Mogey and Smush sat at the breakfast table one morning, their minds on their bowls, when the floor beneath them began to tremble.
"What was that?" Smush yelped.
"Don't tell me you're becoming one of those 'quakers?'" Mogey replied.
"Is that some sort of derogatory term for people who imagine they're feeling earthquakes?"
"No, ye goose! Everyone knows those are called 'tremor-chondriacs.'"
"Then are you suggesting I've changed religions?" Smush asked.
"I am not," said Mogey. He glanced meaningfully at Smush's bowl.
"Don't tell me..." Smush declared. "Oatmeal?? You dare ask if I'm supping on oatmeal this morn? How can you even suggest such a thing? You know very well my ancestors were displaced by oat barons!"
"I just thought..."
"Next time your thoughts drift to me consuming the foodstuffs of that white-haired, scarf-wearing villain, you keep them to yourself! Or mark my words, there will be fisticuffs! In this household, it's cream of wheat or nothing."
"Alright!" said Mogey. "Sheesh."
"Thanks for taking accountability," Smush said, visibly cheering. "Say, what was it that shook the floor just now, anyway? Was it a real earthquake?"
"Naw," Mogey answered. "That'll be Jombous Todd. He said he might need to use a bit of dynamite to break loose a stubborn boulder."
"A 'bit' of dynamite?"
"His words, not mine. Sure will be nice, though, when he finishes that tunnel and our cellar has a weatherproof connection to the pastramerie."
Just then, the cellar door creaked open, revealing a dust-caked moleman who peered down his spectacles at the pals.
"Sorry 'bout the noise, lads," Jombous Todd announced. "Hope I di'int wake youse. Turned out I actually needed three bits o' dynamite."
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