The Abbreviated Adventures of Mogey & Smush: 2025 Edition - Episode 13

"You own this guy, champ," Mogey encouraged Smush. "He's got nothing on you."

"I dunno," Smush replied, bouncing on his toes, "he seems pretty good. He's got an undefeated record, after all."

"Naw, champ," Mogey assured him. "He's only gone against tomato cans, I promise you that. And have a seat, would you? You'll tucker your toes right out with all that bouncing."

Just then, Smush's opponent passed by, casting an ominous pall over the dressing room. Wrigglin' Rip Bankins wore a pompadour combed half a foot high, and carried a pair of his trademark ostrich feathers. Smush snatched up his own iconic microfiber duster and gave Wrigglin' Rip a stink-eye stinkier than the eye of Pablo Underhill, skunk-breeder extraordinaire. Despite his private words to Mogey, as reigning champion of the world-famous Tickle Tilt, Smush would not be going down without a fight. For the Tickle Tilt had but one rule, a rule that ensured almost any outcome was possible from any given match: Don't laugh first.

The opponents entered the ring - metaphorically speaking, of course. The actual Tickle Tilt field of play was more akin to a children's sandbox than a boxing ring. As the challenger, Wrigglin' Rip would be tickling first, which is how Smush preferred it. Smush was a strong tickler and a decent ticklee, but his truly elite skill was trash talk. Trash talk was never banned in Tickle Tilts (and in some tournaments it was outright encouraged), but the young challengers who came up through the prep school circuit had never encountered the likes of Smush before. He knew how to cut deep.

"Egads," Smush intoned as Wrigglin' Rip approached, ostrich feathers wriggling vigorously. 

"Get him, champ," Mogey said from Smush's corner (again, metaphorically - Mogey was sitting upon an upturned bucket of fried chicken a few feet away).

"You, sir," Smush announced, gritting his teeth as the feathers brushed against his neck with monumental tickling power, "are a ruffian... a beast... a...." he hesitated, and the crowd gasped, "a blighter."

Wrigglin' Rip fainted dead away. As he lay there, Smush calmly removed one of his opponent's polished oxfords and put his microfiber duster to work on the challenger's manicured toes. When Wrigglin' Rip revived, he was already laughing uproariously, and the legend of Smush continued to grow.

Some called him "The Untickleable," others "General George Armstrong Duster." A rhyme became popular among local children: Smush, Smush, respectfully hush / He'll tickle his enemies' dreams down the flush! 

But Smush? Smush remained humble. As humble as one can after seven straight Tickle Tilt championships. Humble enough to retire to a quiet life of teaching youngsters that most ancient art of tickling and trash talk.  

The Abbreviated Adventures of Mogey & Smush: 2025 Edition - Episode 12

 The duty Mogey took more seriously than any other was his role as a balloon handler in East Thickwhistle's annual April Fools' Day Parade. The spectacle featured dozens of enormous balloons - some of them even larger than Mogey himself - that depicted the village's many heroes of prank and ruse. Mogey's responsibility for anchoring the left arm of Saint Bunk the Toilet-Taper had been passed down from his father and grandfather, who had inherited the role from "some guy who had to go to the dentist that day," and Mogey cherished it.

One April Fools' Day morning, Mogey and Smush found themselves in a heated disagreement over the ownership rights to the last chicken finger in the pu pu platter (their standard breakfast on April Fools' Day and every day). 

"That finger is mine!" Smush insisted. "All mine! You got the final bit of chicken last time we got an odd number of tenders."

"That was three whole days ago!" Mogey replied. "I need my strength to hold onto Saint Bunk all day." 

"Hands off the poultry," Smush said. "Or when you least expect it, I will appear at the parade. And in my hands will be the thing that balloon handlers fear above all others."

"A needle?" Mogey gasped. "A bow and arrow?"

"A-... wait a moment, your ideas are way better than mine. I was just planning to bring along a bucket of legos to scatter beneath your feet." With that, Smush dashed off to the archery shed.

Mogey stared at the last chicken finger longingly. Sacred duty or his eighth chicken finger of the morning? Saint Bunk or breaded fowl? In the end, the decision was easy: Mogey stuffed the chicken into his mouth and headed for the parade route, hoping with all his heart that Smush's arrows that day would not fly true.

The Abbreviated Adventures of Mogey & Smush: 2025 Edition - Episode 11

 "Have you been to the new Italian bathhouse in town?" Mogey asked one foggy Wednesday.

"Spa Ghetti?" Smush said. "No, money's a bit tight at the moment, but I hear they offer a minestrone foot soak that's to die for."

"Well money's not tight anymore. I won big at pakapoo last night and I'm treating you to an all-expenses-paid Wednesday at Spa Ghetti!" Mogey exclaimed. 

After tracking down their bathing costumes, Mogey and Smush made their way to Spa Ghetti, where they were checked in by the warm and cheerful Ma Ghetti and Pa Ghetti. The lovely Miss Sha Ghetti led them to a well-appointed chamber that contained a mineral spring, several racks of towels, and a bubbling pot of meatballs. 

"You get settled in, Smush," Mogey said, "I'm going to see if I can track down some Mr. Pibb."

Smush made himself comfortable, grabbing a brace of meatballs and sliding into the fizzing spring. He must have fallen asleep, because he was awoken some time later by the sound of a six pack of Mr. Pibb shattering upon the marble floor. 

"What stinks of vinegar?" Mogey demanded. He was still holding his arms in front of his chest as if the Mr. Pibb had not fallen spectacularly out of them. "And what do you have on your eyes?"

"Pickles," Smush replied, peeling the pickle off his left eye and popping it into his mouth. "Want one?"

"No! Why would I want pickles at Spa Ghetti? Where did you even find pickles at Spa Ghetti?"

"Oh I brought these from home." Smush showed his pal the whole jar. "I've always seen how people in the movies wear pickles on their eyes at the spa, so I have plenty, just in case."

The Abbreviated Adventures of Mogey & Smush: 2025 Edition - Episode 10

 Times were desperate. Mogey and Smush were wildly in hock to the cheesemongers, and neither of them had any money coming in. All the work in Mogey's profession - food taster, but only for the delicious foods - had dried up, and Smush was a longtime conscientious objector to not lounging around all day. 

And so it was that the pals found themselves walking down the high street, looking for a grand larceny to commit. They'd discussed committing a regular old larceny, but to Mogey and Smush's way of thinking, if you're going to commit a larceny, you might as well make it grand. 

"I've got it!" Smush announced. "We'll rob Pop Sickle's. In this kind of sweltering weather, he's got a line out the door at all times. The place must be a gold mine!"

"Plus Pop is the jolliest fellow out there," Mogey agreed. "He'll never put up a fight."

Though the sun was beating down, Mogey and Smush donned their hoods and pulled masks over their faces. Mogey had Spiderman. Smush had a happy kitty. 

"This is a stickup!" Smush shouted as they entered Pop Sickle's.

"Nobody move!" Mogey added. "Don't be a hero! We're here for Pop Sickle's money, not yours."

"Pop Sickle's money is my money," said Pop Sickle from behind the counter. "What's this all about, Mogey and Smush?"

"Grand larcen--" Mogey began.

"How'd you know it was us?" Smush interrupted.

"You wore these exact same outfits when you came trick-or-treating here last halloween," Pop answered. "I thought you were a little old to trick-or-treat, but hey - I've thought that for the last twenty years. Now I suggest you boys go back the way you came."

"Or what?" said Mogey.

"Have you ever read the full name of my shop?" Pop asked, pointing above his own head.

Mogey and Smush both fell for it. They looked up and read: Pop Sicke's Ice Lollies and Blade Sharpening. By the time they looked down, Pop Sickle had leapt over the counter and was brandishing a machete in one hand and a meat cleaver in the other. Mogey and Smush had never realized how large a man Pop Sickle was. 

"This," said Pop, "is far from a grand larceny. A shabby larceny, at best. I'd go so far as to call it a second-rate larceny."

Smush gasped.

"Aren't those your customers' blades?" Mogey inquired.

"Yes, but I'm entitled to use them to defend the shop from invasions, attacks, and larcenies grand or otherwise," Pop replied. "It's in the terms and conditions."

The Abbreviated Adventures of Mogey & Smush: 2025 Edition - Episode 9

 It was a busy day at Mogey and Smush's florist and ironworks shop, Petals to Metals, but the proprietors still found time to deliver excellent service to those customers who seemed like they needed assistance and/or did not have much knowledge about the actual prices of various flowers and/or metallic sculptures.

"Excuse me?" said a man wearing a sweater vest and dockers. Smush gave Mogey their standard sign for an excellent "customer service" target - an elbow to the ribs and a loud oink. "I'm sorry to trouble you," the man continued, "you must be overwhelmed with so many people in the shop."

"Nonsense," Mogey replied. "We always have time for each and every one of our marks-- er... customers. What can I do for you?"

"I was hoping to buy a bouquet for my sweetheart."

"How wonderful. And what sort of flower does this sweetheart - she sounds lovely, by the way - what sort of flowers and/or metallic sculptures does she typically like?"

"She's quite fond of baby's breath." 

"Ah yes, of course, of course," Mogey said. "Well if she likes baby's breath, she's going to love its cousin: an absolutely stunning blossom called drunkard's belch. Smush? Oh, Smush?" Mogey called.

"Mmmyes," Smush answered as though he hadn't been standing two feet away listening intently.

"Have we got any of that drunkard's belch left?" 

"We do have just enough for one bouquet. And may I say that if someone was looking to make a bouquet for his, let's say for hypothetical reasons and with no prior knowledge of the situation, his sweetheart, the drunkard's belch pairs very nicely with these blooms here." Smush gestured to a bunch of greenish gold blossoms.

"What are they called?" asked Sweater Vest Wes, as Mogey had begun mentally describing their guest.

"Sardine eater's exhale," Smush replied.

"I'll take them! How much do I owe you gentlemen for this fine bouquet?"

"Let's see," said Mogey, tallying some numbers up on the back of wanted poster he'd ripped down from building next door because the suspect looked like him, only more dashing, "a bouquet of drunkard's belch and sardine eater's exhale comes to... what've you got in that little money pouch of yours, anyway?

"Looks like I have 22-- no, 23 gold guineas," Sweater Vest Wes responded. 

"That'll be 23 gold guineas," Smush announced. 

The Abbreviated Adventures of Mogey & Smush: 2025 Edition - Episode 8

 "Again, I feel I should mention that a joint consultation is most unusual," the guidance counselor said, peering over his spectacles at Mogey and Smush. 

"We're ok with unusual," Smush replied, hoisting a 24-ounce can of sparkling pickle juice. "Right, Moge-man?"

"Yep," said Mogey, cheersing Smush's Dilly Fizz with a Mango Xtremo Gatorade. "Unusual and full of electrolytes."

"Alright then," the guidance counselor rejoined. He observed Mogey and Smush like a talented dog groomer might stare at two rastafarian pups named Peanut and Scallywag who keep ignoring his advice that full-body dreadlocks and digging for clams do not mix. "Have either of you given any thought to your future careers?"

"That all depends," Mogey answered. "Does making sure to drink lots of electrolytes prepare you for any careers?"

"What do you like to do? What are you good at?" The guidance counselor held up a hand to stop Mogey from interrupting. "BESIDES consuming electrolytes," he added.

"We're pretty good judges of character," said Smush.

"Perhaps police detectives, then? Or negotiators?"

"Ooh!" Smush responded, sucking his teeth. "I meant we're good at judging the character of foodstuffs, not people. You know, what goes with what, what's spoiled and what's fresh, that sort of thing."

"What about becoming chefs? That's a popular career path these days."

"Ooh!" Smush repeated, sucking his teeth once more. "We're not so much about cooking the food. What've you got that involves eating food?"

"And don't forget about the electrolytes!" Mogey chimed in.

The Abbreviated Adventures of Mogey & Smush: 2025 Edition - Episode 7

Mogey and Smush's wagon rumbled through a crossroads that was unremarkable except for the odd preponderance of skulls laying about, an ominous swirl of mist, and the sound of a creaking hinge, though there were no rusty gates to be seen.

Suddenly there appeared between them on the buckboard a creature of pure malice, from the tips of its crimson horns to the knuckles of its goat-like hooves.

"Uncle Eugene?" Mogey exclaimed.

"No, Mogey, ya numbskull!" Smush admonished his pal. "It's the fellow we've been waiting for." With that, Smush whipped a green-tinted visor onto his head and pulled out a pad of paper and a grease pencil. 

"You've been... waiting... for me?" the demonic being inquired uncertainly.

"Why d'you think we've been driving by this crossroads where people are constantly emerging with boots full of gold, unlimited knowledge, and extremely fresh jump shots?" Smush demanded.

The horned beast's look of brash confidence faded almost completely. Its eyes darted from Smush's shrewd note-taking on its right to Mogey - who raised his eyebrows conspiratorially - on its left. But a job is a job. "How'd you like to..." gulp "make a deal?" the fiend asked. 

"I'd like that very much indeed," Smush replied, licking the tip of his pencil. "Now I have two questions off the bat: 1) What's the smallest fraction of soul you're willing to barter with? And 2) What's the exchange rate between, say, one tenth of a soul - a very pure soul like Mogey's, here, mind - and baconator sandwiches?"

The Abbreviated Adventures of Mogey & Smush: 2025 Edition - Episode 6

 "A query, if I may," Mogey submitted as the pals strode through a section of the woodland known as Fungus Alley. "Why are they called toadstools?"

"How d'you mean?" Smush replied.

"Well," Mogey asked, gesturing to the bed of mushrooms that surrounded them, "I've never seen a toad sit on one." 

"I knew it!" declared Smush. "I knew those sunglasses weren't to 'help you bear the blinding white light of the scripture.' You've been napping during church!"

"Nuh uh," Mogey blustered. "I-- it's-- it's the reflection of the candlelight off the vicar's bald head as well. It gives me headaches something awf... alright how could you tell?"

"Because Brother Squoot from the Order of Wart & Slime - that's the all-toad monastery, you know - has been sitting in on services all this month. And what does he sit upon? Nothing more or less than a toadstool."

"I don't believe it," Mogey insisted.

"It's true," croaked a voice nearly beneath their feet. The pals looked down to observe a spadefoot toad perched upon a red-capped toadstool.

"Brother Squoot?" they exclaimed.

"Nay," the toad replied. "Tis I, Brother Buns, but I too am a member of the Order of Wart & Slime. And I must say, I know you young pipsqueaks like to sit on all manner of contraptions these days: your bean bag chairs and your pickup truck liftgates. Your skateboards and your stacks of Texas toast. Call me old-fashioned, but a toadstool is where my rear end belongs."

Mogey and Smush simply blinked at him.

"Welp," said Brother Buns, "I'd better get back to the monastery. The next batch of hallucinogenic tea isn't going to brew itself." 

And with that, Brother Buns hopped away.

"I think," opined Mogey, "that was the clearest answer I've ever received to a question I posed in Fungus Alley."

The Abbreviated Adventures of Mogey & Smush: 2025 Edition - Episode 5

 Fritz Twist Grist Mill was the best flourmaker in the district, a local institution that Mogey and Smush visited frequently. Counterintuitively, however, they usually kept their modest cereal crop at home and turned it into just that - cereal (Froot Loops, or occasionally, Sugar Smacks) - so the pals rarely had any grains for Fritz Twist to grind. The product they really came to traffic in was the second specialty of Fritz Twist and millers everywhere: gossip.

"Oy oy, Fritz," said Smush as the pals strode into the grist mill, "what's the good word?" 

"Grmph," grunted the be-overalled artisan without looking up from his spinning millstone.

"Got some news for us then, Twisty my boy?" Mogey queried.

"Ech," Fritz replied, even gruffer than before.

"Surely you've heard some update about who poisoned Oink O'Dooley's prize pig?" Smush asked. "Or the Pickleburt twins: which one chose true love and which one chose to inherit their father's duck, bean, and oatmeal farm?" 

"Meh," Fritz responded, with a shrug of his shoulders. But just then, Byron Pickleburt himself entered the mill carrying an immense sack of oats, his normally immaculate hat covered in bean vines and duck feathers.

"Oh ho ho!" Mogey exclaimed, pointing at the twin and tsking his tongue. "I see we have our answer. Choosing money over love - it's no wonder they call you 'Buy-ron.' But how can you live with yourself, knowing that the lovely Miss Dahlia Chung will be on the arm of your infernal twin Pepper Pickleburt forever more?" 

"Wot?" said Byron in a daze. 

"Everytime I think you can't possibly out-tittle-tattle yourself..." Smush murmured to the grist mill's proprietor. "Fritzy, you old scandalmonger, you've done it again!"

The Abbreviated Adventures of Mogey & Smush: 2025 Edition - Episode 4

 "Shhh," Mogey shushed Smush as they crept through the gloomy wood. On this moonless night, the forest lay darker than the skin of an avocado so ripe it would scarcely be suitable for guacamole. And yet, Mogey and Smush searched. 

What could draw these (admittedly torpid) pals from their chambers on such an evening? There was a good reason. Rumor had it that the Nuisance Nine, the famous prankster group, was meeting in secret this very night in this very wood to plan their annual ruse. Mogey and Smush wanted desperately to find out what prank was coming so they could ensure that this year, for once, it would not involve them. Also Smush believed he had dropped half a zagnut bar during his afternoon constitutional. 

A bluish-whitish glow amidst the trees ahead further increased the pals' caution, and after a few more moments' walking, they came upon a creature most peculiar. In a small clearing stood a unicorn, its pearly form emanating the radiance that had drawn them near. And yet it was translucent. Through its body, the friends could see - though palely - the shapes of trees that rose directly behind the mysterious animal. From this description you may be imagining a beautiful being, awe-inspiring in its ethereal presence. But nothing could be further from the truth: The unicorn was ugly as heck.

"Are you Malicious, the ghostly unicorn?" Mogey whispered.

"Nay," the horned horse whinnied. Mogey and Smush shrugged.

"Well, any idea where the Nuisance Nine are hiding out?" Smush queried.

"Nay," the unicorn repeated.

"D'you think you could give us a nod of the head or something if you know the answer to our questions?"

"Nay."

"Maybe he's just an odd-looking ordinary horse?" Mogey hypothesized. 

"An O.L.O.H.?" Smush acknowledged. "Possibly. Are you a real unicorn?"

"FINALLY!" the unicorn exclaimed. He spoke with a powerful voice and an even more powerful lisp. "Yeth, I'm a unicorn! Duh. My name ith Pernicious, the unicorn ghost. Malicious, the ghostly unicorn, ith my archrival and longtime crush."

"But why did you keep nay-ing before?" Mogey inquired.

"It'th part of my curthe. If I'm asked yay-or-nay quethtions and the answer ith no, I can only rethpond with a 'nay.'"

"Curse?" Smush asked.

"Indeed," said the unicorn. "The sorcereth who thent me to the grave wathen't thatisfied with taking my life. She had to curthe me too!" He (somehow) heaved a hoof around Smush's shoulder conspiratorially. "To be honetht, I probably detherved it. Yep, when old Pernicious wath alive, he wath a bit of a withe guy."

The Abbreviated Adventures of Mogey & Smush: 2025 Edition - Episode 3

It was a conundrum. Mogey stood at the counter of Sir Up E. Sugarman's candy store trying to decide between a chocolate-chocolate mallowbun and a double scoop of liquorice allsorts.

"I promised Smush I'd get him a mallowbun," Mogey said aloud, "but Sugarman's got a double scoop of liquorice allsorts for the price of a single scoop of liquorice allsorts."

"We know," grumbled the increasingly flustered young candy clerk. "You've been over this several times."

"Smush has been talking for ages about a fresh mallowbun," Mogey continued, "but I only have coin enough for one or the other. And who knows when a liquorice allsorts deal like this will come around again?"

"As I have stated," said the clerk, "this deal is available every Thursday."

"I just can't decide!" Mogey exclaimed, when suddenly he felt a weight descend on his left shoulder. 

"Choose the allsorts," whispered a seductive voice in his ear. "C'mon. You deserve it." 

Mogey turned to behold a tiny man perched on his trapezius. The little fellow wore a red top hat and a devilish grin. A prodigious quantity of chest hair spilled forth from his shirt collar.

"You think?" Mogey queried. "But what about Smush? He loathes liquorice."

No sooner had he asked this follow-up question than a second mini-man appeared, this one on his right shoulder. The newcomer wore a similar top hat, though white in color, and his upper body was equally hirsute.

"Forget about Smush," said the white-capped character. "Go with the double scoop."

"Aren't you supposed to convince me to do the right thing?" Mogey asked him.

"Two points. First: why in the world would you think that? And second: liquorice is always the right thing, baby!"

"Well if my conscience says it's ok..." 

"Whoa, whoa whoa," interrupted the red-hatted fellow. "Conscience?"

"You know," Mogey explained, "the angel and devil on my shoulder?"

The diminutive creatures burst out laughing so hard that milk shot out of both their noses, though Mogey hadn't seen them drink any milk. 

"Devil?" the one in the red hat guffawed. "Angel? We're Allsorts Sprites, ya knucklehead! We're here for one reason and one reason only: to convince you you to buy liquorice and then mooch relentlessly."

Mogey turned his attention back to the candy shop clerk. "I'll take the double scoop of liquorice allsorts whenever you're ready," he said. 

The Abbreviated Adventures of Mogey & Smush: 2025 Edition - Episode 2

 Once per month, Mogey and Smush would enjoy what they called a Tin Can Supper: a smorgasbord of delicacies from many cultures and climates, with the unifying factor that everything they ate came from a can, jar, or bottle. Also, beans would always be present. 

For some, the very premise of such a meal would've been a low point in the month, but Mogey and Smush awaited Tin Can Supper with great enthusiasm. After all, the tradition featured three of their favorite dining elements: name brands, discount prices, and beans.

"Have you ever thought about what other kinds of food could be tinned?" Mogey queried as he laid a sardine carefully on a piece of brown bread.

"That's what I think about in the shower every morning," Smush replied, scarfing down a spoonful of sweetened condensed milk topped with fruit cocktail. 

"And?" asked Mogey. "What conclusions have you come to?" As he spoke, he dunked a pair of baked beans into some refried beans.

"Croissants," Smush said, pronouncing it qua-sahnts.

"Croissants?"

"Cold canned croissants," Smush confirmed. "Every morning I dream of them, and every morning I am disappointed to remember that they do not exist." 

The Abbreviated Adventures of Mogey & Smush: 2025 Edition - Episode 1

 Mogey arrived at Smush's cottage one foggy morning clad in galoshes, woolen overalls, and a diving mask. Smush opened the door at Mogey's knock, his look of groggy confusion a perfect facsimile of Eli Whitney's face the first time he ever saw cotton candy.

"What are you up to?" Smush asked. "And what's with the snorkeling goggles?"

"How dare you?" Mogey exclaimed, hands on hips.

"Oh biscuits. What've I said this time?"

"Snorkeling? Goggles? I've never heard such profanity before 10 o'clock in the morning."

"For biscuits' sakes," Smush muttered, "those aren't rude words. I was talking about your eyewear! People call those things 'goggles' after their inventor, Federico di Goggliano. And many use them to go snorkeling, a watersport named after its inventor, Federico di Snorkeliano. What in the world do you use 'em for?" 

"These?" Mogey replied. "These are my skunkhuntin' specs."

"Holy biscuits! You're hunting for... skunks?"

"Aye," Mogey stated. "Are you in? You'll need some eye protection like me - fumes, you know. But a foggy morning like this is when skunks are easiest to track. I know they don't smell so good, but I promise, you've never had a meat so tender and succulent as a braised skunk haunch."