Smurf Quotes

I’ve been Obeahed by an Obeahman? Is this like how the Smurfs say they smurfing smurfed all the time?

I don't know who Azazel is," he said. "Isn't he the cat from The Smurfs?" He cast about , but Isabelle just looked up and rolled her eyes at him. "Clary?" he thought Her voice came through, tinged with alarm. "What is it? What happened? Did my mom find out I'm gone?" "Not yet," he thought back. "Is Azazel the cat from The Smurfs?" There was a long pause. "That's Azrael, Simon. And no more using the magic rings for Smurf questions.

A monster. I despise my true form. (Acheron) I can’t imagine why. Other than killing me, you were actually cute in a very Papa Smurf kind of way. (Tory) Papa Smurf? I don’t look like Papa Smurf. (Acheron) No, baby, you don’t at all. You look like sex on a stick. Now is your ego all better? (Tory)

Clary?" he thought. Her voice came through, tinged with alarm. "What is it? What's happened? Did my mom find out I'm gone?" "Not yet," he thought back. "Is Azazel the cat from the Smurfs?" There was a long pause. "That's Azrael, Simon. And no more using the magic rings for Smurfs question.

The book is almost always better than the movie. You could have no better case in point than FROM HELL, Alan Moore's best graphic novel to date, brilliantly illustrated by Eddie Campbell. It's hard to describe just how much better the book is. It's like, "If the movie was an episode of Battlestar Galactica with a guest appearance by the Smurfs and everyone spoke Dutch, the graphic novel is Citizen Kane with added sex scenes and music by your favourite ten bands and everyone in the world you ever hated dies at the end." That's how much better it is.

Tayla cursed under her breath. "I was just explaining to Eidolon that Sin is a Smurfette." Wraith swung his big body around to study Sin with blue eyes that were very different from Shade's, E's. and Lore's. Sin's, too. "Nah. Smurfette is way hotter." "What the fuck is a Smurfette?" Eidolon was seriously getting annoyed now. "There's this cartoon called The Smurfs," Tayla explained, slowly, as though Eidolon were the child here. "They're these little blue people, and they're all male. But one day a female shows up. She shouldn't exist, but she does." Eidolon considered that for a second. "How did she get there?" "An evil wizard named Gargamel made her," Tayla said. "In a lab or something." "So you're suggesting that an evil wizard made Sin?" "Of course not, silly. I'm just saying she's a Smurfette. A lone female amongst males." Eidolon frowned. "Did the Smurfette mate with the males?" "Dude." Wraith grimaced. "It's a cartoon.

Wow! First vampires. Then gods. Now…vampire—gods? What’s next? Werewolves? Smurfs? Were-Smurfs?

why is there blue stuff on your face? i was partying with the smurfs. i wanted to fit in.

You know you're having a crappy morning when the best that can be said for it is that at least you're not a Smurf.

I’m your best buddy, and you don’t want me to die from a giant case of blue balls?” “I don’t think that’s fatal,” Aggie said. “Have you ever had blue balls?” Eric asked. She grinned and flipped her gaze to the ceiling. “Well…” “They’re not just for Smurfs.

And the Nac Mac Feegle are, well, they’re like tiny little Scottish Smurfs who have seen Braveheart altogether too many times.

(He went to Tory and with one more push, his son slid into his hands. For a full minute, he couldn’t breathe as he stared at the tiniest, most perfect creature he’d ever seen in his life.) “Is it a smurf?” - Tory

You're going to be blue forever

He reaches down and tugs his pant leg up. The gold cuff wrapped around his ankle is decorated with Smurf stickers. "One of the other collectors did this after I crashed last night. Can you believe that mess? I can't get the damn things off.

Little blue men with squeaky voices. What’s not to love? And of course most of them had to be gay. There was only ever one Smurfette after all.” I ignored him, figuring we could discuss the queerness of Smurfs another day.

The idea that there is a “realist” faction in the debate over the size of the Smurfs ought to chill you to your very core.

Fuck a Smurf and call him Gimpy, is that who I think it is?

And after you pull off that miracle, you can genetically engineer a bunch of Smurfs and unicorns to frolic around this new perfect world you’ve created.

THEO: Who do you picture when you think of me? MORGAN: Papa Smurf. THEO: Do you have a camera in here somewhere? MORGAN: Yes, Theo. I watch you jerk off to smurf porn every night.

Ethan chuckled and pulled his child close. "However, it might be nice if you gave your Uncle Satan blue skin tomorrow. He would love that." The gasps in the room were hilarious. My Vampyre was evil to the core…I bit my lip to keep from screaming or laughing. Satan would look awesome as a Smurf. I needed to make sure my phone was charged so I could get some good blackmail shots.

Quinns always come at half price, about half the time, and half-naked, even during the colder half of winter. A Quinn is like a queen, but draggier, and cheaper to buy and use for personal gain, unless you’re suspicious that you’re poor and illiterate like Jarod Kintz, in which case Quinns could be the spirits of your dead relatives, come to haunt you until you gather a massive fortune through selling books on the internet, to send some back in time through a portal you bought from the NSA, so they would have lived better lives without having to move a finger for their fortune. Oh, yah, and since they aren’t - they’re blue, like smurfs, yet they turn purple whenever tickled on the belly, which is something they seem to rather dislike, since they start biting and scratching when it happens, for no good reason, I might add.

Holy shit. I’m a Smurf.

Wow,” Christian exclaimed. “Your hair first thing in the morning is a sight to behold. It’s like a Smurf blew up on the top of your head.

I´ve been Obeahed by an Obeahman? Is this like how the smurfs say they smurfing smurfed all the time?

anywhere. But he’s out of his fucking mind if he thinks he’s getting my Smurf.

It’s not fair,” I whine. “It’s not fair that you get Harper and I get no one.” “You got both of us, Sobby Smurf. You made out like a bandit.

I want to save the environment. I like being green as much as the next Smurf.

There is very little uglier than plowed snow. The roads are clear, though, and all the sidewalks are tinted blue from the salt. It feels like walking over the remnants of a Smurf slaughter.

Barney, the big purple cartoon dinosaur with the perpetual stupid grin. Barney, and Smurfs, Mickey Mouse, unicorns, and a lot of other fictional characters were painted on the truck. Whoever decided which characters to paint on the truck had made interesting choices, like, why was Iron Man waving to the Smurfs?

I see the glow before I see her. The orange light is so strong it’s hard to believe the house isn’t on fire, but when feet appear at the top of the staircase, I can finally see that the light isn’t coming from the house. It’s coming from her. My heart beats so fast I can’t tell the pulses apart—it’s one harsh thrum inside my head. If I’m a Smurf, this girl is an Oompa Loompa. No. Not even. It looks like she walked out of a horror movie. She really is on fire, burning from the inside out. I’m staring, but I can’t help it. Everyone would be staring if they could see what I see.

Along with Batman v. Superman and Godzilla vs. Kong, I suppose we’ll get Frankenstein vs. Dracula, and perhaps Transformers vs. G.I. Joe in the HasbroVerse, and Warcraft vs. Angry Birds in the GameVerse — not to be confused with the BoardgameVerse of Battleship vs. Risk and Chutes and Ladders vs. Candy Land. And eventually all of these shared universes will collide with all of the others, including Alien vs. Predator and Freddy vs. Jason, in a Brobdingnagian rumble pitting Jedi against Pirates of the Caribbean, Terminators against Borg, and Muppets against Smurfs, world without end. Even if for some inexplicable reason that doesn’t happen, the LegoVerse will make it happen

I heard a variation of your life is a story but this one said I should make my story a block buster. Really? I spose there are some exceptions with blockbusters but come on! Just the same, I was inspired to create my story with renewed vigor. I thought I had dreamt that a woman had some faces on her toes. I was on a xylophone that some crows were pulling and I sang to all them toes. I am not wearing her socks(right now)but I am thinking of them. I knew she was in love with a solemn man that had once sang a love song about the sky being a dimented smurf.(I didn't bother to ask her about any symbolism that pertained to patriarch blues) Why yes, I have lived through the 80s and I still feel that bright slinkies have yet to be fully utilized, explored,( and or understood). ” —

Rather than let the situation knock you off base, realize that on some level or another everyone is faking it. And when you find yourself in one of those moments I want you to smile and say to yourself, “Good man, Smurf.

The chalk dust was everywhere. On her pants. All over her shirt. She looked like she’d fallen into a vat of 1980s eye shadow. It had mixed with her hand sweat and formed a kind of Smurf epoxy.

Cooper and Professor Goosewaddle were sitting on a sofa in the waiting room, flipping through magazines as if it were the most normal thing in the world for a smurf to be sitting next to a half-naked gorilla monster. Cooper

Echo continued to tap her finger to her chin and created more dots on her face while she stared at the canvas. The intensity of her stare shocked me. The art teacher stacked the bowls and walked toward the door. “She’s in the zone. Good luck getting her attention. Do me a favor. If she ends up painting her whole face, grab my camera from my desk and take a picture. I’ll add it to my collection.” She gazed at Echo and smiled. “I’ll title that one Smurf. Nice tats, by the way.”

Suck on that, Smurf.” She wiggles her fingers at Haeden. “Now gimme a knife.

At that time, I didn't have any idea what an electric, water-cooled, 220-volt, anal plug was. And I'd definitely never seen one of those things covered in smurf-blue rubber with rectal-pleasure nubs. I was still just a rookie to all of this.

A shotgun cocks off to the side of us and we both turn our heads slowly. “You’re gonna take your hands off my Smurf and back the fuck away.

The smurf attack spoofs the source IP. If the source IP address isn’t changed, the computer sending out the broadcast ping will get flooded with the ICMP replies. Instead, the smurf attack substitutes the source IP with the IP address of the victim, and the victim gets flooded with these ICMP replies.

, Harman rejected the idea that women should see each other as competition. The US feminist Katha Pollitt called this ‘Smurfette syndrome’: just as there is only one female Smurf, we imagine there is only one slot for women at the top table. If she has it, then I can’t: so I have to bring her down.

And what’s up with that smurfing thing he was talking about?” “I think it was surfing,” said Porkins.

The problem is that very few companies make methylene blue skin-care products, and it can’t be patented. It is far easier and more affordable to buy a dropper bottle of medical-grade or food-grade methylene blue (skip the chemical supply or aquarium cleaner versions) and put a few drops into the other products you put on your skin. If you put too much, you’ll look like a Smurf. If this happens, you can usually wash it off with soap as long as you catch it fast enough. I add a few drops of methylene blue to my copper peptide serum and body lotion, and it makes a noticeable difference. This is an incredibly powerful skin booster that is painless and inexpensive.

The elf now looked like a Smurf. A really angry one.

There is no such thing as a dangerous racial group. But there are, of course, dangerous individuals like Smurf.

How did you know where I live?” Deanna asked when he turned onto her street. “I run by here on my way to the gym. I’ve seen you a few times.” That was the absolute truth. He did run by on his way to the gym. And he’d seen her a few times. He’d also asked around and known where to look. “Oh, okay.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “I don’t think that’s the whole story.” Normally, being caught in a partial truth wouldn’t have been high up on the list of things Lucky liked, but the fact that she knew, or at least had a feeling, that he wasn’t being totally forthright made him happy. He liked that she had called him out. “I may have asked Sue Ann, Nikki, and then finally Lauren, who hooked me up with my rental, if anyone knew where you were staying.” He smiled the smile that usually got him out of the stickiest of spots. He called it “old faithful.” And it didn’t let him down. A smile spread across Deanna’s face even as she was shaking her head. “Jessie’s right. You’re not as cute as you think you are.” “Does that mean you think I’m cute?” “I think you’re trouble.” She blushed as her hand reached for the door. “Goodnight.” “What?” he asked, purposely sounding offended. “You’re not even going to ask if I want to come in for coffee?” She stared at the door handle and licked her lips, which made his solider stand at attention. With only the moonlight streaming in through the window, he could tell by her hesitancy that she was battling an internal war of whether or not she should. He waited. Though he wanted to use his charms to give her a gentle, or not so gentle, shove in the direction of green-light-go, he didn’t want her to do anything she didn’t want to. So, as much as it killed him to know that, within a few sentences, he could have her laughing and inviting him in, he remained quiet. After inhaling deeply through her nose, she opened the door, and his heart sank as his balls turned bluer than a Smurf. He smiled up at her to hide his discomfort and disappointment. He would walk her to the door, but he didn’t trust himself to be that close to her and not touch her or kiss her or do a lot of other things he’d been dying to do to her. Things he knew she wanted and, with a little encouragement, would be begging for. But that’s not how he wanted this to be. Not with her. She was too special. This was too special. “Goodnight. Thank you for coming with me today. You were great with the kids. They loved you. I…” He stopped himself. Had he been about to say that he loved her? No. Maybe? Shit. He didn’t have time to think about that. Trying to play it off, he finished his thought, “I really loved having you there.” A small grin pulled at her lips. “Fine. You can come in for coffee.” He didn’t need to be asked twice. He was out of the SUV and beside her so fast that it made her laugh. “Okay,” he agreed. “I’ll come in, but only because you asked so nicely.” She was still chuckling and shaking her head at him—which she did a lot—as they made their way up to the door. Once she’d opened it, he stepped inside. Small and cozy, it smelled like clean and fresh, just like Deanna. A small couch rested against the far wall, and a longer one, with a knit blanket thrown over it, was near the window. A flat screen television was on the wall opposite the larger couch, and a small fireplace took up one corner. Lucky could picture Deanna curled up on the couch, in sweats with her hair pulled up, showcasing her sexy neck, the fire roaring as she watched television. At the thought, the same word that continued to pop up in his mind made an appearance. Mine. “Do you want decaf or…” she asked over her shoulder as she closed the door. “Oh, I don’t want coffee, but thanks.” He grinned and took a step closer to her. Stepping back, she was flat against the door. Then she pointed accusatorily at him. “You said you wanted coffee.” “No. I didn’t.

Well that is majorly disappointing!” Stella flopped back in her seat. “I thought it would be like Smurf-land or something.

Back then, there weren’t channels dedicated to subcategories of the population. There was no Disney channel, no Food Network, no ESPN, no Bravo. There was Sam Donaldson, Peter Jennings, and, my personal crush, Tom Brokaw on the news, and we got cartoons for three hours on Saturday mornings until CBS switched to golf at 11:00 after the Smurfs. Oh sure, MTV hit the scene in 1981, but we couldn’t watch it because of the devil. Apparently we could watch a show starring two outlaw brothers, their half-naked cousin, and a car painted with the Confederate flag but couldn’t watch Madonna sing “Like a Virgin” because we might get secondhand pregnant.

This was ridiculous. This was not real life. I blinked a few times, but Jamie and the horse remained firmly in place. “I’m not Jane Eyre!” I shouted. “Sorry?” He blinked somewhat owlishly a few times. “I’m not Jane Eyre!” I repeated. “You can’t Mr. Rochester your way out of everything!” “Prior to this moment, I have never attempted to Mr. Rochester my way out of anything,” he said, baffled. “I have neither dressed up as a fortune-teller to ascertain your intentions nor blinded myself in a fire. This very incident hardly qualifies as Mr. Rochester-ing, since I am still firmly atop my horse. And I’m not entirely sure that gentleman’s name can be used as a verb.” “In America you can use anything as a verb!” I retorted shrilly, scrambling to my feet. “You can verb whatever you want! Thank the goddamn Smurfs for that!” “I believe the Smurfs are Belgian, originally.” “You’re Belgian! Originally!” I was aware that I had long since bypassed the realm of the rational, but I really didn’t care. My legs were practically buckling underneath me, knees knocking with each fresh wave of shivers. “Distantly, on my mother’s side, as a matter of fact. But not since the fourteenth century. I believe it was called the Burgundian Netherlands in those days, however.” I raised my hands heavenward in the kind of epic shrug any mention of the Burgundian Netherlands justly deserved.

Morgan’s latest project is a tech startup called Clect (clect.com), which is a community and one-stop marketplace where people can browse, sell, and buy collectibles of any type imaginable (Star Wars, Smurfs, comics, a Millennium Falcon made from motorcycle parts, etc.).

smurf lore

La danse du stylo Les pas au bout de la rime pompes et son hip-hop style des sauts aux performances un air rétro dans le flow les muscles dopés burpees une graphie au corps courbé l'entorse scandée des mots le verbe pulse ses métaphores gainage des souffles traction au sol salto arrière crunch abdos pour les virtuoses le sens décolle la langue s'étire mouvement au bout des lignes tendons s'habillent novelangue beatboxing géants et les platines smurf même à genou le stylo fou gratte la feuille Athlète au rythme US rapper in-utéro pour les adeptes un rendez-vous soupçon mégalo virevolte dans l'air du temps

Being part of a team that belongs to everyone makes me feel good and at peace with myself. It relaxes me. A lot of the time, it’s better than sex: it lasts longer and if it all falls flat, it can’t just be your fault. Take someone like Antonio Cassano. He says he’s slept with 700 women in his time, but he doesn’t get picked for Italy any more. Deep down, can he really be happy? I certainly wouldn’t be. That second skin, with its smurf-like blue, gives you a whole new image across the world. It makes you better, takes you to a higher level. Much better to be a soldier on the pitch than in the bedroom.

If you choke a Smurf, what colour will it turn?

Seriously, just pretend I'm not here." He walks us into the kitchen and bends to look in refrigerator, making me grip tighter. He fills a glass and I press my ear to his neck to listen to him swallow I tighten my legs around him, and he slides a hand to my butt and squeezes it once in a friendly way. Then he gives it a slap. "Ow, what's in your pocket?" "Oh." I remember now and feel like a nerd. I slither down to my feet. "It's nothing." "It hurt my hand." He pulls the lumpy shape out of my pocket and cranes to see what he's found. "It's a Smurf. Of course. What else would you fill your pockets with? Why does it have a bow on it?" "I have, like, ten of him. It's Grouchy Smurf.

I’ve nicknamed the condoms according to color: red is for devil dick, green is the green giant, blue is for smurf cock, and the black is the sledgehammer. I’m not a fan of the yellow ones; they look less banana-y and more like my dick has jaundice. My personal faves are the glow-in-the-dark ones, which make my dick look like a big glow stick.

WE LIVE WE LOVE WE LIE

When the blue color flashed, she said, “You look like a Smurf.

When Mom says “bong,” she means her nebulizer. It turns water into vapor, and she huffs it all day like a singer breathing hot mist before a performance. Except Mom’s machine is handheld. I’m surprised she doesn’t carry it in a gun sling. But my mom is not just inhaling water. “Let’s get some colloidal silver in those lungs,” she says. Second to prayer, colloidal silver is Mom’s insurance policy on life. She makes her own, soaking two silver rods in a glass vat of water that sits next to her kitchen sink. I’ll let her explain it. This is from one of her emails telling me how to live forever: “I use distilled water and 99% pure silver rods. The rods are connected to a positive and negative charge (think of a jumper cable for your car) and they are immersed in the distilled water. Some people leave the rods in the water 2–4 hours. I leave mine in for 8–12 hours so my silver water is extra strength and powerful…I drink ¼ cup colloidal silver in a glass of water before bed, and have for years and years. RARELY am I ever sick. I take a bottle of colloidal silver on every trip (especially overseas) in case I pick up a stomach bug or am around anyone who is sick. I use it on wounds, use it for pink eye, ear infections, the flu, and more because it kills over 600 viruses and most bacteria, including MRSA. There are also studies that show the benefits of colloidal silver against cancer.” Every time I’m home, she gives me a bottle of the stuff to take back to Los Angeles. I, like a good millennial, googled its effectiveness. The scientific establishment seems to believe that colloidal silver does approximately nothing good, and in large quantities, some bad. Perhaps you’ve seen the viral meme of the old blue man? He consumed so much colloidal silver that his skin dyed blue from the inside. He looks like a Smurf with a white beard. Well, he looked like a Smurf. He’s dead. Maybe from something common like heart failure, but… When I told my mother this, she wouldn’t hear it. “I know it works. I’ve been using it for years. I don’t care what those articles say. I’ve read hundreds of articles about it.

smurfing

People! What’s wrong with ‘The Smurfs’?” The boy looked up at her with the wide, innocent eyes of a “Precious Moments” figurine. “The Smurfs are dead, Mom. That’s why they’re blue.

Thinking of Chase, Katie pulled out her phone and let out a rather large gasp, His text read: I'm watching this hot girl with purple hair walk into a sex shop. I told you I would take care of you. ;-) Becca hung up the clothes in the changing room and said, "Well, either someone sent you Smurf porn or it just got really hot in here." Katie's cheeks flushed darker. "Neither, just…men are stupid." Becca closed the door on her and said, "Preaching to the choir, baby. Preaching to the freaking choir."" -Katie & Becca

After five days of slushing, it snowed over the weekend, leaving the lawns fluffy and white and the borders nasty and grey. There is very little uglier than plowed snow. The roads are clear, though, and all the sidewalks are tinted blue from the salt. It feels like walking over the remnants of a Smurf slaughter. I

MY, you have a way of making me do things I don’t normally do. I haven’t dressed up for Halloween since the third grade (Spiderman), and though it’s gotten harder over the years, I’ve managed to silently protest that whore of a holiday for the bulk of my life. Yet here I am in a mothball-scented dressing room at Bridgeport Costumes. The dressing room is so small that a fucking Smurf would be sweating.

Look in the tub. There’s a huge freaking spider in it.” “Is that all?” I ask, relieved. Hell, the way she screamed, I thought someone was stabbing her to death with a rusty knife. “Is that all?” she counters, her voice rising hysterically. “Go and see it. That—thing is a monster.” “Don’t be such a baby,” I reply as I move to the tub and look inside. It’s bright blue, furry, the size of a goddamn softball. “Shit. That is big.” “I told you,” she cries fearfully. “I can’t believe I was in there with that—thing. It looks like a tarantula had sex with a smurf.” My back is to her, so I didn’t have to hide my smile, but seriously, the spiders in the tropics are something else. “I’m sure he was just trying to get a peek at you,” I tease. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of this little peeping Tom.” I go back out to my room and grab one of my shoes. I return and it is still trying to climb the slippery sides of the bath. Alright, you little pervert. No more ogling my sexy assistant. The arthropod makes a squashing sound. Wadding up some toilet paper in my hand I scoop up the blob that looks like crushed blueberries. I flush its remains down the toilet, chuck my splattered shoe in the trashcan, and turn around.

The basis for the energy drink Red Bull came from a tonic in Thailand, and the Smurfs were brought from Belgium. Pokémon came from the land of Honda. The band KISS made millions in record and concert sales, but the real profit has been in licensing—granting others the right to produce hundreds of products with their name and image in exchange for a percentage of sales.

I’ve got an ugly feeling my balls could rival a smurf, turning an angrier, deeper blue than my eyes.

Oh,” he said, stopping in the doorway. “I should probably warn you. Your beds might take a little getting used to.” “Why?” Tesla asked. “What’s wrong with them?” When Uncle Newt had shown them their room earlier, the beds had looked normal enough. Not that Nick and Tesla had paid much attention to them. They’d been distracted—and horrified—by the posters haphazardly stapled to the wall: Teletubbies, Elmo, Smurfs, Albert Einstein, and the periodic table. (Nick and Tesla had quickly agreed that the first three would “fall down” and “accidentally” “get ripped” at the first opportunity.) “There’s nothing wrong with your beds, and everything right!” Uncle Newt declared. “I’m telling you, kids. You haven’t slept till you’ve slept on compost!” “What?” Nick and Tesla said together. Even Uncle Newt couldn’t miss the disgust on their faces. “Maybe I’d better come up and explain,” he said. Uncle Newt pulled the comforter off Nick’s bed and revealed something that didn’t look like a bed at all. It was more like a lumpy black sleeping bag with tubes and wires poking out of one end. “Behold!” Uncle Newt said. “The biomass thermal conversion station!” Nick reluctantly gave it a test-sit. It felt like he was lowering himself onto a garbage bag stuffed with rotten old food. Because he was. “As you sleep,” Uncle Newt explained, “your body heat will help decompose food scraps pumped into the unit, which will in turn produce more heat that the convertor will turn into electricity. So, by the time you wake up in the morning, you’ll have enough power to—ta da!” Uncle Newt waved his hands at a coffeemaker sitting on the floor nearby. “Brew coffee?” Tesla said. Uncle Newt gave her a gleeful nod. “We don’t drink coffee,” said Nick. “Then you can have a hot cup of invigorating fresh-brewed water.” “Great,” Nick said. He experimented with a little bounce on his “bed.” He could feel slimy things squishing and squashing beneath his butt. “Comfy?” Uncle Newt asked. “Uhh … kind of,” Nick said. Uncle Newt beamed at his invention. “Patent pending,” he said. Uncle Newt was a gangly man with graying hair, but at that moment he looked like a five-year-old thinking about Christmas. Tesla gave the room a tentative sniff. “Shouldn’t the compost stink?” “Oh, no, no, no, no, no! Each biomass thermal conversion station is completely airtight!” Uncle Newt’s smile wavered just the teeniest bit. “In theory.” Nick opened his mouth to ask another question, but Uncle Newt didn’t seem to notice. “Well,” he said, slapping his hands together, “I guess you two should wash your teeth and brush your faces and all that. Good night!

You know what? Smurf you, mothersmurfer! Smurf you in your smurfing smurf! You know what you are? You’re a smurfing bigot and I don’t need this smurf!

Another area of interest is to explore what happens to stem cells and tissue homeostasis - to the maintenance process - as we age. In studies reported in 2011 and 2012, M. Rera, D.W. Walker, and colleagues added blue dye to fly food and then asked whether that blue color is restricted to the simple tube of the gut running through the adult, as is visible in the translucent belly of the fly, or whether the dye turns the whole fly blue, indicating that the gut has become permeable. This assay, known as the Smurf assay, gives a quick, high-level indication of gut damage that can be followed by more detailed analyses such as detection of stem cell division and signal tranduction pathway activity in dissected fly guts, or electron micrograph imaging of the mucus layer that separates the food from the gut cells. An increased prevalence of gut permeability turns out to be associated with aging in flies, and might be one of a cluster of events associated with a late-in-life 'death spiral'. Moreover, 'Smurfing' (turning blue in the assay) has been observed not only following direct perturbation of the fly gut but also among flies subjected to brain trauma, suggesting that gut permeability might be a general hallmark of impending death. The smurf assay - which requires no fancy equipment, no dissection, no costly reagents - has since been used in studies of two other Drosophilia species (D. mojavensis and D. virilis), as well in worms and zebrafish. New assays allow us to ask new questions; the answers to those questions lead us forward to the next.