One day Mogey and Smush were weeding the rutabagas when a creakity cart rolled up the the path. The cart was stacked precariously in back with dozens of covered cages, and at the reins was a dapper man with slicked back hair and a handsome purple suit.
"Good morrow, fine gents," the man said, hopping spryly from his perch. "The name's Badgerman Bleak, it's a pleasure to make your acquaintance I'm sure."
"Mogey," Mogey replied in a daze, shaking Badgerman Bleak's outstretched hand.
"Smush," said Smush as he did the same.
"Do you really think we're fine gents?" Mogey asked.
"I do indeed," Badgerman Bleak replied. "So fine in fact, that I can't believe your magnificent estate doesn't have something every magnificent estate needs. Something, in fact, that I'd be able to provide you for the low low price of twenty-nine ninety-nine." He made a sweeping gesture to the cages in the rear of the cart.
"What's that?" Smush asked with a goofy grin. "A badger? Teehee."
With surprising quickness for how handsome he was, Badgerman Bleak slapped Smush across the face.
"How dare you?" Badgerman Bleak bellowed. "Badgerman's a family name! The only things I sell are windchimes. And lobster pots." And with that, Badgerman Bleak rode off into the sunset, though it was only ten in the morning.
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