The Abbreviated Adventures of Mogey & Smush: 2024 Edition - Episode 4

 "Nobody move!" shouted Constable Smush, as he barred the huge and ancient timber doors.

"A crime has been committed here tonight," added Inspector Mogey, "and the perpetrator is in this room."

The crowd of dinner guests gasped. Hammingham's elite had expected intrigue at a gala held by the reclusive Baron Bear Bearsley, to be sure. Games of chance, slam poetry, obscure mollusks served both raw and deep fried, but a police investigation? That was a surprise. 

"This criminal is an odd one," Smush continued, relishing the rapt attention of the partygoers. "He clearly wants to be caught."

"The fiend has left us a clue," Mogey said. He held a scroll up to the light, which earned another gasp. 

"What was the crime, good officers?" called a voice from the crowd. 

"Murder," growled Smush. A well-dressed gentlesquatch fainted, rattling the dishes. 

"...of a great piece of artwork," Mogey added. "The scoundrel drew an unattractive moustache on the portrait of Baron Bear Bearsley's ancestor, Baron Randy Bearsley."

"And now for the clue," Smush intoned. Mogey held the scroll for his pal to read aloud. "If you want to solve this cursory crime, look to the classical nursery rhyme: The butcher, the baker, the... that's all it says." Smush concluded, looking up.

"Well I think we all know who the perpetrator is," said Mogey, sweeping a pointed finger across the crowd until it landed on one particular guest. "Jacques-Pierre!" 

"Quoi?" said Jacques-Pierre. 

"Of course!" Smush agreed. "The butcher, the baker, the french canadian bodybuilder. Apprehend that man!"

If one listened carefully during the hubbub that ensued, one could hear a sinister laugh echoing through the hall - sinister, and yet just a bit disappointed - as Waxy Greg, the dastardly chandler, capped his sharpie and slunk away into the night.

The Abbreviated Adventures of Mogey & Smush: 2024 Edition - Episode 3

 "Thanks ever so much for allowing me to accompany you for a day of field work, my dear Smush," said Mogey. "Or should I call you Dr. Smush?"

"You should not," replied Smush without looking up from his magnifying glass, "I have a 90-day certificate in entomology from the University of Phoenix Online. I'm just barely a doctor." 

"Right-o," Mogey agreed. "Well it's a lovely day for vermeology, anyway."

"Mmm," said Smush, still hunched over the sandy ground. 

What dapper young gentlemen! squeaked a tiny voice. 

Smush popped up from his crouch like a prairie dog who'd sat on a hot buttered biscuit and he scurried toward the sound.

"What have you got, Smush?" Mogey queried breathlessly. "What have you found?"

Come this way - I can't wait to meet you.

"I think it might be... it is!" Smush exclaimed, skidding to a halt. "Look, Mogey: A rare Simkin's Honesty Worm."

Mogey gazed through the magnifying glass at what looked like an ordinary earthworm.

May I have the name of your barber? That is some head of hair you've got.

"Wait a minute... wait just a minute," Smush announced. "This is even more exciting. Those ridges on his abdomen are horizontal - that means he's a much rarer specimen: The Simkin's Liar-Chomper."

"Honesty Worm seems more likely," Mogey said. "We are dapper. Although what a worm wants with a barber is beyond--"

CHOMP!

"OWOOOOOOOOO!" Mogey howled, dancing around clutching his throbbing toe. "That worm chomped me!"

"Yep," murmured Smush dreamily, "that Simkin was unrivaled when it came to discovering talking worms."

The Abbreviated Adventures of Mogey & Smush: 2024 Edition - Episode 2

 Mogey strode to the edge of his treetop porch and inhaled the dewy air. This was the life. Jungle noises surrounded him: monkeys chattering, water dripping melodiously, and - somewhere - a very pleased anteater slurping down termites. 

Ding!

Mogey turned to see his lift door open and Smush bustle out. 

"Sorry I'm late," Smush said, setting down a massive carafe of pass-o-guava juice. "First a toucan flew into my head, A-GAIN, and I was 20 minutes telling him off. Then JuiceBoy Jurgenson was ahead of me at the juicery--"

"That boy does love juice," Mogey agreed.

"Exactly. So that was another quarter-hour. Then I get to the bottom of your tree and guess who's on lift duty?"

"Not Molasses the Sloth!"

"In all his slothy glory," Smush confirmed. "When you're so slow that even the other sloths get impatient with you, it's time to take a good look in the mirror and... you know... pick up the pace a bit."

"Say, what was that noise when the lift reached my floor? My lift doesn't ding."

"I haven't the slightest idea."

"You dinged, didn't you," Mogey said. "I accuse you of dinging!"

"Alright it's true," Smush admitted. "It always seems so pleasant on television when the elevator dings. And speaking of strange noises..."

A howl echoed through the jungle. "AAAAAAAIIIIIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEE!"

The sounds emanated from a figure swinging toward them, vine to vine. With a final long arc, he propelled himself gracefully across the canopy and onto the porch where Mogey and Smush stood.

"Ello, chaps!" said the man, who wore only a plaid flat cap, a pair of lederhosen, and some high-top work boots.

"Hullo, Fritz," the pals chorused. Fritz Bravado, the cocky cockney, was one of their least favorite neighbors. 

"Vine swinging's the only way to travel, innit?"

"I suppose," said Mogey, "but must you scream like Tarman?"

"Tarman?" Fritz scoffed. "I believe you're referring to Tarzan, a personal 'ero of mine?"

"Doesn't he stick to the vines like..." Mogey began, "nevermind. It's not important."

"Much to my chagrin, I believe Mr. Bravado is correct on this one," Smush said. Fritz tipped his cap. "Anyhow, I'd better be off. With Molasses still on lift duty it'll be hours getting down."

"Why not give a vine a try, guv?" Fritz said, offering Smush a thick length of plant runner that stretched into the treetops. "You'll find it exhilarating and very efficient - that's a Fritz Bravado guarantee."

Smush hesitated, but Fritz's pan-European charisma was much too strong. "Why not," said he. Smush gripped the vine securely, took a deep breath, and leapt from Mogey's porch. The vine broke with almost comical immediacy, sending Smush plummeting for the rainforest floor, screeching in terror.

"Now he sounds like Tarman," Fritz commented, peering over the porch railing.

Luckily Smush's fall was cushioned by none other than Molasses the Sloth, who upon having a (rather portly) character fall directly onto his stomach from a great height, woke from his nap, blew Smush the world's slowest raspberry, and went immediately back to sleep. 

The Abbreviated Adventures of Mogey & Smush: 2024 Edition - Episode 1

On a foggy morning, Mogey and Smush stopped into the Mud n' Stuff for a couple hot cups of terrible coffee and, of course, some stuff. 

As Mogey reached out for one of the more appetizing pieces of stuff (the last remaining jelly donut), his fingers collided with someone else's hand. Where Mogey's was stubby and supple with signs of cupcake icing beneath the fingernails, this other hand was massive, hairy, and covered with skull tattoos. 

"Are you flirting with me?" Mogey inquired (though his surprise didn't stop him from seizing the donut). 

"No sir," said the hand's owner, a man so large he appeared to consist of two oxen standing under a trenchcoat, "but I sure do want that donut."

"This donut?" Mogey replied, aghast. "But it's mine."

"I believe I have claim to it. Tell you what though: I'll rassle yeh for it, fair and square."

"Are you sure you're not flirting with me?"

"Quite sure." 

"Why would I rassle someone your size?" Mogey demanded. "You'd pin me faster than a snake wriggles out of a bowl of spaghetti belonging to Coco Drillo, the Italian crocodile."

"What about my son?" said the beastly donut lover. He pointed across the Mud n' Stuff to an (admittedly large) baby carriage.

"Do it, Mogey," Smush whispered in his pal's ear.

"Have you been here the whole time?" asked Mogey.

"Do it," Smush said, ignoring him. "Surely you can beat anyone in a baby carriage at rasslin'."

"Fine," Mogey agreed. "Bring on your son. The stakes: One Mud n' Stuff raspberry fritter."

Just then, an arm dangled out over the side of the pram. While ensconced in a long-sleeved onesie, Mogey could clearly see biceps, triceps, and even a few monoceps stretching that onesie to its absolute limits.

"Oh no," Mogey said.

"Is that..." Smush began.

"It sure is," Mogey confirmed. "Gah Gah McMuscles, the world's strongest baby."

"Toss him your donut and RUN!" screamed Smush.