Warm Fuzzies

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

One of the things the Swabeedoodahs liked best was to give Warm Fuzzies
to one another. Each of these little people carried over his shoulder a bag,
and the bag was filled with Warm Fuzzies. Whenever two Swabeedoodahs would
meet, each would give the other a Warm Fuzzie. It tells the person that 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 Fuzzie. When you have a Warm Fuzzie
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 fuzzie-bag with all the
others, it's just extra-nice. You feel noticed and appreciated when someone
gives you a Warm Fuzzie, and you want to do something nice for them in return.
The little people of Swabeedoo loved to get together, giving and receiving Warm
Fuzzies, and their lives 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," was what he would say.

One evening the troll walked into town, and he was met by a kindly
little Swabeedoodah. "Hasn't this been a fine Swabeedoodah day?" said the
little person with a smile. "Here, have a Warm Fuzzie. This one's special,
and I saved it just for you, for I don't see you in town that often." The
troll looked about to see that no one else was listening. Then he put an arm
around the little Swabeedoodah and whispered in his ear. "Hey, don't you know
that if you give away all your Warm Fuzzies, one of these Swabeedoodah days of
yours, you're gonna run out of them?" He noted the sudden look of surprise and
fear on the little man's face, and then added, peering inside his fuzzie-bag,
"Right now I'd say you've only got about two hundred and seventeen Warm Fuzzies
left there. Better go easy on handing 'em out." With that, the troll padded
away on his big green feet, leaving a very unhappy and confused Swabeedoodah
standing there.

Now, the troll knew that everyone of the little people had an
inexhaustible supply of Warm Fuzzies. He knew that, to take its place, you can
never run out of Warm Fuzzies in your whole life. But he counted on the
trusting nature of the little Swabeedoodahs and on something else 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 the cave, and waited.

Well, it didn't take long. The first person to come along and greet
the little Swabeedoodah was a fine friend of his, with whom he had exchanged
many Warm Fuzzies before. This little person was surprised to find that when
he gave his friend a Warm Fuzzie this time, he received only a strange look.
Then he was told to be ware of running out of his supply of Warm Fuzzies, and
his friend was suddenly gone. That Swabeedoodah told three others that same
evening, "I'm sorry, but no Warm Fuzzies for you. I've got to make 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 carefully. "Discriminatingly," they said.

The little Swabeedoodahs 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 just 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 instances of robberies of
Warm Fuzzies. Some dark evenings--the kind that little Swabeedoodahs 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 of the little Swabeedoodahs 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 fuzzie-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.

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 just the way the real world is," he
would say.

But, as time went on, worse things happened. Perhaps because of the
softening of the backbone, perhaps because a few a the little people died. Now
all the happiness was gone from the little 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 this to happen!" He wondered what to do. And 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 Swabeedoodahs. He filled his bags--hundreds of them--
with Cold Pricklies and took then into the village.

When the people saw the bags of Cold Pricklies, they were glad and
received them gratefully. Now they had something to give one another. The
only trouble was that it was just not as much fun to give or receive Cold
Pricklies as a Warm Fuzzie. Giving a Cold Pricklie seemed to be a way of
reaching out to another person, but not so much in friendship and love. And
getting a Cold Pricklie 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 something from another person, but it left you confused and
often with stinging fingers. The usual thing a Swabeedoodah said when he
received a Warm Fuzzie was "Wow!", but when someone gave a Cold Pricklie, there
was usually nothing to say but "Ugh!"

Some of the little people went back to giving Warm Fuzzies, and, of
course, each time a Warm Fuzzie was given, it made the giver and receiver very
joyful indeed. Perhaps it was because it was so unusual to get a Warm Fuzzie
from someone when there were so many of those Cold Pricklies being exchanged.

But giving Warm Fuzzies never really came back into 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
Warm Fuzzies was not shared by many. Suspicion was still there in the minds
of the people of Swabeedoo.