"Well," said Mogey, "where shall we start?"
The pals stood before the fallen remains of Pop Lardo, the oldest and widest tree in the district. Pop had fallen prey to the pepperoni weevil, an invasive insect made all the more destructive by the fact that its bore-holes smelled like fresh-baked pizza (and thus people were reluctant to exterminate them). Now Mogey and Smush would be tasked with clearing the enormous quantity of felled timber from their property.
"Tell you what," Smush replied, "you take the left half and I'll take the right. I guarantee my half will be cut, chopped, and stacked before yours."
"You're on!" Mogey shouted, hefting an axe and scampering to Pop Lardo's left, where the mighty tree's root system now extended eerily sideways, an alien spaghetti of wood hanging above a yawning hole of fresh earth.
Mogey got to work immediately, his axe ringing out through the countryside as he hacked at Pop Lardo's carcass. He didn't stop, nor even look up, until the sun had touched the horizon and he'd sweat through (and removed) four separate shirts. Despite all that work, he'd scarcely made a dent: Mogey had removed one of Pop Lardo's larger roots, but only one.
He walked around to the tree's other side to see how Smush was faring. As he saw his pal's progress, Mogey's jaw dropped. His trousers dropped. (To be fair, his trousers were weighed down by several gallons of sweat, and unlike shirts, he hadn't brought any backups.)
"How in the world have you done this?" Mogey demanded, hurriedly hauling his trousers back to their designated location.
Smush sat in a plaid lawn chair, an icey, umbrella-bedecked drink in hand, paging through the latest issue of AARP: The Magazine. An entire half of Pop Lardo - dozens and dozens of cords of firewood - stood neatly stacked nearby.
"The weevils," Smush said with a cackle. "No one is better at dismantling lumber, and their chief owes me a favor."
"I've got to hand it to you, Smushly. This time you've outdone-- wait, what favor?"
"Oh I gave him directions the other day. He and his friends were looking for... they were looking for a..."
"Yes?" Mogey queried.
"I believe their exact request," Smush stammered, "was 'A nice juicy tree. Ideally one so big that it has a name.'"
"Pop Lardo!" Mogey exclaimed. "Smush, you blunderbuss: you've betrayed us!"
"Nay!" Smush countered, though his face flushed scarlet with shame. Mogey and Smush's language always became more old-fashioned in times of turmoil. "It was I who was betrayed! By Boss Stromboli, the chief pepperoni weevil!" Smush pointed at a tiny six-legged insect in a hard hat, who stood atop one of the new firewood stacks.
"And I'd do it again, too!" Boss Stromboli cackled in his impossibly high voice. He rubbed his thorax with satisfaction. "Your tree was most succulent. Most succulent indeed!"
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