"What is your favorite letter of the alphabet?" Mogey asked casually. The pals were playing two-on-two Scrabble: Mogey and a golden retriever disc jockey known as ScuttleMutt versus Smush and a dragon boxing champion called Teence Lancelittle.
"You know very well that my favorite letter is 'Q,'" Smush replied. "It starts out so many of my favorite words: quack, quilt, quince, quality foodstuffs. Why do you ask?"
"Because," Mogey said, leaning forward intensely, "we're going to beat you with a word that has at least five Qs in it. ScuttleMutt! Get out that dictionary and find me the most Q-loaded word in there. And make it a triple word score!"
Friday, September 4, 2015
Friday, August 28, 2015
The Abbreviated Adventures of Mogey & Smush Volume 649
"Do you think we can go to the coal car now?" Mogey asked for maybe the fiftieth time.
Smush sighed and put down his copy of Beef and Other Meat Wellingtons Weekly. "I suppose so," he said, "but you're not going to like it. Where you got this idea that you want to ride in a coal car is beyond me. Are you sure you're not thinking of the caboose? Or better yet, the dining car?"
"Yeah! "Yeah! Yeah!" Mogey exclaimed. "The coal car: Second from the front, full of coal, a pleasure to ride in for man or mole."
"You say that like it's a well known verse, but I'm proof positive you invented it yourself," muttered Smush as the two pals made their way through the Bennington & Northern train. After passing through half a dozen cars, they finally emerged into the open air. Before them was a filthy, unadorned box of a train car, loaded about halfway to the top with sooty coal.
"See, Mogey," Smush said. "There's nothing glamorous abou-- Mogey?" Smush spun around in a panic, only to see that Mogey had already hopped across the gap and was burrowing into the coal in a way that could only be described as "snuggling."
"Coal car," Mogey sighed, yawning deeply. "Coal caaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaar."
Friday, August 21, 2015
The Abbreviated Adventures of Mogey & Smush Volume 648
Perhaps it was a coincidence, but anytime Mogey and Smush ate barbecue ribs, the subject of mortality seemed to come up.
"So," Mogey said around a mouthful of sweet, sweet St. Louis style, "if it had to end, how would you want to go?"
Smush peered around the epic pile of bones in the center of the table that would later be used for a game known as "pork jenga."
"'Tis an unpleasant subject, but I've always thought 'Killed by a Crocodile' would read nicely on a tombstone," he replied. "That's why I challenge Hambone the Croc - a notoriously sore loser - to a weekly arm rasslin' match. When the day comes that I finally pin him, it will be time. And yourself?"
"There's only one way Mogey's shuffling off this earthly coil. A fair maiden is captured by a dastardly kidnapper and taken the the tippy top of the water tower in Cliffburgh--"
"That thing must be 500 feet high!" Smush exclaimed.
"You're darn right," Mogey said. "Anyhow, I pursue the kidnapper to the tippy top, where I become locked in combat with his dastardly self. Only, I realize that there's no way I can win - he's just too strong for me. After assuring that the fair maiden is safe, I manage to latch on to the dastardly villain and send both of us tumbling over the edge. Now what the kidnapper (dastardly though he is) doesn't know is that I'm wearing a parachute."
"Wait a second, I thought this was supposed to be the way it all ended."
"Let me finish! I pull the ripcord, but it malfunctions, you see. Turns out, instead of packing the parachute, I've filled the bag with two full racks of these fine St. Louis style ribs. I finish all of them before impact. The end."
"So," Mogey said around a mouthful of sweet, sweet St. Louis style, "if it had to end, how would you want to go?"
Smush peered around the epic pile of bones in the center of the table that would later be used for a game known as "pork jenga."
"'Tis an unpleasant subject, but I've always thought 'Killed by a Crocodile' would read nicely on a tombstone," he replied. "That's why I challenge Hambone the Croc - a notoriously sore loser - to a weekly arm rasslin' match. When the day comes that I finally pin him, it will be time. And yourself?"
"There's only one way Mogey's shuffling off this earthly coil. A fair maiden is captured by a dastardly kidnapper and taken the the tippy top of the water tower in Cliffburgh--"
"That thing must be 500 feet high!" Smush exclaimed.
"You're darn right," Mogey said. "Anyhow, I pursue the kidnapper to the tippy top, where I become locked in combat with his dastardly self. Only, I realize that there's no way I can win - he's just too strong for me. After assuring that the fair maiden is safe, I manage to latch on to the dastardly villain and send both of us tumbling over the edge. Now what the kidnapper (dastardly though he is) doesn't know is that I'm wearing a parachute."
"Wait a second, I thought this was supposed to be the way it all ended."
"Let me finish! I pull the ripcord, but it malfunctions, you see. Turns out, instead of packing the parachute, I've filled the bag with two full racks of these fine St. Louis style ribs. I finish all of them before impact. The end."
Tuesday, July 14, 2015
The Abbreviated Adventures of Mogey & Smush Volume 647
Of all the games at all the fairgrounds in Tungleton-on-Gunk, whack-a-mole was far and away our heroes' favorite.
In the first place, as is evident from the town in which they lived, Mogey and Smush loved hyphens. Few carnival games offered as many hyphens in their names as whack-a-mole. And when you threw in the fact that the principal tool of whack-a-mole is a whack-a-mole mole-whacker, the game couldn't be beat.
In the second place, Mogey and Smush hated moles. Their beloved childhood dog, Chunko, had been killed by moles long ago. Well, he was killed by moles in the sense that moles dug the tunnels in which Chunko (who was slender of brains but not of tummy) got both inextricably stuck and hopelessly lost. Mogey and Smush had despised moles ever since.
In the third place, Mogey and Smush found mole a l'orange to be the most delectable dish in Tungleton-on-Gunk, and possibly in all of existence.
But Mogey and Smush had never won a game of whack-a-mole. They'd come close one afternoon when a light rain slowed the moles' reaction time, but even then, they'd been foiled.
Today, however, they decided to win at all costs. They had devised a mole-whacker of such epic proportions that no mole could hope to escape un-l'oranged. But though their mole-whacker covered three-quarters of the whack-a-mole board, still moles continued to pop up, taunting the pals with their clever, delicious-looking faces.
Finally, in frustration, Mogey dropped the mole-whacker and leapt into one of the mole-holes, getting stuck partway through just like Chunko all those years ago.
"Hey!" Mogey shouted as Smush tried to pull him out by his ankles. "These moles are just plastic! They'd make a mediocre mole a l'orange at best."
In the first place, as is evident from the town in which they lived, Mogey and Smush loved hyphens. Few carnival games offered as many hyphens in their names as whack-a-mole. And when you threw in the fact that the principal tool of whack-a-mole is a whack-a-mole mole-whacker, the game couldn't be beat.
In the second place, Mogey and Smush hated moles. Their beloved childhood dog, Chunko, had been killed by moles long ago. Well, he was killed by moles in the sense that moles dug the tunnels in which Chunko (who was slender of brains but not of tummy) got both inextricably stuck and hopelessly lost. Mogey and Smush had despised moles ever since.
In the third place, Mogey and Smush found mole a l'orange to be the most delectable dish in Tungleton-on-Gunk, and possibly in all of existence.
But Mogey and Smush had never won a game of whack-a-mole. They'd come close one afternoon when a light rain slowed the moles' reaction time, but even then, they'd been foiled.
Today, however, they decided to win at all costs. They had devised a mole-whacker of such epic proportions that no mole could hope to escape un-l'oranged. But though their mole-whacker covered three-quarters of the whack-a-mole board, still moles continued to pop up, taunting the pals with their clever, delicious-looking faces.
Finally, in frustration, Mogey dropped the mole-whacker and leapt into one of the mole-holes, getting stuck partway through just like Chunko all those years ago.
"Hey!" Mogey shouted as Smush tried to pull him out by his ankles. "These moles are just plastic! They'd make a mediocre mole a l'orange at best."
Wednesday, April 22, 2015
The Abbreviated Adventures of Mogey & Smush Volume 646
One warm summer evening, as the fireflies floated aimlessly, the polecats sneaked furtively, and a lone, moony toad dreamed of winning the 100-Meter Hop, Mogey sat by the fire pit, toasting marshmallows. Being a connoisseur of fine cuisine, Mogey was far more concerned with the toppings he added to fully toasted marshmallows than he was with the mallows themselves. So though he had but a few meager sticks on the fire, the picnic table was spread with an incredible array of so-called toppings, from caramel sauce and hot fudge to crushed cheez-its and an entire Hawaiian pizza.
"Ah," said Smush, wandering over from the hammock he'd strung between two ancient statues of trousers. "I was wondering where my bucket of chicken wings ended up."
"The honey barbecue ones are particularly tasty on top of a fresh-toasted mallow," Mogey replied.
"True, but this fire is pitiful! You'll never cook your mallows through on that thing."
Mogey simply shrugged and swept his arm toward the smorgasbord atop the picnic table. Smush sighed a weary sigh and trudged in the direction of their homestead's armory. "You know, Mogey," he said, "Uncle Herman was wrong about herring-scented candles and he was definitely wrong about his ability to fight that ostrich warrior who came to town, but he was right about one thing: If something's worth doing, it's worth doing with a flamethrower."
"Ah," said Smush, wandering over from the hammock he'd strung between two ancient statues of trousers. "I was wondering where my bucket of chicken wings ended up."
"The honey barbecue ones are particularly tasty on top of a fresh-toasted mallow," Mogey replied.
"True, but this fire is pitiful! You'll never cook your mallows through on that thing."
Mogey simply shrugged and swept his arm toward the smorgasbord atop the picnic table. Smush sighed a weary sigh and trudged in the direction of their homestead's armory. "You know, Mogey," he said, "Uncle Herman was wrong about herring-scented candles and he was definitely wrong about his ability to fight that ostrich warrior who came to town, but he was right about one thing: If something's worth doing, it's worth doing with a flamethrower."
Friday, January 23, 2015
The Abbreviated Adventures of Mogey & Smush Volume 645
"What do you think of this bouquet?" Mogey asked nervously. "It has to be perfect - I've been waiting my whole life for a chance to go on a date with Miss Molly MacFluffernutter."
"Oof, Mogey. That bouquet is uglier than that piglet who was born with a human nose," Smush replied, for he too was secretly in love with Miss Molly MacFluffernutter.
"Uglier than Slinky the Pig?" Mogey gasped. "Smush, you have to help me!"
"Well, first off: The daffodils send totally the wrong message. Are you looking to take her to dinner or back in time to the age of the dinosaurs? And tulips? Come on, Mogey, you're not Tad Khan, boy millionaire. The daisies come on too strong. The lilies don't come on strong enough. And the baby's breath is flat out disgusting."
"But if I take all of those away, I'm only left with a single stinkblossum flower!"
"Exactly," Smush said sagely. "Keep it simple - she'll love it." With that, Smush guiltily ushered his best pal out the door and watched him saunter down the road, stinkblossum in hand....
Many hours later, Smush was awakened by the sound of an extremely smitten Mogey bursting into his study. "You were right!" Mogey hollered. "She loved the flower!"
"She... did?"
"She did! We're going out again next week... to my two favorite places: Cluckie's Chicken Shack and Legoland," Mogey said, swooning dramatically onto Smush's desk. "And it's all thanks to you - she was so impressed that I brought her a flower that perfectly matched my cologne!"
"Oof, Mogey. That bouquet is uglier than that piglet who was born with a human nose," Smush replied, for he too was secretly in love with Miss Molly MacFluffernutter.
"Uglier than Slinky the Pig?" Mogey gasped. "Smush, you have to help me!"
"Well, first off: The daffodils send totally the wrong message. Are you looking to take her to dinner or back in time to the age of the dinosaurs? And tulips? Come on, Mogey, you're not Tad Khan, boy millionaire. The daisies come on too strong. The lilies don't come on strong enough. And the baby's breath is flat out disgusting."
"But if I take all of those away, I'm only left with a single stinkblossum flower!"
"Exactly," Smush said sagely. "Keep it simple - she'll love it." With that, Smush guiltily ushered his best pal out the door and watched him saunter down the road, stinkblossum in hand....
Many hours later, Smush was awakened by the sound of an extremely smitten Mogey bursting into his study. "You were right!" Mogey hollered. "She loved the flower!"
"She... did?"
"She did! We're going out again next week... to my two favorite places: Cluckie's Chicken Shack and Legoland," Mogey said, swooning dramatically onto Smush's desk. "And it's all thanks to you - she was so impressed that I brought her a flower that perfectly matched my cologne!"
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