"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.
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