One cold, clammy afternoon, serf Mogey and feudal Smush were toiling on their small plot of land, trying with all their might to coax a few dozen turnips out of the ground. They had just put the finishing touches on a scarecrow made of buttered popcorn, when a stretch limousine stopped in front of their farm. The driver hurriedly opened the rear door and out stepped Vladimir "Peaches" Ivanov, the Baron of all the surrounding countryside.
"Good morrow, lowly peasants!" called Peaches Ivanov cheerfully, striding toward Mogey and Smush.
"Good morrow, Baron Ivanov," Mogey and Smush droned, rolling their eyes.
"Pardon the intrusion," Peaches Ivanov went on, "but I've learned that you fellows have yet to pay your monthly tax of eight loaves, six bushels of turnips, and two adorable kittens."
"It's not our fault, Baron Ivanov!" Mogey declared. "It's the darned crows. We keep trying to grow crops to pay the tax, but the crows just won't leave us alone. They've eaten our last three scarecrows!"
"I see," Peaches Ivanov replied. "And I can't help but notice that your scarecrow is constructed of delicious buttered popcorn. Won't that attract crows, rather than repelling them?"
"P'shaw," Smush said dismissively. "Crows hate popcorn. These ones are just scoundrels."
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