reappeared, i found out he'd tried to kill himself, then spent some time without shoelaces in a retreat. After that, he didn't have much to say about smurfs.