"You know what I'm really craving?" Mogey said to the waitress at Macaulay Cluckin's Hen Alone Diner. "An omelette. A big five-egger with muenster cheese. What do you say?"
"We don't serve omelettes here," the waitress replied. "And quite frankly it's offensive that you would even ask."
(It is probably worth noting at this point that the waitress, like all the staff at Macaulay Cluckin's, was a four-foot-tall talking chicken.)
"Sheesh," Mogey responded, "everyone's so sensitive these days. Guess I'll just stick with the mile-high stack of flapjacks."
"I'll have the same," Smush chimed in.
"You know the mile-high is meant to be shared, right?" the waitress buckawed. "It's twenty-five flapjacks doused in a half pound of butter and a quart of maple syrup."
"So by 'shared' you mean... " Smush pondered, "like, there's room on the plate to order something else?"
"I'll just bring two orders," the waitress clucked, snatching the menus and hopping haughtily away.
"Pooh pooh and phooey!" Mogey muttered. "How am I to start a day off right without any eggs to eat?"
"It's 1:30 PM," Smush answered.
"Psst!" whispered a scoundrel sitting in the next booth, "youse guys want some eggs? I can hook you up."
He swung open his trench coat to reveal a dozen tiny pockets, each of which was occupied by an individual hard-boiled egg.
"Don't do it, Mogey!" Smush urged. "We'll get in trouble."
"Pipe down, narc," Mogey said. Turning back to the reprobate in the next booth he asked, "how much?"
"Tell youse what. Cut me in on a couple of those flapjacks and we'll call it even."
"MISS! MISS!" Mogey shouted, flagging down the waitress and pointing to the egg smuggler. "This gentleman is attempting to sell us contraband! And what's worse, at completely outrageous prices. Such behavior in Macaulay Cluckin's I've never seen before. He should be escorted from the premises at once!"
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