Smush tapped his foot impatiently. Mogey was going to make them late again, and if there was one thing you didn't want to be late for, it was Mole-Rat McGinley's Barbed Wire Cage-o-Spikes Match Extravaganza. Rumor had it that Mole-Rat would seize latecomers from the audience and haul them into the ring to showcase his finishing move, the "Oh Heck Gnaw."
Smush could wait no longer: He burst through Mogey's door to find his pal huddled beneath the blankets, wearing an old-timey head bandage with a comically-large thermometer sticking out of his mouth.
"How many times must I tell you, Mogey? The thermometer doesn't make you feel any better!"
"Well it can't make me feel any worse," Mogey groaned. "I'm dying, I tell you. It's fox pox for sure."
"Let me guess," Smush inquired. "Dry tongue?"
"Yes," Mogey replied fearfully.
"Stomach ache?"
"The worst."
"Sore roof of your mouth?"
"It is!" Mogey exclaimed. "Oh no... I really do have fox pox, don't I?"
"Nope," Smush replied. "Those are the symptoms of mixing flamin' hot cheetos and vilepucker sour balls right before bed, and I believe I see an empty bag of each poking out from your covers?"
"No..." said Mogey, rolling over with a loud plasticky crackle.
"You're fine," Smush insisted. "Now come on: Let's go watch Mole-Rate McGinley suplex Fudgy Joe into oblivion. I heard this time they're going to be rasslin' on a dilapidated ladder that's perched on a table loaded with prickly succulents, which is in turn balanced above a rattlesnake-infested blackberry thicket."
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