Parking was always at a premium in the village of Salmon-on-Croute, so when Mogey and Smush drove their donkey cart into town one famishing Sunday morning, they knew their steed Matildonk would have to take what she could get.
"What about this one?" Smush asked. "Think we can squeeze in?"
"It'll be tight," said Mogey. "What do you say, Matildonk?"
Matildonk, who was quite eloquent when she wanted to be, but who rarely wanted to be, stared back at Mogey like he'd asked her whether or not she dyed her mane.
Smush urged her forward, pulling the cart in between a penny-farthing bicycle and some sort of taco truck.
"That's far enough!" announced a voice so high it sounded as though it had come through a kazoo. Sitting atop the bicycle seat was a tiny monkey wearing a Burger King crown and holding a butterfly knife in each hand.
"Surely we can reach some arrangement?" Smush suggested warily.
"Unless that arrangement involves your donkey and a bottle of extra zesty barbeque sauce," the monkey replied, brandishing his bedazzled teeth, "I suggest you move along."
"Easy, girl," Mogey said, petting Matildonk's neck, for he could feel the rage of one thousand overworked baristas trembling beneath.
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