One day, Mogey and Smush ventured out on an epic journey to the Frankfurt Fritter Festival. It would take them many days to reach the festival, and so they did not pack lightly, bringing along four fully loaded donkeys and a fully loaded mule for good measure. In addition, both Mogey and Smush carried rucksacks full of every food they knew how to cook, from fried turkey to fried chicken.
The pals began their quest at ten in the morning, so by 10:45 they were understandably famished and looking for a nice spot to take a break.
"That looks like a good place to stop," Mogey said, pointing to a muddy slope dotted with rocks shaped like fists.
"Mogey, I'm not so sure..." Smush began, but it was too late. Mogey was already venturing onto the slick field, where presently he slipped and bonked his nose exceptionally hard on a fist-rock. "Are you all right?" Smush called. "Be you hurt?"
"Doe, I'b fide," Mogey insisted, though his nose hurt worse than a beating from a ghost army.
"I tried to warn you," Smush said as he carefully picked his way out to where his pal lay, nursing a rapidly swelling schnoz, "this is no place for a picnic."
"I stand by by statement," Mogey replied. "This is a good place to stob!"
"A good place to stop indeed," said Smush as he kicked up his feet on a fist-shaped rock, let out a satisfied sigh, and pulled a cold turkey leg from his rucksack.
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