The Abbreviated Adventures of Mogey & Smush: 2026 Edition - Episode 4

Rumors swirled across the countryside that there were foxes about. Fiendishly clever foxes. Devilishly handsome foxes. Foxes that would eat every chicken in your henhouse and not even leave a thank-you note. 

As gentlemen who routinely ate three-to-four omelettes per day, Mogey and Smush paid close attention to this scuttlebutt. And they took precautions. The pals installed bells that would ring in each of their bedchambers anytime the henhouse door opened. When this failed to wake them on literally any occasion, they modified the contraption to spill a cupful of jellybeans whenever the henhouse was disturbed. This had the double benefit of instantly awakening the pals and giving them some nourishment to consume en route to the barnyard. 

One night, the alarm went off and Mogey and Smush met near the back door in their nightshirts, sprinting for the henhouse as they chomped mouthfuls of jellybeans. When they squeezed through the henhouse door, they immediately encountered a fox sipping a martini as he chatted to several of the hens.

"Evening, gents," the fox said in a posh English accent. "Sorry to barge in on you like this, but I saw the light and thought I might come in and get warm for a moment."

"Not in here, you don't!" Smush hollered. "Out of our henhouse, you cad!"

"Of course I can go if you wish," the fox replied, "but I assure you I have no untoward intent. Count your hens and you'll see I haven't harmed a feather on a single one of their heads."

"It's true, Smush," Mogey confirmed. "Thirty-seven laying hens present and accounted for. Even Plump Peggy, the Rhode Island Red."

"Bawk!" screeched Peggy, who did not appreciate her nickname.

"I still don't like it," Smush said. "A fox in a henhouse? It ain't natural, I tell ya." 

"Alright then," said the fox, donning a top hat to take his leave, "I appreciate your civility in any case. Oh also, several of the hens mentioned that it's, erm, 'bad laying weather,' so don't be surprised if you don't find a single egg tomorrow. Goodnight!" 

With a burp that smelled intensely of egg salad, the fox swept out of the henhouse and into the night. Mogey and Smush stared after him.

"Man that fox was cool!" Mogey sighed.

"Right?" Smush exclaimed. "It's too bad there are so many villains out there giving the gentlefoxes like him a bad name."

"Bawk!" screeched Plump Peggy.

The Abbreviated Adventures of Mogey & Smush: 2026 Edition - Episode 3

Mogey and Smush lived near the border of two rival civilizations. Across the stone wall at the end of their lane, the entire culture changed. The people spoke strangely, dressed incomprehensibly, and had a strange preoccupation with mollusks. They were known simply as "The French." 

The citizens of Burpeley (Mogey and Smush's home country) were not strictly allowed on French land. But the nearest French village possessed a sawmill, and Mogey and Smush loved nothing more than sneaking into the mill's waterwheel and riding it around and around until they were almost too dizzy to waddle back across the border.

On one such adventure, they were caught. Mogey and Smush were prodded at pitchfork-point to the village square, where they were paraded before the mayor. The mayor was a nerdy little fellow wearing a very official-looking cape, and for some reason he addressed his citizens in heavily-accented english.

"Vell, vell, vell," he said, "vat have we 'ere?"

"Deux trespasserrrrs," said the farmer who had caught them, with an excessively strong roll of the r.

"Do yeux know vat we do to trespasserrrrrs?" the mayor asked Mogey and Smush. "Zee... zee... tell me again vat we call zee peoples of Burpeley?"

"Wimps," suggested the mayor's chief of staff, a man in a slightly less official-looking cape.

"Zee wimps of Burpeley might think our punishment old-fashioned, no? Eet is too... medieval... zee wimps say."

Mogey and Smush noticed the crowd around them beginning to chant: La Roue! La Roue!

"Oui oui!" the mayor agreed, saluting his constituents. He turned back to the unnerved pals. "I 'ope you wore your board shorts, because you vill be marched to zee sawmill and made to ride zee waterwheel around and around until you are almost too dizzy to vaddle back across zee border!"

The Abbreviated Adventures of Mogey & Smush: 2026 Edition - Episode 2

It took the better part of an hour, but at last Mogey and Smush were ready to tally their bill at Knute Knotts' Nuts Emporium. Well, almost ready. 

"Alright then," said the clerk, "so we have the three pounds of almonds, two of filberts, five pounds of walnuts, and a pound and a half of beech nuts. That'll be--"

"Sorry," Mogey interrupted, "but you'd better throw in another pound of filberts." 

"Right then," the clerk said, adjusting his tabulation. "Three pounds of filberts. You know, as by far (and it's not close) our most prolific customers here at Knute Knotts' Nuts, we'd be happy to throw in a couple of complementary nutcrackers with your order." 

"A couple of nut-what-ers?" Smush inquired.

"Nutcrackers," the clerk repeated, holding up a hinged steel cracker. "For breaking the shells of course." 

"Take a gander at this new-fangled contraption!" Smush exclaimed, holding up the nutcracker as if it was an iPod Mini.

"The nutcrackers will, um, not be necessary," Mogey said with a smirk as he popped a pair of in-shell walnuts directly into his gob.  

The Abbreviated Adventures of Mogey & Smush: 2026 Edition - Episode 1

In the settlement of Porkle, the most respected individual was the eldest citizen: Ma Sausage. Porkle's matriarch, who had been there at the little colony's founding, may have seemed a sweet old lady, but she ruled with an iron fist. Miscreants were not tolerated. Scallywags? Tossed outside the protection of Porkle's palisade. And anyone caught mocking Ma Sausage's name was conscripted to groom her pair of ornery mastiffs, Tweedledee and The Pest. 

So the community took it seriously whenever a new year dawned and Ma Sausage required that each citizen be paraded before her so that she might assess the quality of their new year's resolutions. 

When Mogey and Smush's turn came, they stepped forward confidently to announce their resolutions as a team, something Ma Sausage reluctantly allowed.

"Well well," said Ma Sausage. "Porkle's least productive pair of citizens. What do you resolve heading into a fresh annum? And I warn you, after that incident at the gristmill in September, you are both getting dangerously close to 'scallywag' territory." 

"We've got just the thing, Ma Sausage," Smush replied. "Our new year's resolution is to be more us." 

"Meaning?" 

"Meaning we're dropping the mask, baby-- pardon-- Ma Sausage!" Mogey chimed in. "Both of us are through with worrying what others think of us. We're just going to be our authentic selves!" 

"So the gentlemen who angered literally every one of their neighbors and nearly brought the entire settlement to its knees when they shut down the gristmill attempting to make, and I quote, 'pre-mixed pancake batter...' these gentlemen are going to stop caring what everyone else thinks?" 

"Precisely," Mogey and Smush confirmed.

Ma Sausage stared at the pals for what seemed like a long time. Finally she said, "You know, I was there when the founders Cap'n McDougle and Pierre Bonks debated for two weeks about whether this settlement should be called Porkpie or Pickle before finally agreeing upon the elegant portmanteau we emblazon on our flag (and the official City of Porkle municipal sweater vests). And in all those years... that's the finest new year's resolution I've ever heard."

"Oh, lay off, Ma Sausage!" Mogey began, before Smush interrupted him. 

"No, no, Mogey - she likes our resolution. Although, heh heh, I think 'lay off Ma Sausage' is exactly what you said at the barbeque yesterday when I tried to seize the last bratwurst!" 

The Abbreviated Adventures of Mogey & Smush: 2025 Edition - Episode 51

One yuletide feast, Mogey and Smush were wrapping up their fifth helpings of roast beast and Christmas pie, et cetera, et cetera. As they picked the literal bones, the pals fell to one of their favorite traditions: picking metaphorical bones. 

"I've got one," Smush announced. "Christmas--"

"Ah ah ah," Mogey interrupted. "Don't forget to pick a bone while you're picking that bone!"

"Right, sorry," Smush said, grabbing a joint of beef off the table. "Now then," he went on, around a mouthful of beef debris, "Christmas candy. Gumdrops? What is that? Chewing gum that fell out of someone's mouth and into a bowl of sugar?" 

"I don't think that's how--"

"A waste of good sugar, I say! And candy canes? These maniacal confectioners take sweet sweet sugar and make it all stripey and spicy."

"Spicy? I'm not sure that's--"

"Don't get me started on sugar plums, neither," Smush continued. "It's like... they had delicious delectable sugar and... wrecked it with nasty plums."

"That one I cannot disagree with," Mogey replied. "Excellent pick of the bone. It's like that famous poem: merry Christmas to all and to all and to all a good gripe!"

The Abbreviated Adventures of Mogey & Smush: 2025 Edition - Episode 50

One frosty December evening, Mogey and Smush were trudging home from the public house after several servings of potted meat, an array of cheese pots, and a couple of pots de creme. As they crested a snow-robed ridge, Mogey spoke:

"What do you suppose they are?" he asked, gazing into the sky.

"The stars?" Smush rejoined, glancing up at the twinkling points of light. "They're the scattered diamonds of Scurvy Biggins, pirate of the sky. Everyone knows that."

"I know, I know," said Mogey. "I remember Mrs. Bomboloni's 3rd grade class as clearly as you do. But sometimes I'm not so sure."

"Well what explanation have you?"

"Maybe this is the potted meat talking," Mogey explained, "but what if they're other suns, just like the sun we see in the daytime, except really really tiny?" 

Understanding awakened in Smush's mind the way a bag of drill bits dropped from a rooftop job site might awaken Nap Snoozeman (the world's worst construction worker) from a doze underneath the scaffolding. 

"By golly, Mogey, you might have something there!" he exclaimed. "It's pure genius! Just one question though: what was Scurvy Biggins, pirate of the sky, doing with all them mini suns?" 

The Abbreviated Adventures of Mogey & Smush: 2025 Edition - Episode 49

As Mogey and Smush were strolling down the high street of Bigbum-on-Puddle one afternoon, they happened upon a new shop. Park's Amusements: Every Game from A-Z read the sign in the front window. This sign confused Mogey and Smush, and in their confusion they became grumpy, so the pals strode into the shop with a head of steam. 

"Are you the proprietor here?" Mogey demanded of the man behind the counter.

"I certainly am, welcome in--" 

"What is the meaning of your sign out front?" Smush inquired, pounding a fist on the desk to let the store-owner know he meant business. (And then subsequently nursing a bruised hypothenar eminence.) 

"Ah," replied the man with a smile. "I may have tried to be a bit too clever with the name. I'm Park, you see. My name is Nash N. L. Park and this is my shop." 

"And what about all this 'every game' business?" Mogey pressed. 

"We've got an excellent selection of board games, puzzles, and more. That's why we say we've got every game from A-to-Zed."

"A-to-Zed?" Smush exclaimed. 

"Apologies," Mr. Park said. "That's what we called it where I grew up. I should say A-to-Zee." 

"I still don't understand," Mogey rejoined. "Supposing I was looking to purchase a vintage copy of Crossfire or Stratego... would I have to sing the alphabet or summat?" 

"Nothing of the sort!" assured Mr. Park. "It's just an expression. And we've got both the standard and deluxe editions of Crossfire just behind you there."

"Hmm. What can you tell me about your selection of Pretty Pretty Princess boards?" Smush requested. Then, as if suddenly remembering something important, he began to sing. "A, B, C, D, E, F, G..."

The Abbreviated Adventures of Mogey & Smush: 2025 Edition - Episode 48

"Mogey! Mogey! Come quickly!" Smush shrieked. 

Mogey stumbled into the kitchen to find his pal robed in a robe, fresh out of the Saturday night bath barrel, and looking more anguished than a zookeeper who realizes the monkeys and sea lions have teamed up, and are just one bird ally away from launching a full air, sea, and land attack. 

"What is it?" Mogey exclaimed.

"My hands! They're all... raison-like. Do ye think it's fatal?"

"For the love of mustard, Smush! How long has it been since you've had a bath?" 

"A month or two," Smush replied. "Why do ye ask?" 

"For the love of mustard, Smush! Stop saying 'ye!'" 

"I'll stop saying 'ye' if you stop saying 'for the love of mustard.' Deal?" 

"Deal," Mogey agreed. "And I asked about your last bath because it's clearly been so long that you've forgotten all about getting wrinkly fingers. I daresay that's longer than a month or two. In fact... Sir Isaac!" 

"Yes, m'lord?" squeaked a mouse wearing glasses who'd just popped out of a hole in the kitchen fireplace: Sir Isaac Shrewton, the mouse with the photographic memory.

"Sir Isaac, how long does it take a person of... erm... moderate-to-fair intelligence to forget a basic truth such as the fact that prolonged water immersion leads to pruney fingers?" Mogey asked.

"Actually sir, most academic research suggests memory has nothing to do with intelligence, although there was one quite intriguing study that--"

"Yadda yadda yadda," Smush interrupted. "Out with it, Shrewton!" 

"My best estimate is somewhere between eight months and four years," Sir Isaac Shrewton answered.

"So I missed a couple... hundred baths," Smush said. "So what? My question to you, Shrewton, is how close are we to developing a cure to these unsightly crinkles?"

The Abbreviated Adventures of Mogey & Smush: 2025 Edition - Episode 47

One morning, Smush sat on his front porch chewing sunflower seeds and working on a needlepoint depicting Buster Prawnbreath, the main character in his favorite serialized detective story. Just as Smush put the finishing touches on Buster's moustache, Mogey rumbled up sitting atop a wagon. 

"What ho, Smush!" Mogey announced.

"My question precisely," said Smush. "What've you got there?"

"Why, the food for our feast! The Blunderbuss twins are right behind me with two more wagons." 

"Our what?"

"Our feast!" Mogey exclaimed. 

"What in the name of Buster Prawnbreath is a 'feast?'"

"Are you putting me on?" Mogey asked. "You know - a feast! A big meal with lots of food, and drink, and food, and hearty victuals. We planned this all out last week!" 

"Ah," Smush replied, "that explains it. I'm not much of a food guy. I probably thought you were talking about a 'beast' or summat."

"First off, we very much do have a beast," Mogey stated as Big John Blunderbuss pulled up in a wagon carrying a beef roast so enormous that its axles looked as if they might give out. "And second off, what do you mean you're 'not much of a food guy?' I once saw you wash down three dozen oysters with four dozen more oysters!"

"That was the old me, Moge-man," Smush replied, although Mogey couldn't help but notice that his pal was edging nearer to the roast beast wagon and dabbing the corners of his mouth with the Buster Prawnbreath needlepoint.

"So, uh, do you guys want me to take this back to the abattoir or...?" Big John Blunderbuss inquired.

"Let's not be too hasty," Smush said, hastily. "I did just finish the moustache segment of my Buster Prawnbreath needlepoint - and as you're no doubt aware, the moustache is the most technical segment of any needlepoint. It's as good an occasion to celebrate as any. Perhaps one of these - what did you call them, Mogey? - 'feasts' is in order after all."

The Abbreviated Adventures of Mogey & Smush: 2025 Edition - Episode 46

Sergeant Sargento had made a career out of whipping young recruits into shape. And over decades of experience, he'd developed a knack for instantly figuring out which recruits were most under-whipped. Never had that been more apparent than with the two individuals who stood before him presently.

"Private Mogey," Sergeant Sargento declared, his face mere inches from Mogey's, "do I detect a smudge of chocolate on your face?" 

"S'more, yes, S'more!" Mogey shouted. 

"Private Smush," said Sergeant Sargento, taking a step to the left, "did your pal just call me 'S'more?'"

"S'more, yes, S'more!" Smush answered.

"Why do you two imbeciles keep saying 'S'more?'" Sergeant Sargento demanded.

"Sir, we're a bit nervous, S'more," Mogey said. 

"Nervous, eh? No need to be nervous."

"Sir, thank you, sir," Smush replied, breathing an obvious sigh of relief.

"No problem," Sergeant Sargento said as he patted each of the pals on the shoulder. "I have just one further question."

"Sir, ask us anything, sir," Mogey rejoined.

"How - and before you answer this, keep in mind that any recruit caught bringing candy into my barracks faces consequences ranging from boxing my brother, Oswaldo 'The Big Cheese' Sargento, to boxing my other brother, Enrique 'El Queso Grande' Sargento - how did you end up with chocolate on your face?"

"S'more?" Mogey asked uncertainly. 

The Abbreviated Adventures of Mogey & Smush: 2025 Edition - Episode 45

Soon after graduating from the Gunkman Academy of Tranquility and Food Science (or as most students called it, Lazin' and Grazin') Mogey and Smush moved to the big city and found quarters with two roommates. Their co-lodgers were a pair of bankers named Anthony Sherlock and Paul Yell (or as Mogey and Smush called them, Snoopin' and Whoopin'). 

One Friday evening, the four residents of Number 17 Plumple Street decided to dine in on Chinese takeaway, and Paul Yell was nominated to place the order. 

"What about some potstickers?" Mogey suggested. "I gots to have my potstickers." 

"Are you sure?" Paul Yell replied, looking at his tally. "We've already got 34 dishes on our list."

"No, no, he's right," said Anthony Sherlock. "We need to make sure there'll be enough for leftovers."

"What are you talking about?" Mogey demanded.

"Sorry?"

"That word you used... 'left... overs,' was it? I'm not familiar with that term."

"It's probably Bulgarian," Smush suggested smoothly. "Sherlock is a Bulgarian name, is it not? Please, share with us the exotic customs and unique terminology of your mother country - it's the whole reason we moved to the big city!"

"I'm from New Jersey," Anthony Sherlock responded.

"Hello, Panda Garden?" Paul Yell said into the telephone. "I'd like to place an order for takeaway. Have you got a robust pen handy? It's going to be at least 35 dishes." 

The Abbreviated Adventures of Mogey & Smush: 2025 Edition - Episode 44

"Good morrow, Mogey," Smush stated when his pal welcomed him into the parlor one fine morning. "How does your cousin fare? I recall you mentioning he was your houseguest this fortnight."

"Cousin Bogey?" Mogey said. "He's exhausted, to be honest. He was up all night talking to Ralph on the big white phone, if you catch my drift."

"I believe I do," Smush replied.

"He was praying to the porcelain god - know what I mean?"

"Say no more," Smush confirmed.

Just then the door bell rang. Mogey and Smush answered it together, finding a little man in a white tuxedo standing on the front stoop in the blinding sunshine. His moustache was curled so high that it touched the brim of his white top hat, and he kept both thumbs tucked into his suspenders.

"Are you..." Mogey mumbled.

"... Ralph Flushing, the toilet king of the west?" he and Smush continued together.

"Yes sirs, I am," Ralph Flushing confirmed, "though I must say I'm quite partial to the nickname Lord Rumbly gave me when I plumbed his entire country house in less than 24 hours."

"'The Porcelain God," Mogey and Smush intoned. Ralph Flushing nodded. 

"I believe that caller is for me," hollered a voice from up the stairs. This utterance was followed immediately by the descent of Mogey's cousin Bogey, taking the steps three-at-a-time.

The family resemblance was tenuous at best. Bogey stood at least twice Mogey's height and perhaps one third of his width, and yet on that morning he wore a pair of pajamas borrowed from his cousin. A long stalk of wheat hung from Bogey's mouth, though his garments could not have looked less cowboy-like.

"Ah, the very young man I'm here to see," Ralph Flushing gushed. Turning to Mogey, he continued, "your cousin is quite impressive! We talked for hours over the telephone last evening, and the praise he heaped upon me and my operation was most flattering. He even stopped by my estate in the wee hours and tossed cookies through several of my open windows. Yes, Bogey, I'm here to offer you a job at my company, and I hope you'll consider it." 

And that is the story of how Bogey became the Chief Marketing Officer at Flushing Toilets, the position in which he would come to entirely reshape the public discourse on the commode. 

The Abbreviated Adventures of Mogey & Smush: 2025 Edition - Episode 43

"I sense... perturbations in your aura," murmured Madam Damad, her hands clutching Smush's temples. 

"Probably the cheetos I ate with lunch," Smush suggested.

"Smush!" Mogey chastised. "Madam Damad is the finest fortune teller in the district. She says sooths with the best of 'em. I don't think your lunch has anything to do--"

"Crunchy or puffed?" Madam Damad interrupted.

"Crunchy," Smush replied.

"Funny. The texture of your aura is more consistent with a puffed corn snack." 

"Well," said Smush thoughtfully, "they were flamin' hot if that matters."

"Ahhhhh," Madam Damad answered. "That explains it. Yes, the spiciness of the cheese dust makes all the difference in the world."

"So... what's the future hold for me?" Smush asked. 

Madam Damad unveiled her crystal ball and gazed into its murky depths. "I foresee..." she murmured, "a dinner table. Your dinner table. The one at which you will sup this very evening. And upon it I see... even more cheetos."

"WOW!" Smush exclaimed. "You were right, Mogey. She is good!"

The Abbreviated Adventures of Mogey & Smush: 2025 Edition - Episode 42

"You know what I'm really craving?" Mogey said to the waitress at Macaulay Cluckin's Hen Alone Diner. "An omelette. A big five-egger with muenster cheese. What do you say?" 

"We don't serve omelettes here," the waitress replied. "And quite frankly it's offensive that you would even ask." 

(It is probably worth noting at this point that the waitress, like all the staff at Macaulay Cluckin's, was a four-foot-tall talking chicken.) 

"Sheesh," Mogey responded, "everyone's so sensitive these days. Guess I'll just stick with the mile-high stack of flapjacks."

"I'll have the same," Smush chimed in.

"You know the mile-high is meant to be shared, right?" the waitress buckawed. "It's twenty-five flapjacks doused in a half pound of butter and a quart of maple syrup."

"So by 'shared' you mean... " Smush pondered, "like, there's room on the plate to order something else?" 

"I'll just bring two orders," the waitress clucked, snatching the menus and hopping haughtily away. 

"Pooh pooh and phooey!" Mogey muttered. "How am I to start a day off right without any eggs to eat?"

"It's 1:30 PM," Smush answered.

"Psst!" whispered a scoundrel sitting in the next booth, "youse guys want some eggs? I can hook you up." 

He swung open his trench coat to reveal a dozen tiny pockets, each of which was occupied by an individual hard-boiled egg. 

"Don't do it, Mogey!" Smush urged. "We'll get in trouble."

"Pipe down, narc," Mogey said. Turning back to the reprobate in the next booth he asked, "how much?"

"Tell youse what. Cut me in on a couple of those flapjacks and we'll call it even." 

"MISS! MISS!" Mogey shouted, flagging down the waitress and pointing to the egg smuggler. "This gentleman is attempting to sell us contraband! And what's worse, at completely outrageous prices. Such behavior in Macaulay Cluckin's I've never seen before. He should be escorted from the premises at once!"

The Abbreviated Adventures of Mogey & Smush: 2025 Edition - Episode 41

A curious feature of the estate Smush had inherited from his Great Uncle Mush von Tush was a miniature volcanic vent known to some as "that real hot hole." In olden times the tiny caldera had been alternately worshipped, studied, and used as the town's primary way to execute bean thieves. Mogey and Smush, of course, used the hellacious gash in the earth's crust for baking bread.

"Oh no. Oh heavens no," Mogey groaned as he gazed into the Hot Hole's brimstoney depths. 

"What is it?" Smush asked.

"One of the loaf pans got pushed too far in. It's sitting in double L."

"Double L? You mean 'Literal Lava??'" Now it was Smush's turn to groan. "What did we have baking in that one?"

"That's the worst news of all," Mogey replied. "It's cinnamon-raisin-bacon." 

Smush's howl was even louder than some of the olden time bean thieves' had been. "We've got to do something!" he exclaimed. "Here: try these oven mitts."

"What temp are those bad boys rated for?" Mogey asked skeptically. 

"I'm not sure," Smush answered, examining the lining of the bright pink mitts. "Ah! It says here 'Approved for Use in Easy-Bake Oven Only.' You know how hot those things get? You should be fine."

The Abbreviated Adventures of Mogey & Smush: 2025 Edition - Episode 40

"Whatever is wrong, Mogey?" Smush exclaimed, seeing his pal emerge from the kitchen, weeping uncontrollably.

"Oh nothing," said Mogey with a sniff, "I've just chopped a vast quantity of onions. But now what's the matter with you?"

"I'm sorry!" Smush blubbered. "A vast quantity of any vegetable fills me with sorrow and dread."

"Don't worry, Smush ol' buddy, it's a vast quantity of onions to make an even vaster quantity of cheesesteaks."

At this pronouncement, Smush broke into even more hysterical tears.

"What is it now?" Mogey asked. 

"Tears of joy!" Smush howled.

"What is all this racket? Are you both... crying?" demanded Mug Tuffins, the third resident of the pals' humble abode. Mug worked part time as a bouncer at McKishi's, the Irish pub catering exclusively to sumo wrestlers. "Stop it this instant! There is no excuse for whinging and whining - none whatsoever!"

"Oh yeah?" Mogey whimpered (he had joined Smush in crying tears of joy at the prospect of vaster quantities of cheesesteaks).

"Yeah!" Mug Tuffins confirmed.

"What if... what if silver screen legend Champ Rawhide leaves you a voicemail telling you he's proud of you?" Mogey suggested.

Mug Tuffins did not respond, but even contemplating such a voicemail caused a single tear to spill down his cheek. 

The Abbreviated Adventures of Mogey & Smush: 2025 Edition - Episode 39

"I'm hurtin', Smush," Mogey groaned. "I don't think I've ever been this dehydrated." 

"Why'd you say that in a cockney accent?" Smush inquired.

"What?"

"'Dehydrated.' Why'd you say it like 'dee-hoy-dray-ed?'"

"I just thought that was how it was pronounced."

"Well I can't say as I'm surprised," Smush replied. "You have been working your way through that trough of extra hot chicken wings (in both temperature and flavor) under the midday sun while wearing a sweater."

"It's my special brow-moppin' sweater!" 

"As I stated," Smush continued, "I can't say as I'm surprised. Want a gatorade?"

"What have I told you," shouted a suddenly-energized Mogey, grabbing Smush by the lapels, "about using that term? You know about my family!"

"Ah, right - sorry," said Smush, brushing extra hot chicken wing residue from his lapels. "What was it? Your stepfather was a gator, or something?"

"Toothsome Muggins was an alligator," Mogey corrected, "and a saint. 'Gator' is a pejorative term. When my birth father left us high and dry to pursue a career on the silver screen only to find out his real talent was selling silver screens for Andersen Windows & Doors, guess who stepped up?"

"Toothsome Muggins?"

"Toothsome Muggins," Mogey confirmed. "He might not have had much education beyond swamp grammar school, but no one could ask for a more loving, generous, and scaly stepfather."

"What a guy," said Smush admiringly. "Now then, back to hydration for a moment. Can I offer you a... generic electrolytic thirst quencher?"

"Fierce Grape, please!" Mogey replied. 

The Abbreviated Adventures of Mogey & Smush: 2025 Edition - Episode 38

"Oh ho! Here's an interesting question," Mogey said, twiddling a pencil.

"There are no 'interesting questions' in the personal ads, Moge-man," Smush sighed. "Just the rich stench of desperation."

"Come now, Smushster - you've got so much to offer. And I can assure you that the classified section of the Cheeseburgh Tribune is the perfect place to let the real you shine!"

"Very well. What fascinating prompt have the editorial staff of the ol' Cheese Trib supplied?"

Mogey glanced back at the personal ad application. "Are you more of a night owl or an early bird?" he read out.

"Flawed logic," Smush rejoined. "It can't be answered."

"Why not?"

"Well I'm not either one, am I? Firstly, I have no wings. Secondly, I have no feathers apart from that inexplicable patch of plumage on my right shoulder blade. And thirdly, I like to sleep all night and deep into the morning. Plus frequent naps. Maybe you should call me an 'afternoon koala?' Or an 'early evening opossum?'"

"I'll write that much like the mighty lion, you appreciate your sleep but possess the passion of a jungle cat."

"Fine," Smush agreed. "While we're on lion similarities, add that I have an unkempt mane and eat two-to-three gazelles per week. That'll start really painting a picture for the ladies."

The Abbreviated Adventures of Mogey & Smush: 2025 Edition - Episode 37

Whenever Mogey and Smush required funds for a hair-brained scheme - or even a bald-brained scheme, for that matter - they paid a visit to Chairmole Joel, the visionary angel investor and burrower. 

"Mr. Chairmole," Mogey began, pacing the subterranean boardroom, "we've got a can't-miss proposition for you."

"We know Lizards-on-Demand didn't quite take off the way all of us expected," Smush continued, "but this business model is much sounder." 

Joel blinked his beady black eyes at them, gesturing with a shovel-like paw to continue.

"How often," Mogey said, "when you've been eating pizza, have you said to yourself... 'I wish this had twice as much cheese?'"

"And how often," Smush added, "have you then thought 'aw, shucks, that'll never work - twice the cheese will burn the roof of my mouth?'"

Chairmole Joel's star-shaped nose quivered with excitement. 

"Well, Mr. Chairmole," Mogey concluded, "we've solved both those problems."

"May I present," Smush said, dramatically opening a mysteriously bulbous pizza box, "the pizzadilla!"

Chairmole Joel whipped his checkbook out and was furiously scribbling before Smush finished saying "dilla!"

The Abbreviated Adventures of Mogey & Smush: 2025 Edition - Episode 36

The orchard was a lovely place to be on an autumn morning. That is, if you had the right attitude. Mogey and Smush did not have the right attitude.

"How can I be expected to work when it's hotter up here than the mouth of a feverish man who's just eaten the world's spiciest eggplant parmesan?" Mogey complained from the top of the ladder.

"It's a cool fall day," Smush replied. "There's a downright chill in the air!"

"Not up here, there's not," Mogey said as he mopped his brow. 

"Eat an apple or two to cool yourself down," Smush suggested. 

Always happy to try out a solution involving food, Mogey selected a red delicious from the closest tree and took a large chomp. 

"Uh oh," Smush interrupted. "Here comes the boss! We're not supposed to be munching the product - quick, eat the evidence!"

"Core and all?" Mogey said thickly. 

"Yes!" Smush urged him. "All of it - down the hatch!" 

"Wot's all this, then?" demanded Foreman Belch, rounding into view. Belch was a hop toad who stood four foot high, four foot wide, and four foot deep. 

"Just pickin', boss," Smush replied.

"And you?" Foreman Belch inquired of Mogey, whose mouth was so crammed full of apple parts that he could scarcely breathe. 

Mogey offered what he hoped was an enthusiastic thumbs-up. 

"Come down this ladder and open your mouth," Foreman Belch ordered. Mogey descended, but kept his pie-hole firmly shut. "Don't force me to make you laugh, young man." Still Mogey refused.

So Foreman Belch doffed his cap, inflated his dewlap, and performed the act that had earned his legendary ancestors their surname, all those centuries ago. For the first 30 seconds of the Foreman's heroic burp, Mogey held it together, but when the eructation went up an octave, it was no use. Mogey collapsed into hysterics, showering Foreman Belch in apple parts.

"You are hereby relieved of apple picking duty," Foreman Belch intoned. "I'll need your apple grabber and your badge. And may I say, you are a disgrace to the apple picker's uniform."

The Abbreviated Adventures of Mogey & Smush: 2025 Edition - Episode 35

"And who might you be?" Smushed asked, cooly leaning against the doorframe. The young man on the front stoop removed his hat and stepped eagerly forward.

"The name's Jonjamin Cooper-Schmutz," he said, extending a hand, "and I'm here to talk to you about... about... say, is that a piece of uncooked spaghetti in your mouth?"

"Linguini," Smush replied, clenching the hard pasta in his teeth like a matchstick. "Now what's your game, Cooper-Schmutz? Vacuum cleaners? Tupperware?" 

"Brownies, actually," Jonjamin Cooper-Schmutz replied.

"You're a door-to-door brownie salesman?"

"Indeed I am."

Moments later, Smush burst into the drawing room, his new acquaintance in tow. "Drop everything, Mogey!" he exclaimed. "This here is Jonjamin Cooper-Schmutz, and he's got a sales pitch that's about to blow your noggin clean off."

The Abbreviated Adventures of Mogey & Smush: 2025 Edition - Episode 34

"Have you any plans this afternoon?" Mogey asked from behind the morning paper.

"Not really," Smush replied. "I was thinking of hanging around Farmer Buxby's honesty stall until he closes it up. Sometimes he chucks me a couple of free eggs. What about you?"

"Oh... me? No. No plans. Nothing at all in the old calendaroni," Mogey said.

"Uh huh--"

"You know what we could do?" Mogey interrupted. "Says here there's a performance by the world famous Famiglia Fantoccio marionette troupe down at the Palladium."

"Nope! No thank you. No more puppet shows. Not after last time."

"Come now, Smush. That was the old me! I'd never get up to such childish antics nowadays. Besides, the Famiglia Fantoccio advertisement also notes they'll have ten cent pickled eggs - you won't find those at Buxby's honesty stall!"

"Alright!" Smush acquiesced. "I'll do it for the eggs. But - and I really mean it, old chum - you had better not even THINK about 'Senor Queso' making an appearance." 

From the moment the curtain went up that afternoon, the audience was enthralled. The Famiglia Fantoccio performers used their intricate marionette creations to weave a moving story of longing, betrayal, and sick dance moves. And the pickled eggs tasted divine. 

At last the play reached its denouement, a heartbreaking ballad sung by the story's heroine.

"And though I fall," sang La Contessa Feroce, "I may hope you live on! For the death of this war... is the breaking of the--"

"CHEEEEEEEEEEEEESE!" a voice in the balcony bellowed, upstaging the puppeteer's final note. Every eye in the Palladium swiveled toward the offender, a crude sock puppet with googly eyes and a pink mohawk. This rude creature sat upon the fist of none other than Mogey.

"Oh no," groaned Smush. 

 "That's right!" the sock puppet continued. "Senor Queso is back and cheesier than ever!"

The Abbreviated Adventures of Mogey & Smush: 2025 Edition - Episode 33

"Care to join me for some morning calisthenics tomorrow?" asked Beefy Boeuf Herman, the world's buffest rat and the pal's houseguest for the month.

"Calisthenics?" demanded Smush.

"Morning??" demanded Mogey even more vociferously.

"Certainly," Beefy Boeuf replied. "Come now, chaps - it'll be a laugh!"

Somehow - and it may have had something to do with Beefy Boeuf's ability to wiggle his ears and flex his triceps simultaneously - the pals agreed to join their guest for exercise at dawn. 

"Good day, chaps!" Beefy Boeuf Herman greeted his red-eyed, tousle-haired, growl-stomached hosts the following morning.

"Garumph," Mogey and Smush growled in unison. 

"Impressive," said Beefy Boeuf. "But what seems to be the problem?"

"We haven't put on our gym socks in ages," Smush admitted.

"And they're a skosh tight," Mogey added.

"Not to worry," Beefy Boeuf rejoined. "I'll pitch in!" 

But the task was not easy. In the time since Mogey and Smush had last donned gym socks, their ankles had increased three-to-four hundred percent in girth, and the fibers of the socks had become as inelastic as their owners. With Beefy Boeuf's help, they heaved and they hoed, they pulled and they pulled, until finally, foreheads glistening, they got to their freshly-socked feet.

"Whew!" Mogey exclaimed immediately after donning his socks. He clapped Beefy Boeuf on the back. "Good workout!"

"What are you--," Beefy Boeuf began, but he was interrupted by Smush, who was in the process of peeling his gym socks back off.

"Agreed," Smush commented. "Now what kind of post-exercise recovery meal are we having? I've heard chocolate milk is quite helpful... would a double fudge frappe not be even more helpful?"

The Abbreviated Adventures of Mogey & Smush: 2025 Edition - Episode 32

"You hungry, Smush?" Mogey enquired. "I'm making up a pot of rice."

"Oh indeed," Smush replied. "I'm hungrier than a man who's just eaten an entire Christmas goose."

"Uh... huh. So you're hungry, then?"

"Very. I'm so hungry I could eat the world's smallest whale."

"Then how much rice would you like?" said Mogey, clearly still parsing his pal's words.

"Lots!" said Smush. "At least eight."

"Eight... grains of rice?" 

"Well, at least eight, yeah. I could easily eat more than a thimbleful."

"Who taught you how to make analogies?" Mogey demanded.

"You did," said Smush. "At our weekly lunch-and-learn. Remember?"

"Well I clearly did a terrible job," Mogey replied. "Because I'm more confused than a celebrated mathematician taking a freshman-level algebra quiz."

The Abbreviated Adventures of Mogey & Smush: 2025 Edition - Episode 31

By the time they neared the front of the line, Mogey and Smush had been waiting for a half hour, which was about 29 minutes longer than they traditionally waited for food.

"I think my body is going into shock," Mogey murmured, clutching the wall despite the fact that he and Smush had consumed multiple "line snacks," including an entire roast chicken. 

"Stay strong, Mogester," Smush urged his pal. "We're almost there, and they say these sandwiches are to die for."

At last it was their turn, and the pals approach a counter staffed by an exceptionally warty toad wearing a chef's hat.

"Puzzle or fact?" the toad enquired.

"Wot?" said Mogey. 

"I may have neglected to mention," Smush admitted, "that to order our sandwiches, we must first satisfy Riddlin' Dave, the amphibious master of this fine establishment. We choose 'Puzzle' please, Dave!"

"Ribbit," Riddlin' Dave replied. "In the morning I march, in the evening I waltz, and the entire time I move not an inch. What--Ribbit!--am I?"

"What sort of torture chamber have you brought me to?" Mogey demanded, searching his pockets for any chicken bones he hadn't gnawed fully clean.

"It's ok, Moge-man, we can do this!" Smush said. 

"Ribbit!" Riddlin' Dave agreed. But though the pals thought and thought and ate a king-size bag of cheddar & onion crisps from the shelf beneath the counter and then thought some more, they didn't have the faintest idea how to solve Riddlin' Dave's riddle.

"Thirty--Ribbit!--seconds remaining before I move to the next--Ribbit!--customer," Riddlin' Dave said. 

"Wait a second, that's it!" Mogey exclaimed. "Riddlin' Dave is no frog - he's a toad! And I've never known a toad to ribbit before. He's been giving us a clue this whole time. The answer must be a bit of rib!"

"Mogey, you genius, you've done it again!" Smush shouted. "Riddlin' Dave, our answer is: a 'rib bit.'"

"You know," said Riddlin' Dave, "I've--Ribbit!--never actually seen a customer get the answer so spectacularly wrong, and with such confidence. You have my respect and my concern in equal measure. What--Ribbit!--kind of sandwiches can I get you boys?"