From: gilly@bucsf.bu.edu (Gilly Rosenthol)
Newsgroups: alt.callahans
Subject: warm fuzzies story (no puns)
Date: 21 Nov 89 04:43:22 GMT
Reply-To: gilly@bucsf.bu.edu (Gilly Rosenthol)
Distribution: alt.callahans
Organization: Boston University
Status: O

The door creaks open, and Gilly (I've already done the physical
description once.  That's not what matters anyway, right?)  walks in.
She seems quieter than usual (which isn't saying much :-) tonight.
Instead of hitting every table in the Place, she makes a fairly
straight line for the bar, and, after searching through a few pockets,
finally retrieves a crumpled bill out of one, and exchanges it for a
steaming cup of hot chocolate with whipped cream.  She carries it
carefully to a seat at an empty table near the fireplace, and curls up in a 
chair to savor the hot, sweet drink.  After sipping the chocolate and
basking in the glow of the fire for a while, she starts to notice the
mood of the place tonight.  Pretty quiet, and, it seems, a bit down.
Even Fast Eddie is playing something slow tonight, and Lady Macbeth is
sitting silent in a corner.  "Well, this will never do," Gilly thinks to 
herself.  "I don't know if it will help much, but..."  
She raises her voice.  "Anyone for a story on this cold and blustery night?  
No puns, no great literature, just a childrens story.  But I like it, and 
I think you might too."  
People look up from their drinks, and a few wander over to hear.  
A teddy bear toddles over and insists on climbing up onto her lap.  Gilly 
lets him, with an apologetic glance at a blue equine who had been
eyeing the spot as a good one for a unicorn.  While Willy squirms
around, trying to make a comfortable nest in her lap, everyone who 
needs a fresh drink has found one.  When everyone is settled, she begins.
"Well, those of you who have had mail from me have seen that I sign
letters `love, hugs, and warm fuzzies'.  You know, I should hope, what love
and hugs are, but warm fuzzies, alas, are not so well known.  So
here's a story I found a while ago that may help to explain.  But no,
Scott, it doesn't say what color they are.  And no, Willy, you are not
a warm fuzzy, no matter how warm and fuzzy you are.  That includes you
beared types, too.  Anyway."

"Long ago only little people lived on the Earth.  Most of them dwelt in
the little village of Swabeedoo, and so they called themselves
Swabeedoo-dahs.  They were very happy little people, and went about
with broad smiles and cheery greetings for everybody.

"One of the things the Swabeedoo-dahs liked best was to give Warm
Fuzzies to one another.  Each of these little people carried over her
(or his) shoulder a bag, and the bag was filled with Warm Fuzzies.
Whenever two Swabeedoo-dahs met, each would give the other a Warm
Fuzzy.  Now, it is an especially nice thing to give someone a Warm
Fuzzy.  It tells the person they are special.  It is a way of saying,
`I like you.'  And, of course, it is very pleasing to have someone
give you a Warm Fuzzy.  When you have a Warm Fuzzy held out to you,
when you take it and feel its warmth and fuzziness against your cheek,
and place it gently and lovingly in your fuzzy-bag with all the
others, it's just extra-nice.  You feel noticed and appreciated when
someone gives you a Warm Fuzzy, and you want to do something nice for
them in return.  The little people of Swabedoo loved to give Warm
Fuzzies and get Warm Fuzzies, and their lives together were very happy
indeed.  

"Outside the village, in a cold, dark, cave, there lived a great green
troll.  He didn't really like to live all by himself, and sometimes he
was lonely.  But he couldn't seem to get along with anyone else, and
somehow he didn't enjoy exchanging Warm Fuzzies.  He thought it was a
lot of nonsense.  `It isn't cool,' is what he would say.

"One evening the troll walked into town, and he was met by a kindly
little Swabeedoo-dah.

"`Hasn't this been a fine Swabeedoo-dah day?' said the little person
with a smile.  `Here, have a Warm Fuzzy.  This one's special, and I
saved it just for you, for I don't see you in town that often.'

"The troll looked around to see that no one else was listening.  Then
he put an arm around the little Swabeedoo-dah and whispered in his ear.

"`Hey, don't you know that if you give away all your Warm Fuzzies, one
of these Swabeedoo-dah days of yours you're gonna run out of them?'

"He noted the look of surprise and fear on the little man's face, and
then adeed, peering inside his fuzzy-bag:  `Right now I'd say you've
only got about two hundred and seventeen Warm Fuzzies left there.
Better go easy on handin' 'em out.'

"With that, the troll padded away on his big green feet, leaving a very
confused and unhappy Swabeedoo-dah standing there.

"Now, the troll knew that every one of the little people had an
inexhaustible supply of Warm Fuzzies.  He knew that, as soon as you
give a Warm Fuzzy to someone, another comes to take its place, and
that you can never ever run out of Warm Fuzzies in your whole life.
But he counted on the trusting nature of the little Swabeedoo-dahs,
and on something else that he knew about himself.  He just wanted to
see if this same something was inside the little people.  So he told
his fib, went back to his cave, and waited.

"Well, it didn't take long.  The first person to come along and greet
the little Swabeedoo-dah was a fine friend of his, with whom he had
exchanged many Warm Fuzzies before.  This little person was surprised
to find that when she gave her friend a Warm Fuzzy this time, she
received only a strange look.  Then she was told to beware of running
low on her supply of Warm Fuzzies, and her friend was suddenly gone.
That Swabeedoo-dah told three others that same evening:  `I'm sorry,
but no Warm Fuzzy for you.  I've got to be sure I don't run out.'

"By the next day, the word had spread over the entire village.
everyone had suddenly begun to hoard their Warm Fuzzies.  They still
gave some away, but very, very, carefully.  `Discriminatingly,' they said.

"The little Swabeedoo-dahs began to watch each other with distrust, and
to hide their bags of Warm Fuzzies under their beds for protection at
night.  Quarrels broke out over who had the most Warm Fuzzies, and
pretty soon people began to trade Warm Fuzzies for things, instead of
juts giving them away.  Figuring there were only so many Warm Fuzzies
to go around, the mayor of Swabeedoo proclaimed the Fuzzies a system
of exchange, and before long the people were haggling over how many
Warm Fuzzies it cost to eat a meal at someone's house, or stay
overnight.  There were even some instances of robberies of Warm
Fuzzies.  Some dark evenings - the kind the little Swabeedoo-dahs had
enjoyed for strolling in the parks and streets and greeting each other
to exchange Warm Fuzzies - it wasn't even safe to be out and about.

"Worst of all, something began to happen to the health of the little
people.  Many of them began to complain of pains in their shoulders
and backs, and as time went on, more and more little Swabeedoo-dahs
became afflicted with a disease known as softening of the backbone.
They walked all hunched over, or (in the worst cases) bent almost to
the ground.  Their fuzzy-bags dragged on the ground.  Many people in
the town began to say that it was the weight of the bags that caused
the disease, and that it was better to leave the bags at home, locked
up safely.  After a while, you could hardly find a Swabeedoo-dah with
his fuzzy-bag on.

"At first the troll was pleased with the results of his rumor.  He had
wanted to see whether the little people would feel and act as he did
sometimes when he thought selfish thoughts, and so he felt successful
with the way things were going.  Now, when he went into town, he was
no longer greeted with smiles and offerings of Warm Fuzzies.  Instead,
the little people looked at him as they looked at each other - with
suspicion - and he rather liked that.  To him, that was just facing
reality.  `It's the way the world is,' he would say.

"But as time went on, worse things happened.  Perhaps because of the
softening of the backbone, perhaps because no one ever gave them a
Warm Fuzzy (no one knows), a few of the little people died.  Now, all
the happiness was gone from the village of Swabeedoo, as it mourned
the passing of its little citizens.

"When the troll heard about this, he said to himself:  `Gosh!  I just
wanted them to see how the world was.  I didn't mean for 'em to die!'
He wondered what to do.  And then he thought of a plan.

"Deep in his cave, the troll had discovered a secret mine of Cold
Pricklies.  He had spent many years digging the Cold Pricklies out of
the mountain, for he liked their cold and prickly feel, and he loved
to see his growing hoard of Cold Pricklies, to know that they were all
his.  He decided to share them with the Swabeedoo-dahs.  He filled
hundreds of bags with Cold Pricklies and took them into the village.

"When the people saw the bags of Cold Pricklies, they were glad, and
they received them gratefully.  Now they had something to give to one
another.  The only trouble was that it was just not as much fun to
give a Cold Prickly as a Warm Fuzzy.  Giving a Cold Prickly seemed to
be a way of reaching out to another person, but not so much in
friendship and love.  And getting a Cold Prickly gave one a funny
feeling, too.  You were not just sure what the giver meant, for, after
all, Cold Pricklies *were* cold and prickly.  It was nice to get
*some*thing from another person, but it left you confused, and often
with stung fingers.  The usual thing a Swabeedoo-dah said when she or
he received a Warm Fuzzy was `Wow!' but when someone gave her or him a
Cold Prickly there was usually nothing to say but `Ugh!'

"But giving Warm Fuzzies never really came back in style in Swabeedoo.
Some little people found that they could keep on giving Warm Fuzzies
away without ever having their supply run out, but the art of giving a
Warm Fuzzy was not shared by many.  Suspicion was still there, in the
minds of the people of Swabeedoo.  

"You could hear it in their comments:

	"`Warm Fuzzy, eh?  Wonder what's behind it.'

	"`I never know if my Warm Fuzzies are really appreciated.'

	"`I gave a Warm Fuzzy, and got a Cold Prickly in return.  Just
	see if I do that again.'

	"`You never know about Mabel.  A Warm Fuzzy one day, a Cold
	Prickly the next.'

	"`If you won't give me a Cold Prickly, I won't give you one.  Okay?'

	"`I WANT to give my boy a Warm Fuzzy, but he just doesn't
 	deserve it.'

	"`Sometimes I wonder if grandpa has a Warm Fuzzy to his name.'

"Probably every citizen of Swabeedoo would gladly have returned to the
former days when the giving and getting of Warm Fuzzies had been so
common.  Sometimes a little person would think to herself or himself
how very fine it had felt to get a Warm Fuzzy from someone, and she or
he would resolve to go out and begin giving them to everyone freely,
as of old.  

"But something always stopped her or him.  Usually, it was going
outside and seeing `how the world was.'"

Gilly drained the last of the now-tepid chocolate, and tossed it into
the fireplace - softly, so as not to disturb the (finally) sleeping
bear.  "Warm fuzzies for all, on me," she said with a smile.  "I think
we can find enough here to keep us going for a while."
-- 
+--------------------+-------------------------------------------------------+
| Gilly Rosenthol    |"Don't dream it, be it" -The Rocky Horror Picture Show |
| gilly@bucsb.bu.edu |"On ne voit bien qu'avec le coeur.                     |
|		     | L'essentiel est invisible aux yeux." -Le Petit Prince |
+--------------------+-------------------------------------------------------+