"You know something, Smush?" Mogey asked one day as they hoed the rutabagas under a blistering sun. "I just don't understand New Year's Eve."
"What's not to understand?" Smush asked, pausing to mop his brow.
"I don't know why everybody chooses that one random night to drink champagne, eat peaches, and break chairs over one anothers' heads. Is there no rhyme or reason to it?"
"Well of course there is," Smush replied, ignoring Mogey's typically blatant ignorance of holiday traditions. "It's the last day of the year, isn't it? A time to celebrate the inception of a brand new, unspoiled year. Haven't you ever noticed that New Year's Eve takes place on the same date every time?"
"Nope," Mogey replied. And with that he dropped his hoe and went running down the field in hot pursuit of an anthropomorphic cumberbund who had just stolen the biggest, finest rutabaga of the season.
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