Back in those days, an almighty power ruled the land. A fundamental tension between two near-omnipotent beings known as The Wrinkler and The Polisher. Mogey and Smush had sworn the kind of vow they revered above all others - a so-called "Gravy Oath" - never to interfere in the eternal conflict between The Wrinkler and The Polisher, and for many years they were successful. But one foggy morning that was all to change.
"Avast, Smush! Pull harder on that yardarm, ye landlubber!"
"This is a tiny rowboat, Mogey - we don't even have a yardarm," Smush replied.
"I'll be havin' ye swabbin' the fo'c'sle if I hear any more of that scuttlebutt," Mogey scolded.
To this, Smush responded in the only reasonable way: He splashed Mogey with an oar. Mogey seized the other oar for a thunderous revenge splash and soon the waters surrounding the boat were frothing like Uncle Jerry's whiskers after one of his monthly alka seltzer tooth brushings.
A loud cackle suddenly disturbed the pals' battle. They looked up to see that a slim man had appeared on the shore. He wore a small black bandit mask, but the rest of his face was wrinklier than a cartoon grandpa at a standup comedy show.
"Good lord," Smush said, staying Mogey's hand, "do you realize what we've done? Waves are the wrinkles of the sea. We've attracted the notice of The Wrinkler!"
The Wrinkler cackled again and raised his arms. Though Mogey and Smush had ceased splashing, the little waves they'd made did not subside. Instead they grew and grew as The Wrinkler whipped the small pond into a frenzy.
"Enough!" thundered a new voice on the opposite shore. Here stood a short, rotund little man with the baldest, shiniest head Mogey and Smush had ever seen. He raised his hands and the water before him smoothed to a mirror finish.
"The Polisher!" Mogey breathed.
Now these existential foes went at it, alternately stirring and stilling the water, with Mogey and Smush caught right in the middle. Their little boat would be torn apart in moments at this rate, and then where would they be? Knee- to waist-deep in moderately chilly water, is where.
"Gentlemen!" Mogey announced suddenly. Smush jerked his head 'round, but acknowledged with a little wag of his chin that they had no choice but to break their gravy oath. "Surely we can reach some compromise here! Are rough and smooth surfaces really so different, in the end?"
"They couldn't be more different," The Wrinkler said. "By definition."
"It's literally our entire thing," agreed The Polisher.
"I suppose," Mogey acknowledged. "Hmmm. How's this, then? What if we divide up a little pond like this equitably? Surely the vast majority of the water is down below: The depths remain polished, while the surface may be entirely wrinkled with waves."
The Wrinkler and The Polisher regarded Mogey and each other for a long moment.
"I could go for that," said The Polisher.
"I suppose I could too," said The Wrinkler.
Mogey and Smush breathed a sigh of relief (and hunger) and began slotting their oars back into place to row to shore.
"...except," said The Wrinkler.
"Oh no," said Smush.
"...that I'm not The Wrinkler at all!" The being they thought was The Wrinkler whipped off his bandit's mask to reveal a virtually identical mask beneath. "I'm his chaotic twin brother, THE CRINKLER! The deal is off!" he shouted, and immediately began stirring up a mighty set of waves that reached to the bottom of the pond's briny depths.
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