The orchard was a lovely place to be on an autumn morning. That is, if you had the right attitude. Mogey and Smush did not have the right attitude.
"How can I be expected to work when it's hotter up here than the mouth of a feverish man who's just eaten the world's spiciest eggplant parmesan?" Mogey complained from the top of the ladder.
"It's a cool fall day," Smush replied. "There's a downright chill in the air!"
"Not up here, there's not," Mogey said as he mopped his brow.
"Eat an apple or two to cool yourself down," Smush suggested.
Always happy to try out a solution involving food, Mogey selected a red delicious from the closest tree and took a large chomp.
"Uh oh," Smush interrupted. "Here comes the boss! We're not supposed to be munching the product - quick, eat the evidence!"
"Core and all?" Mogey said thickly.
"Yes!" Smush urged him. "All of it - down the hatch!"
"Wot's all this, then?" demanded Foreman Belch, rounding into view. Belch was a hop toad who stood four foot high, four foot wide, and four foot deep.
"Just pickin', boss," Smush replied.
"And you?" Foreman Belch inquired of Mogey, whose mouth was so crammed full of apple parts that he could scarcely breathe.
Mogey offered what he hoped was an enthusiastic thumbs-up.
"Come down this ladder and open your mouth," Foreman Belch ordered. Mogey descended, but kept his pie-hole firmly shut. "Don't force me to make you laugh, young man." Still Mogey refused.
So Foreman Belch doffed his cap, inflated his dewlap, and performed the act that had earned his legendary ancestors their surname, all those centuries ago. For the first 30 seconds of the Foreman's heroic burp, Mogey held it together, but when the eructation went up an octave, it was no use. Mogey collapsed into hysterics, showering Foreman Belch in apple parts.
"You are hereby relieved of apple picking duty," Foreman Belch intoned. "I'll need your apple grabber and your badge. And may I say, you are a disgrace to the apple picker's uniform."
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