The Abbreviated Adventures of Mogey & Smush: 2025 Edition - Episode 13

"You own this guy, champ," Mogey encouraged Smush. "He's got nothing on you."

"I dunno," Smush replied, bouncing on his toes, "he seems pretty good. He's got an undefeated record, after all."

"Naw, champ," Mogey assured him. "He's only gone against tomato cans, I promise you that. And have a seat, would you? You'll tucker your toes right out with all that bouncing."

Just then, Smush's opponent passed by, casting an ominous pall over the dressing room. Wrigglin' Rip Bankins wore a pompadour combed half a foot high, and carried a pair of his trademark ostrich feathers. Smush snatched up his own iconic microfiber duster and gave Wrigglin' Rip a stink-eye stinkier than the eye of Pablo Underhill, skunk-breeder extraordinaire. Despite his private words to Mogey, as reigning champion of the world-famous Tickle Tilt, Smush would not be going down without a fight. For the Tickle Tilt had but one rule, a rule that ensured almost any outcome was possible from any given match: Don't laugh first.

The opponents entered the ring - metaphorically speaking, of course. The actual Tickle Tilt field of play was more akin to a children's sandbox than a boxing ring. As the challenger, Wrigglin' Rip would be tickling first, which is how Smush preferred it. Smush was a strong tickler and a decent ticklee, but his truly elite skill was trash talk. Trash talk was never banned in Tickle Tilts (and in some tournaments it was outright encouraged), but the young challengers who came up through the prep school circuit had never encountered the likes of Smush before. He knew how to cut deep.

"Egads," Smush intoned as Wrigglin' Rip approached, ostrich feathers wriggling vigorously. 

"Get him, champ," Mogey said from Smush's corner (again, metaphorically - Mogey was sitting upon an upturned bucket of fried chicken a few feet away).

"You, sir," Smush announced, gritting his teeth as the feathers brushed against his neck with monumental tickling power, "are a ruffian... a beast... a...." he hesitated, and the crowd gasped, "a blighter."

Wrigglin' Rip fainted dead away. As he lay there, Smush calmly removed one of his opponent's polished oxfords and put his microfiber duster to work on the challenger's manicured toes. When Wrigglin' Rip revived, he was already laughing uproariously, and the legend of Smush continued to grow.

Some called him "The Untickleable," others "General George Armstrong Duster." A rhyme became popular among local children: Smush, Smush, respectfully hush / He'll tickle his enemies' dreams down the flush! 

But Smush? Smush remained humble. As humble as one can after seven straight Tickle Tilt championships. Humble enough to retire to a quiet life of teaching youngsters that most ancient art of tickling and trash talk.  

The Abbreviated Adventures of Mogey & Smush: 2025 Edition - Episode 12

 The duty Mogey took more seriously than any other was his role as a balloon handler in East Thickwhistle's annual April Fools' Day Parade. The spectacle featured dozens of enormous balloons - some of them even larger than Mogey himself - that depicted the village's many heroes of prank and ruse. Mogey's responsibility for anchoring the left arm of Saint Bunk the Toilet-Taper had been passed down from his father and grandfather, who had inherited the role from "some guy who had to go to the dentist that day," and Mogey cherished it.

One April Fools' Day morning, Mogey and Smush found themselves in a heated disagreement over the ownership rights to the last chicken finger in the pu pu platter (their standard breakfast on April Fools' Day and every day). 

"That finger is mine!" Smush insisted. "All mine! You got the final bit of chicken last time we got an odd number of tenders."

"That was three whole days ago!" Mogey replied. "I need my strength to hold onto Saint Bunk all day." 

"Hands off the poultry," Smush said. "Or when you least expect it, I will appear at the parade. And in my hands will be the thing that balloon handlers fear above all others."

"A needle?" Mogey gasped. "A bow and arrow?"

"A-... wait a moment, your ideas are way better than mine. I was just planning to bring along a bucket of legos to scatter beneath your feet." With that, Smush dashed off to the archery shed.

Mogey stared at the last chicken finger longingly. Sacred duty or his eighth chicken finger of the morning? Saint Bunk or breaded fowl? In the end, the decision was easy: Mogey stuffed the chicken into his mouth and headed for the parade route, hoping with all his heart that Smush's arrows that day would not fly true.

The Abbreviated Adventures of Mogey & Smush: 2025 Edition - Episode 11

 "Have you been to the new Italian bathhouse in town?" Mogey asked one foggy Wednesday.

"Spa Ghetti?" Smush said. "No, money's a bit tight at the moment, but I hear they offer a minestrone foot soak that's to die for."

"Well money's not tight anymore. I won big at pakapoo last night and I'm treating you to an all-expenses-paid Wednesday at Spa Ghetti!" Mogey exclaimed. 

After tracking down their bathing costumes, Mogey and Smush made their way to Spa Ghetti, where they were checked in by the warm and cheerful Ma Ghetti and Pa Ghetti. The lovely Miss Sha Ghetti led them to a well-appointed chamber that contained a mineral spring, several racks of towels, and a bubbling pot of meatballs. 

"You get settled in, Smush," Mogey said, "I'm going to see if I can track down some Mr. Pibb."

Smush made himself comfortable, grabbing a brace of meatballs and sliding into the fizzing spring. He must have fallen asleep, because he was awoken some time later by the sound of a six pack of Mr. Pibb shattering upon the marble floor. 

"What stinks of vinegar?" Mogey demanded. He was still holding his arms in front of his chest as if the Mr. Pibb had not fallen spectacularly out of them. "And what do you have on your eyes?"

"Pickles," Smush replied, peeling the pickle off his left eye and popping it into his mouth. "Want one?"

"No! Why would I want pickles at Spa Ghetti? Where did you even find pickles at Spa Ghetti?"

"Oh I brought these from home." Smush showed his pal the whole jar. "I've always seen how people in the movies wear pickles on their eyes at the spa, so I have plenty, just in case."

The Abbreviated Adventures of Mogey & Smush: 2025 Edition - Episode 10

 Times were desperate. Mogey and Smush were wildly in hock to the cheesemongers, and neither of them had any money coming in. All the work in Mogey's profession - food taster, but only for the delicious foods - had dried up, and Smush was a longtime conscientious objector to not lounging around all day. 

And so it was that the pals found themselves walking down the high street, looking for a grand larceny to commit. They'd discussed committing a regular old larceny, but to Mogey and Smush's way of thinking, if you're going to commit a larceny, you might as well make it grand. 

"I've got it!" Smush announced. "We'll rob Pop Sickle's. In this kind of sweltering weather, he's got a line out the door at all times. The place must be a gold mine!"

"Plus Pop is the jolliest fellow out there," Mogey agreed. "He'll never put up a fight."

Though the sun was beating down, Mogey and Smush donned their hoods and pulled masks over their faces. Mogey had Spiderman. Smush had a happy kitty. 

"This is a stickup!" Smush shouted as they entered Pop Sickle's.

"Nobody move!" Mogey added. "Don't be a hero! We're here for Pop Sickle's money, not yours."

"Pop Sickle's money is my money," said Pop Sickle from behind the counter. "What's this all about, Mogey and Smush?"

"Grand larcen--" Mogey began.

"How'd you know it was us?" Smush interrupted.

"You wore these exact same outfits when you came trick-or-treating here last halloween," Pop answered. "I thought you were a little old to trick-or-treat, but hey - I've thought that for the last twenty years. Now I suggest you boys go back the way you came."

"Or what?" said Mogey.

"Have you ever read the full name of my shop?" Pop asked, pointing above his own head.

Mogey and Smush both fell for it. They looked up and read: Pop Sicke's Ice Lollies and Blade Sharpening. By the time they looked down, Pop Sickle had leapt over the counter and was brandishing a machete in one hand and a meat cleaver in the other. Mogey and Smush had never realized how large a man Pop Sickle was. 

"This," said Pop, "is far from a grand larceny. A shabby larceny, at best. I'd go so far as to call it a second-rate larceny."

Smush gasped.

"Aren't those your customers' blades?" Mogey inquired.

"Yes, but I'm entitled to use them to defend the shop from invasions, attacks, and larcenies grand or otherwise," Pop replied. "It's in the terms and conditions."

The Abbreviated Adventures of Mogey & Smush: 2025 Edition - Episode 9

 It was a busy day at Mogey and Smush's florist and ironworks shop, Petals to Metals, but the proprietors still found time to deliver excellent service to those customers who seemed like they needed assistance and/or did not have much knowledge about the actual prices of various flowers and/or metallic sculptures.

"Excuse me?" said a man wearing a sweater vest and dockers. Smush gave Mogey their standard sign for an excellent "customer service" target - an elbow to the ribs and a loud oink. "I'm sorry to trouble you," the man continued, "you must be overwhelmed with so many people in the shop."

"Nonsense," Mogey replied. "We always have time for each and every one of our marks-- er... customers. What can I do for you?"

"I was hoping to buy a bouquet for my sweetheart."

"How wonderful. And what sort of flower does this sweetheart - she sounds lovely, by the way - what sort of flowers and/or metallic sculptures does she typically like?"

"She's quite fond of baby's breath." 

"Ah yes, of course, of course," Mogey said. "Well if she likes baby's breath, she's going to love its cousin: an absolutely stunning blossom called drunkard's belch. Smush? Oh, Smush?" Mogey called.

"Mmmyes," Smush answered as though he hadn't been standing two feet away listening intently.

"Have we got any of that drunkard's belch left?" 

"We do have just enough for one bouquet. And may I say that if someone was looking to make a bouquet for his, let's say for hypothetical reasons and with no prior knowledge of the situation, his sweetheart, the drunkard's belch pairs very nicely with these blooms here." Smush gestured to a bunch of greenish gold blossoms.

"What are they called?" asked Sweater Vest Wes, as Mogey had begun mentally describing their guest.

"Sardine eater's exhale," Smush replied.

"I'll take them! How much do I owe you gentlemen for this fine bouquet?"

"Let's see," said Mogey, tallying some numbers up on the back of wanted poster he'd ripped down from building next door because the suspect looked like him, only more dashing, "a bouquet of drunkard's belch and sardine eater's exhale comes to... what've you got in that little money pouch of yours, anyway?

"Looks like I have 22-- no, 23 gold guineas," Sweater Vest Wes responded. 

"That'll be 23 gold guineas," Smush announced. 

The Abbreviated Adventures of Mogey & Smush: 2025 Edition - Episode 8

 "Again, I feel I should mention that a joint consultation is most unusual," the guidance counselor said, peering over his spectacles at Mogey and Smush. 

"We're ok with unusual," Smush replied, hoisting a 24-ounce can of sparkling pickle juice. "Right, Moge-man?"

"Yep," said Mogey, cheersing Smush's Dilly Fizz with a Mango Xtremo Gatorade. "Unusual and full of electrolytes."

"Alright then," the guidance counselor rejoined. He observed Mogey and Smush like a talented dog groomer might stare at two rastafarian pups named Peanut and Scallywag who keep ignoring his advice that full-body dreadlocks and digging for clams do not mix. "Have either of you given any thought to your future careers?"

"That all depends," Mogey answered. "Does making sure to drink lots of electrolytes prepare you for any careers?"

"What do you like to do? What are you good at?" The guidance counselor held up a hand to stop Mogey from interrupting. "BESIDES consuming electrolytes," he added.

"We're pretty good judges of character," said Smush.

"Perhaps police detectives, then? Or negotiators?"

"Ooh!" Smush responded, sucking his teeth. "I meant we're good at judging the character of foodstuffs, not people. You know, what goes with what, what's spoiled and what's fresh, that sort of thing."

"What about becoming chefs? That's a popular career path these days."

"Ooh!" Smush repeated, sucking his teeth once more. "We're not so much about cooking the food. What've you got that involves eating food?"

"And don't forget about the electrolytes!" Mogey chimed in.

The Abbreviated Adventures of Mogey & Smush: 2025 Edition - Episode 7

Mogey and Smush's wagon rumbled through a crossroads that was unremarkable except for the odd preponderance of skulls laying about, an ominous swirl of mist, and the sound of a creaking hinge, though there were no rusty gates to be seen.

Suddenly there appeared between them on the buckboard a creature of pure malice, from the tips of its crimson horns to the knuckles of its goat-like hooves.

"Uncle Eugene?" Mogey exclaimed.

"No, Mogey, ya numbskull!" Smush admonished his pal. "It's the fellow we've been waiting for." With that, Smush whipped a green-tinted visor onto his head and pulled out a pad of paper and a grease pencil. 

"You've been... waiting... for me?" the demonic being inquired uncertainly.

"Why d'you think we've been driving by this crossroads where people are constantly emerging with boots full of gold, unlimited knowledge, and extremely fresh jump shots?" Smush demanded.

The horned beast's look of brash confidence faded almost completely. Its eyes darted from Smush's shrewd note-taking on its right to Mogey - who raised his eyebrows conspiratorially - on its left. But a job is a job. "How'd you like to..." gulp "make a deal?" the fiend asked. 

"I'd like that very much indeed," Smush replied, licking the tip of his pencil. "Now I have two questions off the bat: 1) What's the smallest fraction of soul you're willing to barter with? And 2) What's the exchange rate between, say, one tenth of a soul - a very pure soul like Mogey's, here, mind - and baconator sandwiches?"

The Abbreviated Adventures of Mogey & Smush: 2025 Edition - Episode 6

 "A query, if I may," Mogey submitted as the pals strode through a section of the woodland known as Fungus Alley. "Why are they called toadstools?"

"How d'you mean?" Smush replied.

"Well," Mogey asked, gesturing to the bed of mushrooms that surrounded them, "I've never seen a toad sit on one." 

"I knew it!" declared Smush. "I knew those sunglasses weren't to 'help you bear the blinding white light of the scripture.' You've been napping during church!"

"Nuh uh," Mogey blustered. "I-- it's-- it's the reflection of the candlelight off the vicar's bald head as well. It gives me headaches something awf... alright how could you tell?"

"Because Brother Squoot from the Order of Wart & Slime - that's the all-toad monastery, you know - has been sitting in on services all this month. And what does he sit upon? Nothing more or less than a toadstool."

"I don't believe it," Mogey insisted.

"It's true," croaked a voice nearly beneath their feet. The pals looked down to observe a spadefoot toad perched upon a red-capped toadstool.

"Brother Squoot?" they exclaimed.

"Nay," the toad replied. "Tis I, Brother Buns, but I too am a member of the Order of Wart & Slime. And I must say, I know you young pipsqueaks like to sit on all manner of contraptions these days: your bean bag chairs and your pickup truck liftgates. Your skateboards and your stacks of Texas toast. Call me old-fashioned, but a toadstool is where my rear end belongs."

Mogey and Smush simply blinked at him.

"Welp," said Brother Buns, "I'd better get back to the monastery. The next batch of hallucinogenic tea isn't going to brew itself." 

And with that, Brother Buns hopped away.

"I think," opined Mogey, "that was the clearest answer I've ever received to a question I posed in Fungus Alley."

The Abbreviated Adventures of Mogey & Smush: 2025 Edition - Episode 5

 Fritz Twist Grist Mill was the best flourmaker in the district, a local institution that Mogey and Smush visited frequently. Counterintuitively, however, they usually kept their modest cereal crop at home and turned it into just that - cereal (Froot Loops, or occasionally, Sugar Smacks) - so the pals rarely had any grains for Fritz Twist to grind. The product they really came to traffic in was the second specialty of Fritz Twist and millers everywhere: gossip.

"Oy oy, Fritz," said Smush as the pals strode into the grist mill, "what's the good word?" 

"Grmph," grunted the be-overalled artisan without looking up from his spinning millstone.

"Got some news for us then, Twisty my boy?" Mogey queried.

"Ech," Fritz replied, even gruffer than before.

"Surely you've heard some update about who poisoned Oink O'Dooley's prize pig?" Smush asked. "Or the Pickleburt twins: which one chose true love and which one chose to inherit their father's duck, bean, and oatmeal farm?" 

"Meh," Fritz responded, with a shrug of his shoulders. But just then, Byron Pickleburt himself entered the mill carrying an immense sack of oats, his normally immaculate hat covered in bean vines and duck feathers.

"Oh ho ho!" Mogey exclaimed, pointing at the twin and tsking his tongue. "I see we have our answer. Choosing money over love - it's no wonder they call you 'Buy-ron.' But how can you live with yourself, knowing that the lovely Miss Dahlia Chung will be on the arm of your infernal twin Pepper Pickleburt forever more?" 

"Wot?" said Byron in a daze. 

"Everytime I think you can't possibly out-tittle-tattle yourself..." Smush murmured to the grist mill's proprietor. "Fritzy, you old scandalmonger, you've done it again!"

The Abbreviated Adventures of Mogey & Smush: 2025 Edition - Episode 4

 "Shhh," Mogey shushed Smush as they crept through the gloomy wood. On this moonless night, the forest lay darker than the skin of an avocado so ripe it would scarcely be suitable for guacamole. And yet, Mogey and Smush searched. 

What could draw these (admittedly torpid) pals from their chambers on such an evening? There was a good reason. Rumor had it that the Nuisance Nine, the famous prankster group, was meeting in secret this very night in this very wood to plan their annual ruse. Mogey and Smush wanted desperately to find out what prank was coming so they could ensure that this year, for once, it would not involve them. Also Smush believed he had dropped half a zagnut bar during his afternoon constitutional. 

A bluish-whitish glow amidst the trees ahead further increased the pals' caution, and after a few more moments' walking, they came upon a creature most peculiar. In a small clearing stood a unicorn, its pearly form emanating the radiance that had drawn them near. And yet it was translucent. Through its body, the friends could see - though palely - the shapes of trees that rose directly behind the mysterious animal. From this description you may be imagining a beautiful being, awe-inspiring in its ethereal presence. But nothing could be further from the truth: The unicorn was ugly as heck.

"Are you Malicious, the ghostly unicorn?" Mogey whispered.

"Nay," the horned horse whinnied. Mogey and Smush shrugged.

"Well, any idea where the Nuisance Nine are hiding out?" Smush queried.

"Nay," the unicorn repeated.

"D'you think you could give us a nod of the head or something if you know the answer to our questions?"

"Nay."

"Maybe he's just an odd-looking ordinary horse?" Mogey hypothesized. 

"An O.L.O.H.?" Smush acknowledged. "Possibly. Are you a real unicorn?"

"FINALLY!" the unicorn exclaimed. He spoke with a powerful voice and an even more powerful lisp. "Yeth, I'm a unicorn! Duh. My name ith Pernicious, the unicorn ghost. Malicious, the ghostly unicorn, ith my archrival and longtime crush."

"But why did you keep nay-ing before?" Mogey inquired.

"It'th part of my curthe. If I'm asked yay-or-nay quethtions and the answer ith no, I can only rethpond with a 'nay.'"

"Curse?" Smush asked.

"Indeed," said the unicorn. "The sorcereth who thent me to the grave wathen't thatisfied with taking my life. She had to curthe me too!" He (somehow) heaved a hoof around Smush's shoulder conspiratorially. "To be honetht, I probably detherved it. Yep, when old Pernicious wath alive, he wath a bit of a withe guy."

The Abbreviated Adventures of Mogey & Smush: 2025 Edition - Episode 3

It was a conundrum. Mogey stood at the counter of Sir Up E. Sugarman's candy store trying to decide between a chocolate-chocolate mallowbun and a double scoop of liquorice allsorts.

"I promised Smush I'd get him a mallowbun," Mogey said aloud, "but Sugarman's got a double scoop of liquorice allsorts for the price of a single scoop of liquorice allsorts."

"We know," grumbled the increasingly flustered young candy clerk. "You've been over this several times."

"Smush has been talking for ages about a fresh mallowbun," Mogey continued, "but I only have coin enough for one or the other. And who knows when a liquorice allsorts deal like this will come around again?"

"As I have stated," said the clerk, "this deal is available every Thursday."

"I just can't decide!" Mogey exclaimed, when suddenly he felt a weight descend on his left shoulder. 

"Choose the allsorts," whispered a seductive voice in his ear. "C'mon. You deserve it." 

Mogey turned to behold a tiny man perched on his trapezius. The little fellow wore a red top hat and a devilish grin. A prodigious quantity of chest hair spilled forth from his shirt collar.

"You think?" Mogey queried. "But what about Smush? He loathes liquorice."

No sooner had he asked this follow-up question than a second mini-man appeared, this one on his right shoulder. The newcomer wore a similar top hat, though white in color, and his upper body was equally hirsute.

"Forget about Smush," said the white-capped character. "Go with the double scoop."

"Aren't you supposed to convince me to do the right thing?" Mogey asked him.

"Two points. First: why in the world would you think that? And second: liquorice is always the right thing, baby!"

"Well if my conscience says it's ok..." 

"Whoa, whoa whoa," interrupted the red-hatted fellow. "Conscience?"

"You know," Mogey explained, "the angel and devil on my shoulder?"

The diminutive creatures burst out laughing so hard that milk shot out of both their noses, though Mogey hadn't seen them drink any milk. 

"Devil?" the one in the red hat guffawed. "Angel? We're Allsorts Sprites, ya knucklehead! We're here for one reason and one reason only: to convince you you to buy liquorice and then mooch relentlessly."

Mogey turned his attention back to the candy shop clerk. "I'll take the double scoop of liquorice allsorts whenever you're ready," he said. 

The Abbreviated Adventures of Mogey & Smush: 2025 Edition - Episode 2

 Once per month, Mogey and Smush would enjoy what they called a Tin Can Supper: a smorgasbord of delicacies from many cultures and climates, with the unifying factor that everything they ate came from a can, jar, or bottle. Also, beans would always be present. 

For some, the very premise of such a meal would've been a low point in the month, but Mogey and Smush awaited Tin Can Supper with great enthusiasm. After all, the tradition featured three of their favorite dining elements: name brands, discount prices, and beans.

"Have you ever thought about what other kinds of food could be tinned?" Mogey queried as he laid a sardine carefully on a piece of brown bread.

"That's what I think about in the shower every morning," Smush replied, scarfing down a spoonful of sweetened condensed milk topped with fruit cocktail. 

"And?" asked Mogey. "What conclusions have you come to?" As he spoke, he dunked a pair of baked beans into some refried beans.

"Croissants," Smush said, pronouncing it qua-sahnts.

"Croissants?"

"Cold canned croissants," Smush confirmed. "Every morning I dream of them, and every morning I am disappointed to remember that they do not exist." 

The Abbreviated Adventures of Mogey & Smush: 2025 Edition - Episode 1

 Mogey arrived at Smush's cottage one foggy morning clad in galoshes, woolen overalls, and a diving mask. Smush opened the door at Mogey's knock, his look of groggy confusion a perfect facsimile of Eli Whitney's face the first time he ever saw cotton candy.

"What are you up to?" Smush asked. "And what's with the snorkeling goggles?"

"How dare you?" Mogey exclaimed, hands on hips.

"Oh biscuits. What've I said this time?"

"Snorkeling? Goggles? I've never heard such profanity before 10 o'clock in the morning."

"For biscuits' sakes," Smush muttered, "those aren't rude words. I was talking about your eyewear! People call those things 'goggles' after their inventor, Federico di Goggliano. And many use them to go snorkeling, a watersport named after its inventor, Federico di Snorkeliano. What in the world do you use 'em for?" 

"These?" Mogey replied. "These are my skunkhuntin' specs."

"Holy biscuits! You're hunting for... skunks?"

"Aye," Mogey stated. "Are you in? You'll need some eye protection like me - fumes, you know. But a foggy morning like this is when skunks are easiest to track. I know they don't smell so good, but I promise, you've never had a meat so tender and succulent as a braised skunk haunch."

The Abbreviated Adventures of Mogey & Smush: 2024 Edition - Episode 52

 "Boy," said Ship's Mate Smush, sinking his teeth into an orange so plump that the juice ran down his chin, "I sure am glad the commanders figured out this miraculous cure for scurvy. And what a delectable cure it is!"

"Bah!" spat Yeoman Mogey.

"You're not a citrus lad?" Smush asked.

"Citrus lad?"

"Aye, that's what me and a few of the fellows who work in the galley have taken to calling ourselves. Oranges, lemons, limes... we're real flavonoid freaks."

"Bah!" Mogey repeated. "I prevent scurvy the old-fashioned way."

"And that is?" asked Smush. 

"Willpower," Mogey replied. 

"Ah," Smush acknowledged. "Say, did one of your teeth just fall out?"

"No!" Mogey hastily rejoined. He snatched the offending object from the deck and threw it over the railing, into the briny deep. "That was just, erm... a pebble I was chewing on."

"Because teeth dropping out of your melon is a classic symptom of scurvy. And do you know the other hallmark of the disease?"

"Referring to yourself as a 'citrus lad?'" Mogey grumped. "Because I haven't got time to chin-wag all day while you smash fruit into your face like some sort of... some sort of... Lieutenant Juicington or something!"

"Irritability," Smush replied serenely. 

"Oh," said Mogey. "Have you seen any tangelos kicking around, by chance?"

The Abbreviated Adventures of Mogey & Smush: 2024 Edition - Episode 51

 The Great December Tempest of '35 left many in the lurch. With snowdrifts rising higher than midsize sedans, the trains simply couldn't move. Mogey and Smush's farm was not far from the Bustleburg Railway Hub (with connections to Newington, New Newington, Newington-upon-Fluke, and Bumswood), and since they owned a sleigh driven by two sturdy yorkshire hogs named Mrs. McGillicuddy and The Vandal, they were asked to take in a stranded family on Christmas.

"Now, Smush," Mogey reminded his pal as Mrs. M and T.V. oinked their way through the snow, "our guests are from another culture. We need to remember that their Christmas rituals may be different from ours, and respect their traditions as best we can."

Smush glanced back at the family of seven of who rode behind them in the sleigh. The smallest daughter waved to him cheerily. "They're not going to shoot pistols in the air at midnight or anything, are they?" he grumped.

"I hope not for Saint Nicholas's sake," Mogey answered. "But if that's their Christmas routine, we may need to dust off the blunderbusses and join in!"

They arrived at the farm and got everyone unloaded without incident, which is saying something considering The Vandal's habit of nipping at and consuming mittens belonging to small children. Several hours later, they had all gathered around the woodstove for a pleasant Christmas Eve nightcap. 

"Throw a log on the fire, will ye, lad?" said Ol' Grandad, the guest family's middle son. "That drafty train station chilled me to my bones."

Smush eyed Mogey incredulously. His pal simply mouthed the words Christmas traditions in reply.

So Smush haughtily walked outside and returned with a chocolate-frosted marzipan-filled yule log, which he unceremoniously tossed into the fireplace.

"Was that cake?" exclaimed Ol' Grandad, his teenage voice cracking. "What'd you throw it in the fire for?"

"You asked me to!" Smush replied. 

"Nay, nay," Ol' Grandad said. "I meant a log, you know, like from the log pile."

"Where'd you think I got that one?" a very exasperated Smush replied. "I hope your strange practices don't require too many others to be burnt. We've only got 60 to 70 more yule logs in the pile, and half of them aren't even chocolate."

The Abbreviated Adventures of Mogey & Smush: 2024 Edition - Episode 50

 Smush was just about to order his first course of butterscotch pancakes when he observed his best pal entering the diner wearing an expression most peculiar. 

"Sup, Mogey?" Smush inquired. 

"There's no Mogey here, my friend."

"Oh no..."

"Oh yes," said Mogey, sliding into Smush's booth. "The Pincher is back!"

He reached across the table faster than a goat nosing through a barnyard fence for a handful of goat pellets and gave Smush's upper arm a firm pinch.

"Ouch!" Smush exclaimed. "Have you been hanging out with Barnabas the Crab again? Every time you see that guy The Pincher returns. And I must tell you in no uncertain terms: The Pincher is an unpleasant fellow. Not at all the kind of character - if you take my meaning - whose butterscotch pancakes would be paid-for by the gift certificate my Great Aunt Whiffy gave me."

"You're right," replied a chastised Mogey. "I apologize."

"Thank you," Smush said, clearly relieved. (His last bout with The Pincher had lasted three weeks.) "Now let's get you some butterscotch pancakes. Say, what's that scuttling sound?"

Suddenly, a large coconut crab wearing a backwards baseball cap leapt onto the bench beside Smush. 

"Barnabas!" Smush cried, as the crab seized his arm with both claws. Mogey used the distraction to once more reach out and pinch his pal, managing to grab the exact same spot he'd tweaked earlier. "Ouch! YOWCH! Go fall off a couch!" Smush hollered.

"It's a classic Pincher movement!" Mogey shouted. He gave Barnabas the Crab the world's knobbliest high five. "You know you've pinched Smush good when he starts hollering in rhymes."

The Abbreviated Adventures of Mogey & Smush: 2024 Edition - Episode 49

 "What do you think?" Mogey inquired, gesturing to his billowing silken shirt. "The ladies at La Maison de L'oie will like it, right?"

"Let me tell you something, my boy," Smush said, clapping his arm around Mogey's shoulder. "Polka dots went out with polka music. You might as well wear a wolverine pelt and stone shoes. A fancy place like La Maison de L'oie? They might not even let you in."

"What kind of pattern should I wear?" asked a horrified Mogey.

"I've got two words for you..." Smush replied.

"Jazz plaid?"

"Nah."

"Blazin' Hip Hop and R&B herringbone?" Mogey suggested.

"That's way more than two words, and obviously incorrect."

"What then?"

"Listen closely," Smush intoned, "because I'm about to clue you in to the style choice that will define the next decade of fashion: zig zags."

The Abbreviated Adventures of Mogey & Smush: 2024 Edition - Episode 48

 Mogey was running late, as usual. Smush had stopped by his pal's flat so they could walk over to the cricket match together, but Mogey hadn't quite finished making up the "road snacks" (a half dozen roast beef sandwiches with pickled cucumbers). So that left Smush to wander around the sitting room alone, trying to ignore the sounds of slicing beef and the resulting growling of his tummy (not to mention Mogey's profane shouts when he ran short of pickled cucumbers). 

"I hope that isn't what I think it is..." Smush muttered, peering out Mogey's sitting room window. He rubbed at the window with his thumb and then with his shirt sleeve, but sure enough a smudge besmirched the glass pane. 

Now something important to know about Smush is that he couldn't abide a smudge. It may have had a thing or two to do with his grade school classmates, teachers, and one particularly cruel lunch lady relentlessly calling him "Smudge," "Smudgy," and "Smudge of Fudge," but who knows? 

"Let's get a move-on! I hope you don't mind roast beef-and-slivered almonds," said Mogey, entering the sitting room with a paper packet of sandwiches. "It was the closest thing I had to pickled cucumbers. What in the world are you up to, Smush?"

Smush innocently threw his chisel under the sofa and tried unsuccessfully to tuck his squeegee behind his back. "I, erm, noticed you had a bit of a smudge on your window," he replied.

"That's no smudge," Mogey exclaimed, rushing over to the window. "It's the sacred spot where Albert the Frigid, King of the Chickadees, met his demise."

"Is that why all those birds outside are giving me the stink eye?" Smush asked.

"They come here to pay homage to their fallen king," Mogey nodded. "Some say he saw in my window a promised land for his people. Some say he'd just had a bit too much fermented birdseed. Either way, he flew full speed into the glass, and this became the holiest spot in all chickadeedom. I hope for your sake that chisel of yours isn't much good at degreasing."

The Abbreviated Adventures of Mogey & Smush: 2024 Edition - Episode 47

 The party had begun to drag. All the classic signs were there: Several guests asked the stablehands to begin readying their coaches. Others were checking their pocketwatches. Even Scrumptious John, the lush postman, carried only a single beverage in his hand and was starting to look around for his mailbag. 

"Do something, Mogey!" Smush urged. 

"You know what this party needs?" Mogey replied, surveying the scene from the upstairs landing. "Some music!"

"But Snooter Malone and his Prickly Seven are already playing their little hearts out," said Smush, gesturing to the hedgehog octet performing in the breakfast nook.

Mogey rummaged in the upstairs closet and brought forth a large instrument case. "I think we need something..." he began, snapping the case open.

"Oh no," Smush responded, his head in his hands.

"...a little more powerful," Mogey concluded. He produced his grandfather's accordion and gave it a nice strong squeeze. The instrument's rich and thunderous sounds immediately drowned out the bored mumbles of the guests (not to mention the Prickly Seven).

"Freebird!" requested Scrumptious John as he abandoned his mailbag in favor of another drink.

The Abbreviated Adventures of Mogey & Smush: 2024 Edition - Episode 46

 The intensity of the moment hung over the poker table like an aged salami. Also there was a distinct fragrance of aged salami. Smush stared at Mogey. Mogey stared at Count Higgins. Count Higgins stared at Braggadocious Gil, the mole with 20/20 vision.

"I see your hundred dollars," said Count Higgins, "and I raise you another hundred." 

"I see your raise," replied Braggadocious Gil. "Quite literally. Don't know if I've mentioned it, but I'm a mole with 20/20 vision. And as a mole with 20/20 vision, I re-raise you yet another hundred!"

"What about it, Mogey?" Count Higgins inquired. "The action goes to you. Have you enough to continue?"

Mogey peered at his cards, then at his meager stack of poker chips, and then back at his cards. He crammed another slice of aged salami into his mouth. "Smush?" he said with a large and obvious wink. "I'm a bit short. Do you think you could lend me a 'Buck?'"

Smush began to slide a one-dollar chip toward his pal, who scrunched up his neck and shook his head until Smush caught on. "Ah," Smush realized, returning a wink of his own. With eyebrows raised, he withdrew from his collar his most prized family heirloom, a sterling silver necklace featuring a bespectacled 10-point buck wearing a t-shirt with Good Eye Deer splashed across the front. But again Mogey shook his head. 

Finally, Smush reached for the bag at his feet and unzipped it a smidge. Several chickens poked their heads out and Mogey nodded sagely. 

"I call," Mogey uttered at last, "...upon Buck Buck Saint Petersburg and her Foul Fowls!" 

"What's happening?" Count Higgins inquired.

Smush threw the bag into the air and a half dozen chickens burst forth in a spray of feathers, beaks, and claws. They immediately set about eating cards, pecking the players, and causing a general kerfuffle. 

"Let chaos reign, Buck Buck!" Mogey shouted. "I've got the aged salami, Smush - you grab the poker chips!"

The Abbreviated Adventures of Mogey & Smush: 2024 Edition - Episode 45

 Pat pat pat

Smush's eyes snapped open. He gazed around the circular confines of his tepee wondering what had awoken him, but seeing nothing, he laid his head back down on the furs. 

Pat pat pat

There it was again! Smush untangled himself from the mixture of blankets, stuffed animals, and pizza roll wrappers and poked his head out the tent flap. 

"Is that you, Mogey?" he queried. 

"Indeed! Didn't you hear my knocking?" 

"How many times must I tell you that it is simply not possible to knock on the door of a tepee? And why are you wearing your galoshes?" 

"Puddles," Mogey replied simply, sweeping his arm across the valley. Smush gave his pal a long and indecipherable look. 

"You know something?" he said. "You're exactly right!" He sprinted inside the tepee, pulled on his own galoshes, and proceeded to frolic out into the many pools of water that had accumulated overnight.

Smush found a particularly meaty puddle and was having a good old splash-about when the beat dropped. A blast of house music echoed through the valley, intense enough to vibrate the surface of the water he stood in.

"Erm," Mogey said awkwardly. He had donned a pair of tinted sunglasses and a feather boa. "I think you may have misunderstood. I was referring to Mudd D. Puddles, that DJ who uses galoshes to scratch his records. He's doing a concert t'other side of the valley!"

The Abbreviated Adventures of Mogey & Smush: 2024 Edition - Episode 44

 The house Smush lived in was profoundly haunted. Most days this proved a mild inconvenience. On All Hallows' Eve, however, it was a moderate-to-major inconvenience. Every spirit would get all wound up and overstimulated by the day's excitement, and most flummoxing of all, they would begin to compete with one another. 

One All Hallows' Eve, Mogey happened to call upon his pal just as the sky was darkening. No sooner has Smush admitted him to the foyer than they were accosted by a ghoul.

"Boo!" said the ghoul.

"Yes, yes," Mogey replied.

"Move along," Smush added. 

"You call that spooky?" scoffed a specter who materialized out of the coat rack. "I suppose it's the best one can expect from a mere phantom."

"I'm no phantom," snapped the indignant ghoul. "I am a ghoul, and proud of it!"

"What is a ghoul but a phantom who woke up on the wrong side of the bed that day?" 

"And I suppose you think specters are spookier?" 

"I don't think it. I know it!" the specter answered. He was shouting now. 

"Well?" taunted the ghoul. "Let's see what you've got."

The specter squinched up his face. The room darkened as the candles flickered. The sound of jangling chains echoed in the distance. 

"You'll have to excuse us, gentleghosts," Smush interrupted. Immediately the candles flared back to life. "We've got tickets to a midnight screening of The Creature from the Black Lagoon and if we don't leave now, we're going to miss the coming attractions. But have fun with all the spookiness. No broken mirrors or scrawled messages on the walls this year, please?"

"Boo!" the ghoul tried one more time, but his heart didn't seem to be in it. The specter snickered spookily. 

The Abbreviated Adventures of Mogey & Smush: 2024 Edition - Episode 43

 "Smush, could you come to my desk, please?" said Mrs. Pewterpuff. "And yes, Mogey - before you ask - you might as well come with him."

The pals trudged to the front of the classroom and stood before the 97 pounds (99 with her spectacles on) of pure intimidation that was Gertrude Savage Pewterpuff. 

"Now then," the teacher intoned, "in the essay you turned in yesterday you described a night sky like so: 'the moon shone like a shiny moon.'"

"Good one, Smush," Mogey congratulated his pal. "I remember that night!" 

"Incorrect," said Mrs. Pewterpuff, proffering a withering glance. "That is not a good one. It is in fact a very bad one. Try comparing the moon to something other than the moon, please."

"Alright," Smush agreed, nodding his head enthusiastically. "What about this: The moon shone like a glistening ham."

"Oh, I've got one," Mogey chimed in. "The moon shone like a well-lit bowl of rice pudding." 

"Better," Mrs. Pewterpuff muttered, "but let's try one that isn't food-related."

Mogey and Smush stared at their teacher, looking more perplexed than a pair of soft drink enthusiasts who've just tasted baking soda for the first time. After a minute's contemplation, however, an idea occurred to Smush.

"I know!" he exclaimed. "The moon shone like a disturbingly empty dinner plate."

The Abbreviated Adventures of Mogey & Smush: 2024 Edition - Episode 42

 When the lunch whistle blew at the loofah mill, the workers' first thought was, of course, lunch. But after they'd mown through the roast beast sangwiches and cornish pasties in their lunch pails, the biggest, toughest, orneriest mill workers would gather in the courtyard for a thumb rassle. These monstrous men, their digits strengthened by years of loofah production, often sprained or even fractured one anothers' thumbs, so intense were their battles.

On one such lunch break, Mogey and Smush watched Mule Rodriguez square off against Mouse "The Trap" von Trapp. 

"Mule's going to dominate," Smush whispered. "Look at him - he's got his game face on."

"I'm not so sure," Mogey replied in an equally low tone. "He might just be queasy. I saw him gobbling down an obviously rancid pasty earlier."

"Wanna make things interesting?" queried Smush.

"You're on!" Mogey replied. 

Mule won the first two matches of the seven-match series with ease, celebrating the victories with his trademark "Hee-haw jig." But The Trap came roaring back, winning three of the next four matches. And so it all came down to the pivotal seventh match. 

The pure power of Mule's massive pollex seemed destined to prevail, but The Trap's thumb hunted Mule's like a mongoose hunts a king cobra: patiently waiting and then striking with surgical precision. At the very moment when it seemed Mouse "The Trap" von Trapp had worn Mule Rodriguez down and would soon strike the killing blow, an entire wedding cake crashed onto the table, covering both combatants, and - more importantly - their thumbs. 

The courtyard was thrown into chaos: so entranced had all the bystanders become by the match that not a single person saw who had dropped the cake. By longstanding tradition, in a thumb rassle tie, the competitor with the least amount of punctuation in his name was declared the winner. It was a Mule Rodriguez victory. 

"What were you thinking?" Smush demanded as his pal came scurrying back. "You were about to win our bet!"

"What bet?" Mogey said, licking a telltale bit of frosting from his forearm. "I sure made things interesting, didn't I?"

The Abbreviated Adventures of Mogey & Smush: 2024 Edition - Episode 41

 "How do I look?" Smush inquired.

"Like a fellow who's about to meet the Elven Ambassador," Mogey said. He brushed a bit of lint (and a rogue tootsie roll wrapper) from the shoulders of his pal's jacket and honked his nose. "Honk."

"Honk," Smush agreed, honking Mogey's nose in return. 

The pals exited through the front door and joined the throngs of townspeople walking toward the village square.

"Honk, Bombus," Mogey greeted their neighbor, Shawn Bombus, with a polite honk of the man's snout. 

"Honk, Mogey, honk, Smush," Bombus replied, returning the favor. "Say, congratulations on being selected to represent the village, Smush." 

"Thank you," Smush replied with a dignified honk of neighbor Bombus's beak. 

When they reached the village square, Mogey and Smush had to push through a crowd to reach the little stage that had been erected. An ornate horse-drawn carriage, gleaming whiter than a bowl of yogurt, stood nearby. With a nudge of encouragement from Mogey, Smush mounted the dais. 

A hush fell over the crowd as the carriage door opened. Out stepped the most striking individual Smush has ever beheld. The elf stood seven feet tall, her silvery hair falling past her knees, which were ensconced in ornately bedazzled jeans. She seemed to glow like a very well-illuminated bowl of yogurt.

With impossible grace, the elven ambassador stepped up to join Smush on the stage. After a moment's hesitation, Smush greeted her in the customary fashion.

"Did you just honk my nose?" the elf thundered. 

"Of course," Smush answered. "Honk."

The crowd looked on expectantly as the ambassador contemplated this most peculiar turn of events. "I think I'm going to like it here," she said at last.

"Good," Smush replied. "Now do you by any chance have some yogurt in that carriage? I've got a real craving for some reason."