tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-76351681712839731882024-03-14T21:56:59.859-04:00The Abbreviated Adventures of Mogey & SmushNew Adventures Every So OftenJake Navarrohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11527393647421455978noreply@blogger.comBlogger733125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7635168171283973188.post-44139623242735374702024-03-14T21:54:00.000-04:002024-03-14T21:54:16.271-04:00The Abbreviated Adventures of Mogey & Smush: 2024 Edition - Episode 11<p>"You know, Smush," Mogey said, throwing a Butterfinger Mini high into the air and catching it in his mouth with a satisfying crunch, "there's something I've always wanted to ask you."</p><p><br /></p><p>"Shoot," replied Smush, pointing to his mouth in what was an unmistakable, universal gesture for "toss me one of them Butterfinger Minis." </p><p><br /></p><p>"Are you sure? It's a bit personal."</p><p><br /></p><p>"Fire away," Smush confirmed. "I'm an olden book."</p><p><br /></p><p>"You mean an <i>open </i>book?" </p><p><br /></p><p>"That too," Smush mumbled, still distracted by the fact that he'd yet to be lobbed a Butterfinger Mini.</p><p><br /></p><p>"Alright," rejoined Mogey, "here it is. What is your favorite saint's feast day?"</p><p><br /></p><p>"Feasht 'ay?" Smush inquired around the Butterfinger Mini Mogey had finally chucked his way.</p><p><br /></p><p>"Exactly. Like St. Patrick's Day, or St. Valentine's Day, or the Feast of St. Hubert. You know, the classics!"</p><p><br /></p><p>"Ah, I see," Smush replied. "Well that's an easy one: St. Smush's Day is my favorite feast."</p><p><br /></p><p>"St. Smush's Day?" Mogey exclaimed. "I never heard of that."</p><p><br /></p><p>"Well, it hasn't officially been invented yet. But there'll be a St. Smush's Day. You can bet your britches on that, buddy boy. And I've got big plans for it, too. St. Patrick's got shamrocks? St. Smush will have actual rocks. St. Valentine's Day has candy hearts? St. Smush's Day will have rock candy. Are you noticing a theme here?"</p><p><br /></p><p>"Rocks?"</p><p><br /></p><p>"Precisely!" said Smush. "Because St. Smush's Day..." Smush paused expectantly.</p><p><br /></p><p>"Is fun for the whole family?" Mogey suggested.</p><p><br /></p><p>"Close enough," Smush agreed, clapping his pal on the shoulder. "And I'll tell you something else: Bung me another of those Butterfinger Minis and we'll be well on our way to a St. Mogey's Day too."</p><p> </p>Jake Navarrohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11527393647421455978noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7635168171283973188.post-84531550936830414422024-03-07T00:00:00.001-05:002024-03-14T21:51:18.247-04:00The Abbreviated Adventures of Mogey & Smush: 2024 Edition - Episode 10<p> "Nope, nothing quite classes up a gentleman's garb like a necktie," <span class="il">Mogey</span> announced as he strutted into the drawing room, thumbs tucked beneath his suspenders.</p><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"Ordinarily I'd agree," Smush replied, "but that is the most loathsome tie I've seen since Skunkles McGinty gave away free 'scratch 'n sniff' bow ties for his fish cannery booth at the career fair."</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"My friend," <span class="il">Mogey</span> said, clapping Smush on the shoulder and holding the tie up to the light, "this is a <i>Charlotte Aubert</i>."</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"I wouldn't care if it was a <i>Chocolate Eclair -</i> you couldn't pay me to wear that tie."</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"But... but... "</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"I would rather wear a live eel tied about my neck. Speaking of which, I've been craving jellied eels. Fancy a trip to the pie house?"</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"But I got a second tie just for you," <span class="il">Mogey</span> murmured sadly, proffering a finely wrapped box. "A genuine <i>Charlotte Aubert</i>..."</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"Oh thank heavens!" Smush exclaimed. "If I had to see you wearing that tie a few moments longer I would've simply expired from jealousy. Best of all, it'll go perfectly with my jellied eel jacket!"</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;" /></div>Jake Navarrohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11527393647421455978noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7635168171283973188.post-64150227242010371882024-02-29T00:00:00.002-05:002024-03-14T21:55:11.818-04:00The Abbreviated Adventures of Mogey & Smush: 2024 Edition - Episode 9<p> <span class="il">Mogey</span> and Smush were strict adherents to a scientific method. It was not THE scientific method, of course (neither <span class="il">Mogey</span> nor Smush had the patience for random control trials, formulating hypotheses, or even taking marginally good notes), but it was a method in the sense that it was a way of doing something, and it was scientific in the sense that they often wore lab coats.<br /><br /></p><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">On a day so steamy that medical professionals were advising the elderly and infirmed to step into the sauna to cool off, <span class="il">Mogey</span> and Smush's scientific method was put to the test with a revolutionary experiment.</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"Do you have the device?" Smush asked, wiping sweat from his brow with a broadsheet newspaper.</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"I do," <span class="il">Mogey</span> replied solemnly. He held up a wooden spinning top and readjusted the sodden handkerchief around his neck.</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"And is the rotator prepared?"</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"Indeed," <span class="il">Mogey</span> confirmed, gripping the handle of the merry-go-round.</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"Let the experiment commence!" Smush announced. He shook out the front of his shirt to circulate some air to his stifled tummyparts.</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">Carefully, <span class="il">Mogey</span> set the top spinning in the center of the carousel, then gave the circular platform a hard shove in the opposite direction. The pals watched as the two concentric contraptions revolved in the oppressive humidity.</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"Report on your key observations," Smush ordered once the top and merry-go-round had both stopped spinning.</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"I now have a craving for rotisserie chicken," <span class="il">Mogey</span> replied with utter sincerity. "Cold rotisserie chicken. And perhaps a hand-spun milkshake?"</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"I concur. Scientific method concluded. Boston Market here we come!"</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"What is it about the scientific method that makes every experiment conclude at Boston Market?"</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"That, <span class="il">Mogey</span>," Smush said, clapping his pal damply on the back, "is a question that the scientists who come after us - indeed, the scientists who stand upon our shoulders - will need to answer. The important thing is that we've lit the fires of curiosity for future generations. AND we've lit the fires of the rotisserie chicken experts: Boston Market."</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;" /></div></div>Jake Navarrohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11527393647421455978noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7635168171283973188.post-65052268635075921902024-02-22T00:00:00.001-05:002024-03-14T21:48:34.648-04:00The Abbreviated Adventures of Mogey & Smush: 2024 Edition - Episode 8<p> "By King Midas's freshly trimmed moustache!" Smush exclaimed. "Is it just me, or has your nose gotten bigger?"</p><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"Thank you for noticing," <span class="il">Mogey</span> replied, blushing ever so slightly. "I've been breathing only through my mouth for the last six months, and I think it's really paying off. My smeller has swollen up enough that I think I could really be in the running for <i>Snout of the Season</i> this year."</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"<i>Frontier Teen's </i>most frivolous and prestigious accolade? Have you forgotten about Mergle the Schnozz?"</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"Of course not," <span class="il">Mogey</span> replied mournfully. "His beak has been named <i>Snout of the Season</i> for eight years running. But don't you think I have a chance?"</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"Ordinarily I'd say yes," Smush rejoined, "but rumor has it Mergle has a brand new wart on his nozzle. It's even more bulbous than it was the first half of his legendary career. The man's got an eggplant between his eyes."</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><span class="il">Mogey</span> threw himself to the ground, howling like an old-timey business tycoon when not one candidate named Chauncey showed up for his chauffeur job interviews.</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"Of course..." said Smush.</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"Yes?" <span class="il">Mogey</span> inquired, picking his face off the ground and a Swedish fish out of his hair. The tone Smush had used could mean one thing and one thing only: he was contemplating some devilment.</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"Well, we could always... shall we say... tip the scales in your favor."</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"How?" </div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"I know a certain hornet named Bumble Babineaux," Smush explained. "He's always looking to help a friend out of a jam but also he actively enjoys stinging people. A couple of quick jabs to the honker and your nose'll be twice the size of Mergle the Schnozz's. You're happy, Bumble Babineaux is happy, bada bing, bada beeson, you're <i>Snout of the Season</i>."</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"Is he the one I always see buzzing around anytime we try to have a picnic or enjoy a glass of crystal light on the porch?" <span class="il">Mogey</span> asked. "He's always seemed more menacing than helpful. And wouldn't this be cheating?"</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"Trust me," Smush assured him. "Bumble Babineaux is <i>very</i> discreet."</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"></div></div>Jake Navarrohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11527393647421455978noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7635168171283973188.post-80761270020372817392024-02-15T00:00:00.002-05:002024-03-14T21:56:28.377-04:00The Abbreviated Adventures of Mogey & Smush: 2024 Edition - Episode 7<p> Everyone knows about the glory of an epic quest: The adventure, the excitement, the dragons to be conquered and the conchs to be draggin' (through a ramekin of Grizztopher Grizzle's Bearly Bearable Hot'n'Sassy Cocktail Sauce). But there is another side of every quest. The side only questers themselves will ever truly understand. The side of blistered feet and B.O., beans for breakfast and burnt beef jerky.<br /><br /></p><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">Thus it was for <span class="il">Mogey</span> and Smush, who hauled themselves into the castle town of Highmutton more dead than alive.</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"I can't do it," Smush cried, falling to the street in a dust cloud of his own making. "You'll have to go on without me."</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"Ok," said <span class="il">Mogey</span>, stumbling forward.</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"No, wait!" Smush exclaimed. "What kind of a quester are you? Do you want your great grandchildren to sing songs of how you abandoned your best pal in his darkest hour?"</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"I don't care what songs they sing. If I don't get to that candy, I'm going to expire on the spot!"</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">For <span class="il">Mogey</span> and Smush's questination was that famed candy shop known as Sugar Kane's, where the Bubble Tape was seven feet long and "fun size" meant the same thing as "king size" (which was really "party size").</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"Please, <span class="il">Mogey</span>," Smush begged, holding out a bean-slicked hand.</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"You're right," <span class="il">Mogey</span> said, turning back. "Either we get to Sugar Kane's together, or we don't get there at all. And let me tell you something that's surer than a dad saying 'boing' the first time he jumps on a trampoline: We will reach that candy shop."</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><span class="il">Mogey</span> kept his promise, and that night the pals slept under the stars, with chocolate in their mouths, marshmallows for pillows, and blankets fashioned from the crinkliest candy wrappers. It was a terrible night's sleep. </div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;" /></div></div>Jake Navarrohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11527393647421455978noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7635168171283973188.post-47864634674568303232024-02-08T00:00:00.002-05:002024-03-14T21:45:18.273-04:00The Abbreviated Adventures of Mogey & Smush: 2024 Edition - Episode 6<p> In their younger days, <span class="il">Mogey</span> and Smush moved to The Big City to seek their fortunes. It was a far cry from growing up on the same row of sod houses in the village of Burping Fens to becoming roommates in a ramshackle tenement run by Gretchen "Big Mama" Ponk.<br /><br /></p><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"What do you think you're doing?" Smush inquired as <span class="il">Mogey</span> began to set up a small army cot in their meager chambers.</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"Getting ready to catch 40 winks, you old bean," <span class="il">Mogey</span> replied.</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"Surely you jest. I require the comfortable bed tonight."</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"No no no," <span class="il">Mogey</span> tsked. "Tonight is <i>my </i>night on the cot. I took the lazy susan last night, and - might I add - you saw fit to wake me at half past two in the morning!"</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"I was hankering for some raisin bran!" said Smush. "You know how it is when you have a raisin bran hankering."</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"You get a raisin bran hankering at least once per night! Yet every time I suggest finding another place to keep our bran-based cereals, you insist on returning them to the lazy susan."</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"Be that as it may, you know I've got a job interview with the fishmonger's guild tomorrow. How can I seek my fortune without a good night's sleep?"</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"You and your bran can get a good night's sleep in the lazy susan," <span class="il">Mogey</span> insisted. "We've got bigger problems. Big Mama Ponk told me the building has... <i>gulp</i>... pipe serpents."</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"Ugh!" said Smush. "No way. We would've seen them. Oy! Hissy. Hissy!"</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">A green-brown snake - the titular Gustav "Hissy" Fitz - poked his head out of the kitchen sink. </div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"Yes, cap'n?" said Fitz.</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"You haven't seen any <i>serpents</i> in your travels around the pipes, have you?"</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"Uhhhhh," said Hissy Fitz, somewhat disbelievingly, "no?"</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"There you have it," Smush stated. "Big Mama is just looking to tack more expenses onto our rent. Last month it was that absurd construction of 'fire escapes,' this month it'll be pipe serpent removal. Keep an eye out for any serpentine activity though, will you, Hissy?"</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"Aye aye," said Hissy Fitz, delivering a perfect hand-to-head salute with his tail before vanishing down the drainpipe.</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;" /></div></div>Jake Navarrohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11527393647421455978noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7635168171283973188.post-53986577426008782992024-02-01T00:00:00.001-05:002024-03-14T21:43:12.434-04:00The Abbreviated Adventures of Mogey & Smush: 2024 Edition - Episode 5<p> "Are you sure you've got the list?" asked Smush as his pal pulled on waterproof overtrousers and a pair of wellington boots. </p><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"Yes, yes, I've got the list," <span class="il">Mogey</span> muttered.</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"Don't be so glib!" Smush chastised. "Last time you went to market in the rain, you were supposed to procure all the ingredients for duck a l'orange and instead you came back with two packets of duck sauce, a tangelo, and a live pheasant."</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"And what a pleasant addition Twizzles Ramirez has made to our lives!" <span class="il">Mogey</span> retorted, reaching over Smush's shoulder to the pheasant's perch to give the bird a fist bump.</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"Be that as it may, I would like to see the list."</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"You can't be serious..."</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"Produce the list, sir!"</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"Alright," <span class="il">Mogey</span> conceded, retrieving a crumpled roll of parchment from his breast pocket. "Potatoes, bacon, pickles, sugar, tea, thick-cut bacon, mustard, butter, pork roll, flour, onions, salt pork, and ground beef. I don't know how you eat that stuff, by the way."</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"Thank you," said Smush. "Wait, what?"</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"Ground beef," <span class="il">Mogey</span> explained, "I know it's cheaper, but you really eat the beef they dropped on the ground? What price do you put on your dignity, my good fellow?"</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;" /></div>Jake Navarrohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11527393647421455978noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7635168171283973188.post-63562754149734678182024-01-25T00:00:00.001-05:002024-03-14T21:41:06.420-04:00The Abbreviated Adventures of Mogey & Smush: 2024 Edition - Episode 4<p> "Nobody move!" shouted Constable Smush, as he barred the huge and ancient timber doors.</p><p><br /></p><p>"A crime has been committed here tonight," added Inspector Mogey, "and the perpetrator is in this room."</p><p><br /></p><p>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. </p><p><br /></p><p>"This criminal is an odd one," Smush continued, relishing the rapt attention of the partygoers. "He clearly wants to be caught."</p><p><br /></p><p>"The fiend has left us a clue," Mogey said. He held a scroll up to the light, which earned another gasp. </p><p><br /></p><p>"What was the crime, good officers?" called a voice from the crowd. </p><p><br /></p><p>"Murder," growled Smush. A well-dressed gentlesquatch fainted, rattling the dishes. </p><p><br /></p><p>"...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."</p><p><br /></p><p>"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.</p><p><br /></p><p>"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!" </p><p><br /></p><p>"Quoi?" said Jacques-Pierre. </p><p><br /></p><p>"Of course!" Smush agreed. "The butcher, the baker, the french canadian bodybuilder. Apprehend that man!"</p><p><br /></p><p>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.</p><div><br /></div>Jake Navarrohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11527393647421455978noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7635168171283973188.post-77710434292619313232024-01-18T00:00:00.002-05:002024-03-14T21:41:37.417-04:00The Abbreviated Adventures of Mogey & Smush: 2024 Edition - Episode 3<p> "Thanks ever so much for allowing me to accompany you for a day of field work, my dear Smush," said <span class="il">Mogey</span>. "Or should I call you Dr. Smush?"<br /><br /></p><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"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." </div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"Right-o," <span class="il">Mogey</span> agreed. "Well it's a lovely day for vermeology, anyway."</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"Mmm," said Smush, still hunched over the sandy ground. </div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><i>What dapper young gentlemen! </i>squeaked a tiny voice. </div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">Smush popped up from his crouch like a prairie dog who'd sat on a hot buttered biscuit and he scurried toward the sound.</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"What have you got, Smush?" <span class="il">Mogey</span> queried breathlessly. "What have you found?"</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><i>Come this way - I can't wait to meet you.</i></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><i><br /></i></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"I think it might be... it is!" Smush exclaimed, skidding to a halt. "Look, <span class="il">Mogey</span>: A rare Simkin's Honesty Worm."</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><span class="il">Mogey</span> gazed through the magnifying glass at what looked like an ordinary earthworm.</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><i>May I have the name of your barber? That is some head of hair you've got.</i></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"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."</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"Honesty Worm seems more likely," <span class="il">Mogey</span> said. "We <i>are</i> dapper. Although what a worm wants with a barber is beyond--"</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><i>CHOMP!</i></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><i><br /></i></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"OWOOOOOOOOO!" <span class="il">Mogey</span> howled, dancing around clutching his throbbing toe. "That worm chomped me!"</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"Yep," murmured Smush dreamily, "that Simkin was unrivaled when it came to discovering talking worms."</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;" /></div></div>Jake Navarrohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11527393647421455978noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7635168171283973188.post-89378371664071775012024-01-11T00:00:00.001-05:002024-03-14T21:34:37.487-04:00The Abbreviated Adventures of Mogey & Smush: 2024 Edition - Episode 2<p> <span class="il">Mogey</span> 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. </p><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><i>Ding!</i></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><i><br /></i></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><span class="il">Mogey</span> turned to see his lift door open and Smush bustle out. </div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"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--"</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"That boy does love juice," <span class="il">Mogey</span> agreed.</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"Exactly. So that was another quarter-hour. Then I get to the bottom of your tree and guess who's on lift duty?"</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"Not Molasses the Sloth!"</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"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."</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"Say, what was that noise when the lift reached my floor? My lift doesn't ding."</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"I haven't the slightest idea."</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"You dinged, didn't you," <span class="il">Mogey</span> said. "I accuse you of dinging!"</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"Alright it's true," Smush admitted. "It always seems so pleasant on television when the elevator dings. And speaking of strange noises..."</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">A howl echoed through the jungle. "<wbr></wbr>AAAAAAAIIIIIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEE<wbr></wbr>!"</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">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 <span class="il">Mogey</span> and Smush stood.</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"Ello, chaps!" said the man, who wore only a plaid flat cap, a pair of lederhosen, and some high-top work boots.</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"Hullo, Fritz," the pals chorused. Fritz Bravado, the cocky cockney, was one of their least favorite neighbors. </div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"Vine swinging's the only way to travel, innit?"</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"I suppose," said <span class="il">Mogey</span>, "but must you scream like Tarman?"</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"Tar<i>man</i>?" Fritz scoffed. "I believe you're referring to Tar<i>zan</i>, a personal 'ero of mine?"</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"Doesn't he stick to the vines like..." <span class="il">Mogey</span> began, "nevermind. It's not important."</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"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."</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"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."</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">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 <span class="il">Mogey</span>'s porch. The vine broke with almost comical immediacy, sending Smush plummeting for the rainforest floor, screeching in terror.</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"Now <i>he</i> sounds like Tarman," Fritz commented, peering over the porch railing.</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">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. </div><br /><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;" /></div>Jake Navarrohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11527393647421455978noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7635168171283973188.post-40701133518487215582024-01-04T00:00:00.001-05:002024-03-14T21:32:57.276-04:00The Abbreviated Adventures of Mogey & Smush: 2024 Edition - Episode 1On a foggy morning, <span class="il">Mogey</span> and Smush stopped into the <i>Mud n' Stuff</i> for a couple hot cups of terrible coffee and, of course, some stuff. <div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">As <span class="il">Mogey</span> 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 <span class="il">Mogey</span>'s was stubby and supple with signs of cupcake icing beneath the fingernails, this other hand was massive, hairy, and covered with skull tattoos. </div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"Are you flirting with me?" <span class="il">Mogey</span> inquired (though his surprise didn't stop him from seizing the donut). </div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"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."</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"This donut?" <span class="il">Mogey</span> replied, aghast. "But it's mine."</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"I believe I have claim to it. Tell you what though: I'll rassle yeh for it, fair and square."</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"Are you sure you're not flirting with me?"</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"Quite sure." </div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"Why would I rassle someone your size?" <span class="il">Mogey</span> demanded. "You'd pin me faster than a snake wriggles out of a bowl of spaghetti belonging to Coco Drillo, the Italian crocodile."</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"What about my son?" said the beastly donut lover. He pointed across the <i>Mud n' Stuff</i> to an (admittedly large) baby carriage.</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"Do it, <span class="il">Mogey</span>," Smush whispered in his pal's ear.</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"Have you been here the whole time?" asked <span class="il">Mogey</span>.</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"Do it," Smush said, ignoring him. "Surely you can beat anyone in a baby carriage at rasslin'."</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"Fine," <span class="il">Mogey</span> agreed. "Bring on your son. The stakes: One <i>Mud n' Stuff</i> raspberry fritter."</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">Just then, an arm dangled out over the side of the pram. While ensconced in a long-sleeved onesie, <span class="il">Mogey</span> could clearly see biceps, triceps, and even a few monoceps stretching that onesie to its absolute limits.</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"Oh no," <span class="il">Mogey</span> said.<br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"Is that..." Smush began.</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"It sure is," <span class="il">Mogey</span> confirmed. "Gah Gah McMuscles, the world's strongest baby."</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"Toss him your donut and RUN!" screamed Smush. </div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;" /></div></div><p> </p>Jake Navarrohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11527393647421455978noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7635168171283973188.post-83533656226954020352023-12-21T00:00:00.002-05:002024-03-14T21:35:24.109-04:00The Abbreviated Adventures of Mogey & Smush: 2023 Edition - Episode 34<p> <span class="il">Mogey</span> and Smush took their jobs as December Defenders very seriously. And that was good, because in the town of Santa Santa, Christmas was always under attack. <br /><br /></p><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">The dastardly Chillbo Toboggans, an ornery gravedigger who believed the winter solstice ought to be a time not of joy and wonder but of treachery and grumpiness, hatched a plan each year to - as he called it - "foil Christmas." Along with his assistants, a pair of energetic porcupine brothers named Pert and Pert Plus, he had done everything from greasing the sidewalks near Santa Santa's downtown Christmas tree to stealing every ham, goose, and plant-based goose substitute in town. </div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">The only thing that stood between Chillbo and Christmas chaos was a citizens' paramilitary group known as the December Defenders, of which <span class="il">Mogey</span> and Smush were proud members.</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">One night out on patrol, the pals spotted Pert and Pert Plus skulk-waddling along the trolley tracks, clearly up to some variety of mischief. <span class="il">Mogey</span> motioned for Smush to follow at a distance where they'd be out of earshot (and quillshot). They trailed the porcupines into the center of town, where the hustle and bustle of Christmas revelry made it difficult to track their movements.</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"Do you see them?" <span class="il">Mogey</span> grunted, after several close calls.</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"I think we lost the spiky miscreants," Smush acknowledged. </div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"Ahem," stated a voice behind the pals.</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">They turned to see Pert and Pert Plus awkwardly holding out a beautifully wrapped box. Each of the brothers kept poking the other with his quills, making it nearly impossible to jointly hold the gift.</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"Merry--ow!" said one.</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"Yowch! Christmas!" said the other.</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"For us?" Smush said. "You know we're members of the December Defenders, right?" He pointed to his official D.D. sweater vest.</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"We know--gah! That one hurt!" Pert grimaced.</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"But we figured--WOWSERS--you're just doing your job--oof!" Pert Plus groaned.</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"And so are--yow! We," Pert continued. "So why let a little friendly rivalry get in the way of--AY-YAY-YAY!--a Christmas present?"</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"Gosh, thanks!" said <span class="il">Mogey</span>, accepting the gift. The porcupine brothers, clearly relieved to no longer be standing so close to one another, trundled off. </div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"What is it? What is it?" Smush inquired, helping <span class="il">Mogey</span> tear away the wrapping paper. </div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">When the gift finally appeared, the pals stared at it in disbelief for several moments.</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"NOOOOOO!" <span class="il">Mogey</span> cried, holding up a heavy cuboid the color of swamp mud. "I can't believe we fell for it!"</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"Fruitcake!" Smush added. "They gave us fruitcake. The ultimate double cross!"</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;" /></div></div>Jake Navarrohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11527393647421455978noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7635168171283973188.post-47462261526583479012023-12-14T00:00:00.002-05:002024-03-14T21:35:37.008-04:00The Abbreviated Adventures of Mogey & Smush: 2023 Edition - Episode 33<p> Twas the final round of the annual Ornament Tournament in the village of Pullet Cutlet Hamlet. A mere quartet of competitors remained, and for the first time ever, both <span class="il">Mogey</span> and Smush had reached the Festive Four. <br /><br /></p><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"Competitors," announced Ferd Bulbous, the harsh but fair Head Judge who was known to all as "the Mule of Yule." "Congratulations on reaching the Festive Four. You all know the rules: One ornament each."</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"Yes, Mule!" shouted the foursome of contestants.</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"A standard conifer branch must be able to bear the ornament's weight," Bulbous continued.</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"Yes, Mule!"</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"And nothing flammable."</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"Yes, Mule!"</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"Yes, M-- wait, what?" <span class="il">Mogey</span> stammered.</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"These are the rules of the Ornament Tournament. Let the Festive Four commence! We shall begin with you, young Smush."</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">Confidently Smush stepped before the judging panel, set down a skunk-sized parcel covered in a red cloth, and whipped the cloth away with a dramatic flourish. The crowd gasped.</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"Tell us about what you have here," suggested Bananas O'Toole, the second judge at the table. </div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"Was anyone else expecting a skunk under that cloth?" whispered the Mule of Yule.</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"My newest ornament is a photorealistic sculpture of Champ Cluckens," Smush explained. "The first chicken to discover Pullet Cutlet Hamlet and the main course of our beloved village's earliest Christmas dinner."</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"Am I mistaken, or is the ornament glowing from within?" croaked the third judge, a soft-spoken goblin who went by the moniker of Clam. </div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"You are indeed correct, your molluskness," Smush replied. "I used a warm orange light to give Champ the reverence - and plate presentation - he deserves."</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"Thank you, Smush," the Mule of Yule said. "Well done. Let us continue with the next contestant. <span class="il">Mogey</span>?"</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"Huh?" blurted <span class="il">Mogey</span>. He'd been hunched over his ornament with his back to the judges' table. "Oh - right."</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">He strode forward, clutching in his hand what looked like a tiny metal rubbish bin on a string. Soot smudged his face and hands, and upon the floor where he'd been standing moments earlier, a pile of charcoal briquettes was visible.</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"What have we here?" queried Clam. "And what smells like kerosene?"</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"Well," <span class="il">Mogey</span> said, "I'll tell you what it's not. It's NOT a working miniature trash can fire upon which one could roast delicious Christmas marshmallows."</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"Of course not!" guffawed the Mule of Yule. "That would violate the rules of the Ornament Tournament. Not to mention the profound foolishness of hanging a trash can fire in a brittle fraser fir. Say, what's that behind your back?"</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"Nothing!" said <span class="il">Mogey</span>, chucking a box of matches into the crowd less subtly than a lego policeman bending down to tie his shoes. </div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;" /></div>Jake Navarrohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11527393647421455978noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7635168171283973188.post-43435024031499874522023-12-07T00:00:00.001-05:002024-03-14T21:26:16.424-04:00The Abbreviated Adventures of Mogey & Smush: 2023 Edition - Episode 32<p> As <span class="il">Mogey</span> eased himself into the front seat of the trolley with an enormous groan, Smush cast him a sidelong glance. </p><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"What is it, Moge-man?" he asked over the clickety-clack of the trolley's wheels.</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"Oooooooh it's the old noggin," <span class="il">Mogey</span> replied. "It feels like a cartoon weasel is popping corn behind my eyeballs."</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"Again?" queried Smush. "That's the third time you've complained of throbbing noggin this week. We've got to get you to a doctor."</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"Excuse me," interjected a young man with ears the size of funnel cakes who wore a dayglo pink tracksuit, "I couldn't help but overhear."</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"Bet you couldn't," mumbled <span class="il">Mogey</span>, eyeing the gentleman's ears as he continued to clutch his aching head.</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"Seems you two are looking for medical attention? Perhaps I can help. The name's Homer O'Pathy."</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"Homer?" asked Smush skeptically. </div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"Aye, but my friends all call me Homie. For a malady such as this, might I suggest--"</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"Let me guess, Homie O'Pathy," Smush interrupted, "raw onions in the socks? Bacon bits under the full moon? Where'd you get your so-called medical degree from, anyway, <i>Pete Bog's Bayou Institute of Folk Remedies, brought to you by Pete Bog Heating and Plumbing</i>?"</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"Imperial College," Homie replied. "Go Commodores! And I was going to suggest your friend start with two aspirin..."</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"Ah, oh, erm," Smush stuttered, his face bright red. </div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"I think what my friend is trying to say, Dr. O'Pathy," <span class="il">Mogey</span> added, "is that we apologize. Please do go on with your recommendation."</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"...washed down with a pint of strong irish whiskey that has been stored in the stall of a wistful donkey for no less than a fortnight and saged by a Grade 2 warlock."</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;" /></div></div>Jake Navarrohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11527393647421455978noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7635168171283973188.post-18651888153582070142023-11-30T00:00:00.001-05:002024-03-14T21:25:15.545-04:00The Abbreviated Adventures of Mogey & Smush: 2023 Edition - Episode 31<p> "Which do you prefer," <span class="il">Mogey</span> inquired, "gloves or mittens?"</p><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"That all depends," said Smush. "Are we talking about warmin', magickin', or challengin'?"</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"Care to elaborate?"</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"Well," Smush elaborated, "if I'm just trying to warm my hands up during a cold day of perusing the new all-seasons at Town Fair Tire, it's mittens every time."</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"That goes without saying," <span class="il">Mogey</span> acknowledged. "You need to make sure you don't get chilly while examining all the name brands at discount prices."</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"On the other hand, if I'm impressing a young governess with some sleight of hand card tricks down at the skating rink, only gloves will do." </div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"You've got to have your fingers wiggleable at <i>1600 Skatesylvania Avenue</i>," <span class="il">Mogey</span> agreed.</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"And if I must challenge some haughty noble to a duel with a slap across the face," Smush concluded, "it's a toss-up. A mitten or a glove could be equally devastating in the hands of a duelist such as myself." </div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"All quite reasonable, but I think you've misunderstood my question a bit," said <span class="il">Mogey</span>. "I was asking who you're rooting for in this evening's boxing match: Darthula 'Gloves' Glover or Gobstable P. Mittens?"</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"Ah, that's easy," Smush replied. "Gloves all the way. I think he knocks Mittens out in the fourth round."</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div>"How dare you?" shouted Gobstable P. Mittens, who happened to be sitting in the same nail salon, just two pedicure chairs away. <br /><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;" /></div>Jake Navarrohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11527393647421455978noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7635168171283973188.post-8360823114845441972023-11-24T00:00:00.001-05:002024-03-14T21:23:38.403-04:00The Abbreviated Adventures of Mogey & Smush: 2023 Edition - Episode 30<p> Though neither <span class="il">Mogey</span> nor Smush had caught a wink of sleep for the last two nights, their excitement was still palpable as they strode through the front gardens of Burpee House. They'd lucked into highly-coveted invitations to Lord Deleck Table's annual harvest feast, and today was sure to be the highlight of their entire year. </p><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">As they neared the manor, tendrils of fragrance drifted toward the pals, quickening their step into the front hall where smells even more delightful engulfed their nostrils. Servants bustled past, carrying loaded trays, bulging baskets, and overflowing platters. </div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"Where do you suppose that Table is?" <span class="il">Mogey</span> asked, daintily wiping drool from the corner of his mouth.</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"The Lord himself or his actual table?" Smush responded.</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"Either way." </div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"Well," began Smush, massaging a neck sore from looking back and forth so frequently, "I believe his Lordship--"</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"I changed my mind," said <span class="il">Mogey</span>. "The actual table."</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"Dunno."</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"Did you see those gargoyles when we came in?" <span class="il">Mogey</span> went on after a long silence. "I might need to get some of those."</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"For your RV?" Smush demanded.</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"Don't be silly," <span class="il">Mogey</span> chided him. "I'd put them on my storage unit." </div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"I don't believe this..."</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"Alright, alright, no gargoyles. Sheesh."</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"How many times must I tell you that it's pronounced 'Smush?'" Smush said with a sigh. "And it's not that. With all this blither blather, I find it hard to believe that today, of all days, you don't have a single thing to say to me about the actual food!"</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;" /></div></div></div>Jake Navarrohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11527393647421455978noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7635168171283973188.post-20149304544657546022023-11-16T00:00:00.000-05:002024-03-14T21:24:18.688-04:00The Abbreviated Adventures of Mogey & Smush: 2023 Edition - Episode 29<p> One sunny Tuesday, <span class="il">Mogey</span> and Smush found themselves stuck at the top of a tree. It is best not to describe in full how they wound up there, but suffice it to say that the journey involved a peanut butter sandwich and a bold raccoon with an affection for pranks (and peanut butter sandwiches). </p><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"Alright, <span class="il">Mogey</span>," said Smush after a long silence, "out with it."</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"Out with what?"</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"You've been glowering at both the sky and the ground for the last 45 minutes, which I know means you've got theories on the best way to get down. Let's hear 'em."</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><span class="il">Mogey</span> took a final glower at the earth, the sky, and his own dangly arm fat before finally responding.</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"I've got four--no, five ideas so far," said the Mogster. "But before I lay them out for you, let me see you give those arms a shake."</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">Smush did as instructed, and <span class="il">Mogey</span> closely observed his pal's borderline marsupial under-arm pouches, going so far as to snatch one on the backswing and give it a closer inspection.</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"Yes, yes, yes," he muttered. "This will do nicely. Ok, the first idea I call 'the flying squirrel.' You see, we'll roll up our sleeves, spread our arms wide, and--"</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"I get the picture," Smush responded. "Let's hear some of the other ideas, shall we?"</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"Erm," <span class="il">Mogey</span> hesitated, "was there something in particular that you don't like about the first idea?"</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"It's best we don't dwell on it," said Smush.</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"Alright then. My second idea I call 'the sugar glider...'"</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">As Smush mentally prepared himself for a long night in the treetop, the forest was still but for the lip-smacking of a prankster raccoon who was now wishing for a glass of milk. <br /><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;" /></div></div>Jake Navarrohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11527393647421455978noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7635168171283973188.post-28434454074581783102023-11-09T00:00:00.001-05:002024-03-14T21:18:45.349-04:00The Abbreviated Adventures of Mogey & Smush: 2023 Edition - Episode 28<p> As students/inmates at St. Autocrat's School for Pernicious Boys, Mogey and Smush were considered troublemakers. Rabblerousers. Yes, even agents provocateur. </p><p><br /></p><p>While the pals' hijinks had the teachers, guards, and even the schoolmaster - Mr. Leadguts - at their wit's end, there was one member of the faculty who continually proved Mogey and Smush's equal. The lunch lady, a vast woman named Lisa Croogle, always seemed to be one step ahead of them.</p><p><br /></p><p>One evening, the pals snuck into the kitchens for a classic snack-and-prank 2-for-1. With them they carried four meticulously-trained mice with bad attitudes, a life-size wax model of Mr. Leadguts, and a pair of forks. Using extreme caution, Mogey and Smush padded their way into the deepest part of the kitchens, their eyes constantly sweeping the area for any sign of their nemesis. </p><p><br /></p><p>As Mogey grabbed hold of the icebox door, Smush raised a hand to request a pause. For a moment, as the pals listened to the quiet kitchens, all was still but for the grumpy squeaking of their trained mice.</p><p><br /></p><p>"Who's there?" Smush called out. When there was no reply, he nodded to Mogey to proceed.</p><p><br /></p><p>Directly behind the icebox door stood Lisa Croogle, hefting a sledgehammer and grinning maniacally. </p><p><br /></p><p>"Who do you bloody well think it is?" stated Croogle.</p><p><br /></p><p>Without so much as pausing to shriek, Mogey and Smush dashed for the dormitories faster than a pair of movie dogs returning to their tousle-haired owner after being mistakenly left at the Grand Canyon. </p>Jake Navarrohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11527393647421455978noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7635168171283973188.post-29340669198269428312023-11-02T00:00:00.002-04:002024-03-14T21:19:20.655-04:00The Abbreviated Adventures of Mogey & Smush: 2023 Edition - Episode 27<p> "Smush!" <span class="il">Mogey</span> shouted, whapping his pal's arm, "do you see what I see?" <br /><br /></p><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"I think so," Smush replied, "but I double checked and that glow up ahead isn't a <i>Drive Thru Tacos Deluxe</i> after all. It's just the stinkin' sun."</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"Not the sun - take a gander through the trees there. Doesn't that look like a wishing well?"</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"Erm," said Smush, "I suppose..."</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"The perfect opportunity to wish for that water trampoline we've been wanting!"</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"Well..."</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"And," <span class="il">Mogey</span> continued, "I just so happen to have a coin for each of us. If we double up on wishes, that water bouncer is as good as ours."</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"I don't know," Smush said as <span class="il">Mogey</span> dragged him toward the wishing well. "I think I'd rather save my wish for a shooting star or something."</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"Nonsense!" </div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><span class="il">Mogey</span> thrust a piece of silver into his pal's hand and addressed the roofed stone structure that stood in the midst of a clearing. He placed his own coin atop his fist and prepared to flip it into the well.</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"I wish for a top-of-the-line, inflatable, reinforced water tra--"</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"Don't mind if I do!" croaked a voice from inside the well. Out shot a long and sticky tongue, which snatched the coin from <span class="il">Mogey</span>'s hand before he could finish his wish. Moments later, two bulbous eyes peeked out over the well's circular stone wall.</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"Who in the world are you?" <span class="il">Mogey</span> demanded. </div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"Name's Beardley the coin-eating toad," the creature replied, somehow making a crunching sound as he chewed away at <span class="il">Mogey</span>'s silver. "Oh - hullo, Smush."</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">Smush shifted awkwardly when Beardley spoke to him, but said nothing in reply.</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"Tell me, Smush," Beardley continued, grinning a warty grin, "did you ever get that '<span class="il">Mogey</span>-eating shark' you were wishing for when I munched your coin last week? As I am wont to do? Hmm?" </div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"Well?" demanded <span class="il">Mogey</span>, hands on hips. "Answer the toad! Is this why I keep seeing a circling dorsal fin and hearing a rumbling tumbly every time I go near the pond?"</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"Alright!" Smush admitted. "It's true. I split a roast goose with our pal Ham von Hamm and got my shark on the wishbone. But I couldn't have you hogging the water trampoline when we do finally get it!"</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"></div></div>Jake Navarrohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11527393647421455978noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7635168171283973188.post-4681075218459338422023-10-26T00:00:00.002-04:002024-03-14T21:19:29.645-04:00The Abbreviated Adventures of Mogey & Smush: 2023 Edition - Episode 26<p> As <span class="il">Mogey</span> (stage name: Mo G. Postlethwaite) and Smush (stage name: Smush) readied themselves to go out into the limelight for a live production of <i>The Shortstop Who Dropped a Bundt: A Cake Batter Tragedy</i>, Smush caught sight of something on the dressing room table. <br /><br /></p><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"Say," he sayed to their costar, a young sasquatch named Doig (stage name: DD Munter-Schmidt), "what goes on with thine hairbrush?"</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"Ah," Doig replied, "yes, this brush is very special to me. Each bristle is a quill from a different porcupine my grandfather befriended, photographed, and betrayed. And yours?" he asked, gesturing to Smush's hairbrush with his hirsute paw.</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"Well, erm..." Smush answered bashfully. "Mine's not quite as nice as yours. But I did get it for $3.99 at Rite Aid. And I was able to pick up some Hot Shot Crunch-ums while I was there."</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"This guy!" <span class="il">Mogey</span> said, shaking his head. "How can you let a drugstore hairbrush touch your locks before going on stage? The hair is the moneymaker for chaps like us!"</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"What's the history of <i>your </i>brush?" Doig inquired.</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"Stole it from the Duchess of Churl," <span class="il">Mogey</span> replied. "It's got a walrus ivory inlay handle and bristles softer than spun pudding." He threw his arm around the sasquatch's shoulder. "Yep, stick with me, young Doig. Mo G. Postlethwaite won't steer you wrong in this mad old business."</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;" /></div></div>Jake Navarrohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11527393647421455978noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7635168171283973188.post-15102091743164159742023-10-19T00:00:00.002-04:002024-03-14T21:19:40.014-04:00The Abbreviated Adventures of Mogey & Smush: 2023 Edition - Episode 25<p> When <span class="il">Mogey</span> saw Smush return to their apartments, he knew immediately that an evening of consolation was in store. Tears streamed down his pal's face and Smush's right arm was plunged into a bag of donuts up to the elbow (a contented Smush would've had both hands in the donut bag).<br /><br /></p><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"What is it?" <span class="il">Mogey</span> queried, patting his pal on the back. "What's happened?"</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"Dorothy e-e-ended it!" Smush howled, throwing himself to the ground in anguish (and also because he had dropped a cruller down there).</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"Now, Smush, let us talk it out. This wouldn't be the first time you mistakenly thought Dorothy was breaking things off. What did she say exactly?"</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"Ok," Smush said, "alright. We were at dinner--"</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"Where?" <span class="il">Mogey</span> demanded. </div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"Her favorite place for duck: <i>Quackin' in the Bracken</i>."</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"Go on," <span class="il">Mogey</span> mumbled around a mouthful of pilfered donut.</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"So we were at dinner, and Dorothy said to me, she said, 'You know how people say one is the loneliest number? When I'm with you, I feel like two is the loneliest number.'" As he related the story, Smush's wails started up afresh.</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"Oh, Smush, that's a compliment!"</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"R-really?" Smush asked, wiping tears and glaze from his face.</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"Of course! Let me ask you this: How many ducks did you order?"</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"Two."</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"And how many were remaining when Dorothy made that comment?"</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"None. We'd eaten it all."</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"You see?" <span class="il">Mogey</span> said. "Clearly Dorothy was commenting on the fact that when you dine together, a plate holding two ducks is soon to feel mighty lonely."</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"I think I understand..." said Smush. "But how is that a compliment again?"</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"Trust me. What happened next?"</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"Let's see... Dorothy threw a glass of water into my face, stuffed a duck carcass into my sweater, boinked my nose, and said, 'tell <span class="il">Mogey</span> you're not mistaken this time. I never want to see you again!'"</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"Hmm," <span class="il">Mogey</span> replied.</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"What do you think it all means?" Smush asked.</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;" /></div></div>Jake Navarrohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11527393647421455978noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7635168171283973188.post-60339165032746372722023-10-12T00:00:00.002-04:002024-03-14T21:19:53.788-04:00The Abbreviated Adventures of Mogey & Smush: 2023 Edition - Episode 24<p> One evening, <span class="il">Mogey</span> and Smush called on their pals, the McGill brothers - Bill, Phil, and Herman - or as they were known in their traveling acrobatics show, "The Witless Triplets." <br /><br /></p><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">In the midst of the merriment, <span class="il">Mogey</span> turned to Bill McGill. "Might I use your washroom?" he asked.<div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"Of course," replied Bill, midway through his third set of pull-ups that evening, "just hang on a tick. Phil is in there at the moment."</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"Surely you must have a washroom on the second floor of the McGill estate?"</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"We do," Bill answered. "Although we prefer to call it 'Witless Manor.' But I wouldn't recommend using our upstairs lavatory - the entire second story is haunted beyond belief. Simply riddled with ghouls, I tell you."</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"Boo to that," Smush chimed in, "<span class="il">Mogey</span> hasn't met the ghost yet who could frighten him." Though Smush couldn't help but notice that his pal had jumped at the word "boo."</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"Aye," <span class="il">Mogey</span> agreed. "There's really only one spirit on the planet who <i>could</i> frighten me, and I highly doubt he dwells in the residence of three elite athletes." </div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"Suit yourself," said Herman McGill, rising for his ninth rep of Romanian deadlifts. "The stairs are just to the left."</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><span class="il">Mogey</span> mounted the creaky wooden steps and entered a second floor hallway becobwebbed and echoing with strange sounds. He could see the washroom at the far end, but three doorways adorned the path to reach it. As he passed the first, a floating, pearly figure with eyes blacker than the most burnt sugar cookie burst forth.</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"WOOoooOOOooo!" the ghost moaned.</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"Nah," said <span class="il">Mogey</span>, and he strode on.</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">The second door he passed melted to a puddle, revealing a skeleton draped in clanking chains. </div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"Join usssssss," hissed the skeleton.</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"Meh," said <span class="il">Mogey</span>, and he strode on. </div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">The third door swung open slowly, gripped from the inside by a hand of mysterious construct. The fingers were fat, greasy, and golden brown. </div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"No," said <span class="il">Mogey</span> shakily, "it couldn't be!"</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">But as the door swung open fully, a figure appeared. A figure whose fingers, nose, and hair were all clearly made of cornmeal-robed hot dogs. <span class="il">Mogey</span> shrieked so loudly it covered the growling of his tummy, and took off for the staircase faster than Mulligan Plunk (the slickest seal in Labrador) slides down an ice floe.</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">Smush took one look at his pal's ashen face as <span class="il">Mogey</span> re-entered the gathering. "The Ghost of Corndogs Past?" he asked.</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"The Ghost of Corndogs Past," <span class="il">Mogey</span> confirmed. </div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;" /></div></div></div></div>Jake Navarrohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11527393647421455978noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7635168171283973188.post-19623848826494224442023-10-05T00:00:00.002-04:002024-03-14T21:10:29.918-04:00The Abbreviated Adventures of Mogey & Smush: 2023 Edition - Episode 23<p> "Seems we have a problem," said Smush, as the two pals sat on the curb outside <i>Purvis McGloin's Candles n' More</i>. The candle shop offered free smells, of which he and <span class="il">Mogey</span> had taken full advantage. "With our nostrils exhausted to this degree, walking home is simply out of the question. Let us lay out our options."<br /><br /></p><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"Agreed," <span class="il">Mogey</span> agreed. "Let's see: Well, of course there's the omnibus."</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"Quite. Squeaky Harry's haywagon would take us most of the way - I saw it parked behind the bagelerie."</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"Those two young toads have also started running that bathtub pedicab. What's their slogan again?"</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"<i>The wetter the ride, the better the ride</i>," Smush said. "All reasonable options, but none of them particularly appealing."</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">Just then, a monstrosity of a vehicle pulled up before them. Its massive engines sounded like two robot dragons in a wrestling match that had started out playful but then turned overly intense. Its paint was pinker than a brand new donut box. And each of its six wheels stood higher than <span class="il">Mogey</span> and Smush (and nearly as wide). This could be no one but Frederick "The Walking Knuckle" De La Tarta, muscle car enthusiast, pro-gluten activist, and <span class="il">Mogey</span> and Smush's next door neighbor.</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><span class="il">Mogey</span> and Smush took one look at each other. "CHANGE OF PLANS!" they announced in unison. </div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"></div></div>Jake Navarrohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11527393647421455978noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7635168171283973188.post-45773876944827386712023-09-28T00:00:00.002-04:002024-03-14T21:09:56.319-04:00The Abbreviated Adventures of Mogey & Smush: 2023 Edition - Episode 22<p> "Sandwiches up!" Smush said, swerving out of the kitchen with two towering dagwoods. <br /><br /></p><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><span class="il">Mogey</span> sat at the barrel that he, Smush, and their four other roommates used as a table, slavering like a wolf whose grandma just made her famous triple cheeseburger linguini. </div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"Hear, hear!" <span class="il">Mogey</span> commended his pal. "A prodigious effort!"</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><span class="il">Mogey</span> was (shockingly) correct: the sandwich Smush had delivered stood at least a foot high, and contained four different meats, two varietals of fried potato, six sauces, and zero fresh vegetables. </div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">Each pal hefted his respective tall stack, opened his maw, and gobbled a bite.</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"PTOOIE!" <span class="il">Mogey</span> spluttered, spraying half-chewed dagwood onto the wall. "What is that foul, sour flavor?"</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"You mean mustard?" Smush demanded. "You asked for mustard!"</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"That's not mustard. Lovely, cold, sweet, eggy mustard would never taste of vinegar and rot!"</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"Are you sure you're not thinking of <i>custard</i>?" </div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"Ohhhhhhhhhhhh," said <span class="il">Mogey</span>, snapping his finger regretfully. "Custard!"</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"On a sandwich?" Smush exclaimed.</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"Better make it two scoops," <span class="il">Mogey</span> muttered, seizing his plate and heading for the ice chest. "That ought to be enough to cover up the nasty mustard taste."</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"></div></div>Jake Navarrohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11527393647421455978noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7635168171283973188.post-15140087673725930332023-09-21T00:00:00.001-04:002024-03-14T21:07:15.400-04:00The Abbreviated Adventures of Mogey & Smush: 2023 Edition - Episode 21<p> <i>BONGGGGGGGG!</i></p><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><span class="il">Mogey</span> and Smush both clapped their hands to their ears as the massive bell rang out just above their heads. </div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"Great good ghosties!" Smush exclaimed. "I had no idea it would be so loud. I think one of my fillings vibrated right out of my teeth! Let's press on," he added, pointing up the stairs.</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">The pals mounted the wooden steps, which brought them directly behind the face of <i>Goliath's </i><i>Pocketwatch</i>, the clock tower that loomed above the city. </div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"Alright, Moge-man," Smush intoned, "this is the most critical part of our plan, so let's not rush anything. I've got some complex geometry to think through, and we've only got one shot at this."</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">Smush got to one knee and began to scratch figures into the dusty wood with a charcoal stick. Upon hearing a loud clanking noise, he glanced up to see <span class="il">Mogey</span> hauling away on a windlass.</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"NO!" Smush shrieked. "Do you realize what you've done? You turned the clock hands the <i>wrong way</i>! Instead of serving breakfast an hour later in the day, <i>Clucks Deluxe Chicken & Ducks</i> is going to STOP serving it an hour early. Months of planning, foiled!"</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">Despite this tirade, <span class="il">Mogey</span> continued to crank the windlass, so Smush finally dashed the metal grip out of his pal's hand. </div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"Huh?" <span class="il">Mogey</span> jabbered. "What'd you do that for?"</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"Haven't you heard a word I've said?" Smush demanded.</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"Sorry, Smushster," <span class="il">Mogey</span> said. "I can't hear you. I haven't heard a thing since that confounded bell went off. Say!" he went on, pointing to a miniscule white object on the clock tower floor. "Is that one of your dental fillings?"</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">Still oblivious to his friend's dismay, <span class="il">Mogey</span> strode over to the item in question, picked it up, and then shook his head. "Never mind," he concluded. "False alarm. It's just a tic tac."</div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">"Gimme that!" Smush cried. "Tic tacs are what my dentist uses for fillings. Haven't you ever wondered why I'm constantly at his office? And why my breath is so relentlessly fresh?"<br /><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;" /></div></div>Jake Navarrohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11527393647421455978noreply@blogger.com0