THE DANCING FUZZY.




There was a time we were in love with Orlando.


That was before Walt Disney World.


When we heard the news of its coming,


I knew the end of our ideal town was near.


Now it's just another traffic and construction center...


A sprawling termite nest of developers


and the greedy locals who try to lure more to the area.


They preach growth and profit by any means.


The Bears, turtles, raccoons, and other natives,


have to keep moving, looking for someplace to go.


We used to live 35 miles from the city.


We haven't moved, but the city is now surrounding us.


Closing in.




As a newspaper columnist,


I attended the Disney groundbreaking fiasco.


I came home and wrote the following story,


hoping to get a message across.


It didn't work, but it's not a bad story. JB




* * *




THE DANCING FUZZY.




Once upon a time,


in the kingdom of Crawlovia,


a little village called Hotduk was awakened by a dog's bark


echoing in the moonlit silence.


One hundred and thirty-seven sleepy eyes popped open,


and just as quickly the villagers returned to slumber,


because they had nothing to fear.


There was no crime in Hotduk,


and neither fierce animals nor politicians in all of Crawlovia.


In fact they lived in complete beauty and peace,


and it was driving them nuts.




In a bungalow at the edge of the forest


a flickering candle cast the silhouette of a young boy


upon the windowshade.




"Quiet, Snarfy!", whispered Bratwurst to his dog.


"You'll wake everybody up!"




He hurriedly laced up his brownies,


buttoned up his pinky, put on his warmest greeny,


and tiptoed off into the woods to gather moonbeans.


Snarfy tiptoed along behind.




They had only picked half a snerdful of moonbeans


when they came to a clearing, and there in the moonlight


stood a forty foot tall, thirty ton item,


which smiled and said: "Hi, there! I'm a Fuzzy!"


The Fuzzy spat when he said his esses,


sort of like Daffy Duck.




Snarfy and Bratwurst clung to each other in fear


and stared at the Fuzzy, who was now doing a ballet dance.


The ground began to tremble,


shaking the snogs and frickets right out of the trees.




"Stop!, cried the boy. "You'll start an earthquake!"




The Fuzzy sat down and began to cry.




"You thilly little thavage!", he sobbed with a spray.


"No wonder I've lost my appetite!


Why, I haven't eaten a bite in centuries,


because of rude people like you.


I have feelings too, ya know".




The boy ran back and awoke the villagers with his strange news.


They all went out to the woods to have a look,


some of them still in their snorkies.




Months passed.


The Hotduk Chamber of Commerce


soon turned The Dancing Fuzzy into a tourist attraction.


People came from all over Crawlovia to witness the spectacle.




The more people that came, the harder the Fuzzy danced,


until he was at it 24 hours a day.


The Fuzzy asked no salary.


He just loved the applause and admiration.


The villagers were getting rich.




"Let the big dummy dance his fool head off",


the townspeople chuckled.


"Business is GREAT! That's all that counts!"




Then, one Sunday, at 12:03 P.M.,


the earth stopped shaking, and the Fuzzy sat down,


huffing and puffing.




"Whew! Hoo-boy!:, he gasped. "Wowee!".


Then he said this to the crowd:


"Hey! I think I've got my appetite back!"


And he ate the village.




Jack Blanchard.




© 2001.