"Blueberry Express" by NobodyAtAll

“So, groovy little dude, how’s it hangin’?”

“How wut hangin?”

“What I meant is, how have you been doing?”

Tommy Fonda, no relation, hippie, age forty-two, and fluffy fanatic, listens to every word, sincerely fascinated by Blueberry’s recap of recent events, kneeling down to maintain eye contact with him.


A month or two ago, he’d started driving around this forest with his wife. Well, they actually aren’t legally wed, but Tommy Fonda doesn’t need no government to tell him he’s married, his heart tells him he’s married, maaaan! If you cut him open, the name “Maria” would be engraved on his heart! In big letters, maaaaaaaaan!

When Tommy first met Blueberry, a few weeks ago, he thought he was a groovy little dude, even though he doesn’t usually get along with authority figures. He knew Blueberry was keeping it real, and keeping his soldiers alive. And Woodstock said he was cool. Woodstock’s an excellent judge of character.

In fact, Tommy and Maria thought it best to stick around, and keep an eye on Blueberry’s herd. (They don’t know it, but they’re not alone in this. A drone is watching them right now, invisibly. Fortunately, an old pal of Tommy’s is on the other end.)

They’ve been driving around the country, with their fluffy Woodstock, doing whatever they can to help fluffies who don’t have anyone else to help them. They’re being backed by none other than Pierre Faucheuse, the old pal currently watching them, so money is not an issue.

After touring the area, and offering aid to the other herds, not always being accepted, and they respected this, because everyone’s got to find their own Way, they doubled back to Blueberry’s tree.

By this point, they have finally discovered the missing brownies, and have heard from other herds about the herd with the feew-gud nummies. When he put two and two together, Tommy laughed so hard he almost crashed the Mothership.

Before you ask: it’s what he calls his VW bus. It’s several decades old, held together with a macrame hammock, runs on fifteen-year-old cooking oil, and Tommy is the only person on Earth who knows all the little tricks needed to make it go. Pierre has offered Tommy an upgrade. He’s offered to make it identical to the old Mothership in appearance. Tommy refused, only saying “The Mothership is my soul, man. You’re talking about replacing my soul.” He was born in the Mothership. Pierre let the matter drop.

Anyway, they both thought Blueberry’s new status as a drug kingpin was hilarious, and decided that if Blueberry wanted more brownies, he could have them, free of charge, no questions asked. It’s not just because they like the little guy, they want to see how this plays out. Blueberry has just finished telling the gripping tale of his descent into the not-so-seedy underworld of the fluffy drug trade, and Tommy paid attention to every bit of it. Even though he had figured out the gist of it before he pulled up in the Mothership, he liked to hear the story from Blueberry’s point of view. Blueberry has already mentioned that the herd’s stash is running low, and asked if Tommy could possibly hook him up with some more.

But they’ll get to that later, because the word “babbehs” has just entered their conversation.


“So, three little tykes, huh? Mazel tov, little dude.”

“Wut mazzew towf meen?”

“It means congratulations, little dude. So, are they walkin’ and talkin’ yet?”

“Yus! Am gwoin up big an stwong!”

Blueberry calls his family over.

“Babbehs! Dis am mistah Tommeh! Am gud hoomin! An dis am missus Mawia! Awso gud hoomin! Am gud hoomins, am gud fwends tu hewd! An dis Woodstock! Am vewy smawt! Awso gud fwend tu hewd! Say hewwo, babbehs!”

The three babbehs greet the hippie couple.

“Hewwo, mistah Tommeh! Hewwo, missus Mawia! Hewwo, Woodstock! Am babbeh!”

“Heh heh heh, look at the little flufflings. Makes me think about having a kid. Of course, if we did, we’d have to move out of the Mothership. And I’ve gotten used to living in this baby. But it’s no life for a kid, growing up on the road. Speaking from personal experience, here. There’s a proper time to go out looking for your Way, and it’s not when you’re still in diapers. So, do these lil’ guys have names yet, Blueberry?” Tommy asks, tearing himself away from the past.

Blueberry shakes his head. “Bwuebewwy wuz hopin mistah and missus cud hewp Bwuebewwy wif dat. Bwuebewwy nu da bestest wif namesies.”

“Well that’s fine, little dude. I’ll be happy to help. Maria! Woodstock! Get your fine asses over here! We’ve gotta think up some more names!”


An hour later, and one monster blunt later (someone actually followed the smoke thinking there was a fire, it was that big), the three foals follow their mother back inside, trotting as proudly as fluffy foals can muster, eager to show off their new names.

Yakko, Dot, and Wakko, in order of birth. Tommy and Maria had been watching Animaniacs the night before, and it lingered in Tommy’s subconscious.

And no, not the reboot. Tommy has a long-standing hatred of reboots. He says it rapes the soul of the original work.


Now that Blueberry and the Fondas are alone again, it’s time to deliver the package.

A full package of brownies. Enough to last Blueberry’s herd a month or three, if Tommy’s math is correct. Tommy’s gotten good at math, because he doesn’t trust calculators. Woodstock assured Blueberry that it was good shit, though those aren’t the exact words he used. Woodstock had sampled one earlier and was still tripping a bit.

Tommy carries the package to the warren’s entrance and unwraps it, and some of the toughies assigned to brownie duty begin transporting the brownies to their designated storage room, carefully dragging the paper they’re on. (It’s a few pages of a comic book. A recent one. Tommy wouldn’t dare do something like this to one of the classics. And it gives the fluffies something to look at.)

Blueberry can’t take credit for every good idea in the herd, and this one came from the brain of Yin-Yang, Captain of the Guard.


Yin-Yang had figured out that the best toughies to protect the brownie room from thieves, and by this point they had already caught a few fluffies from other herds trying to sneak in, were the toughies who didn’t like numming the feew-gud nummies. They could be trusted not to help themselves to a little taste and get high on the job.

Blueberry was deeply impressed by this stroke of relative genius, and rewarded him for it by personally going out and bringing back a few apples for Yin-Yang and Karma, Ying-Yang’s soon-mummah special friend.


With the transaction completed, Blueberry thanks the Fondas for their generosity, and the couple and their fluffy depart, promising to return before long. Pot smoke trails from the Mothership as they go. Tommy has never once driven sober, and he has never once crashed. There have been near-misses, but never an actual crash.


Miles and miles away, Pierre Faucheuse stares blankly at a screen, not entirely sure what he has just witnessed.

12 Likes

the brownie cartel, fear them.

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amigo del cartel

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Pierre is wondering why the fuck they just gave drugs to fluffies XD

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