A curious feature of the estate Smush had inherited from his Great Uncle Mush von Tush was a miniature volcanic vent known to some as "that real hot hole." In olden times the tiny caldera had been alternately worshipped, studied, and used as the town's primary way to execute bean thieves. Mogey and Smush, of course, used the hellacious gash in the earth's crust for baking bread.
"Oh no. Oh heavens no," Mogey groaned as he gazed into the Hot Hole's brimstoney depths.
"What is it?" Smush asked.
"One of the loaf pans got pushed too far in. It's sitting in double L."
"Double L? You mean 'Literal Lava??'" Now it was Smush's turn to groan. "What did we have baking in that one?"
"That's the worst news of all," Mogey replied. "It's cinnamon-raisin-bacon."
Smush's howl was even louder than some of the olden time bean thieves' had been. "We've got to do something!" he exclaimed. "Here: try these oven mitts."
"What temp are those bad boys rated for?" Mogey asked skeptically.
"I'm not sure," Smush answered, examining the lining of the bright pink mitts. "Ah! It says here 'Approved for Use in Easy-Bake Oven Only.' You know how hot those things get? You should be fine."
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