As Mogey and Smush were snorkeling at the highly-exclusive, all-inclusive, slightly-elusive resort known as Sand 'n Stuff, Smush began to struggle. At first he spluttered, then he thrashed, and in mere moments he was down. And by "down," of course we mean he was inverted, with his feet in the air and his head underwater. As has been covered in these records previously, Mogey and Smush were both excellent flotation devices.
But bobbing at the surface doesn't matter much when your breathing apparatus - nose, mouth, and snorkel all - are beneath the waves, so Smush was in trouble.
Luckily, Sand 'n Stuff was staffed by Flotilla the Hon, a lifeguard who was quite buoyant in his own right, and a sweetheart to boot. Flotilla sprang into action, paddling out to Smush's position, flipping him upright, and then hauling him out of the water.
"Easy there, big fella," said Flotilla, depositing Smush in the sand and inspecting his snorkel. "What seems to be the--say! What's this gunk in your snorkel?"
"Don't... touch..." Smush murmured breathlessly, "my... hot... fudge."
"Hot fudge in a snorkel?" Flotilla the Hun exclaimed. "No wonder you couldn't breathe!"
"Ahh, Flotilla," said Mogey stickily. He took a pull off his own fudgy snorkel and gave a pat on the back to the naive young lifeguard, "'tis the only way to live!"
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