One morning, Mogey had put the tea kettle on and was buttering some crumpets for his breakfast. As his butter knife descended on the seventh or eighth crumpet, the round little pastry leapt into the air and began rolling across the table.
"Please don't put that butter on me!" the crumpet shrieked. "Other than jam, butter is the spread that we crumpets fear most!"
"Holy mackerel!" exclaimed Smush, who had been sitting nearby. "A talking crumpet!"
"Indeed," Mogey replied, carefully snatching the crumpet off the table top.
"Just think," Smush said dreamily, rising to his feet and pacing about the room, "we'll never have to work again. We'll travel the land charging top dollar for people to see this little fellow. We'll sell popcorn, and t-shirts, and lunch boxes, and--"
CHOMP!
"Mogey," Smush said without turning toward his pal, "please tell me you did not just eat that magical talking crumpet."
"But... I already ate the other ones," Mogey said, swallowing a large mouthful. "And I was still hungry!"
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