The Abbreviated Adventures of Mogey & Smush: Quarantine Episode 12

 "Hnnnnghhh!" Mogey gasped, sprinting through the front door like a taxidermist who just saw his stuffed porcupine's toe wiggle, "Smush... hnnnghhh... take... arghhhh... cover!"

"What is it, Mogey?" Smush cried, rushing to his pal's side. "Don't tell me you stole Big Mo Tercicle's last strawberry frosted doughnut again?"

"No! Well--yes, of course I did, but no that's not the most pressing issue at the moment. We've got vampires!"

"Vampires?"

"Vampires," Mogey confirmed. "They're everywhere: Acting spooky, looking pale, eating worms, clucking ominously."

"I believe you're thinking of chickens," Smush said.

"Ah, yes," Mogey replied, catching his breath at last. "Chickens is the word I was searching for."

"My God," said Smush. "It's worse than I thought! You bar the door and I'll grab the 12-gauge. They're after our lifetime supply of liquorice whips!"

The Abbreviated Adventures of Mogey & Smush: Quarantine Episode 11

 WELCOME TO "HOME PLATING WITH MOGEY AND SMUSH," THE SHOW ABOUT BASEBALL SNACKS AND BASEBALL ENTREES. AND NOW, YOUR HOSTS WITH THE MOST [RUMBLY TUMBLIES]: MOGEY AND SMUSH!

Smush: Thank you for joining us. Today we'll be talking all things frankfurter: We've got dogs, we've got buns, we've got a vast array of mustards, we've got so many relishes that the chutney police are hot on our tails--

Mogey: Why was he yelling?

Smush: What?

Mogey: The announcer guy. Does he really need to shout like that?

Smush: I'm not--

Mogey: And what's up with the crack about our tumblies? He wasn't supposed to read that part out loud.

Smush: Can we just get back to frankfurters, please? 

Mogey: Fine.

Smush: Now, onto krauts, cheeses, and cheese-adjacent products--

Mogey: It's just... I know my tumbly is rumbly. I don't need anyone shouting about my rumbly tumbly. I can feel it rumbling beneath this admittedly echoey t-shirt.

Smush: You know something, Mogey?

Mogey: Yes?

Smush: You are absolutely right. You hear that, announcer man? Prepare to feel our combined wrath - and the wrath of the chutney police, for that matter - if you utter one more word about our tumblies, rumbly though they may be! I say beware, Mr. Announcer, for the vengeance of a hungry Mogey and Smush is both swift and terrible, and we haven't eaten in at least thirty-five minutes.

THANK YOU FOR JOINING US FOR ANOTHER EPISODE OF "HOME PLATING WITH MOGEY AND SMUSH." WE'LL SEE YOU AGAIN NEXT WEEK FOR MORE HIGHLY-FOCUSED BASEBALL FOOD TALK.

The Abbreviated Adventures of Mogey & Smush: Quarantine Episode 10

 At the Stoatburgh Stoat Festival, the premier event was of course the stoat-judging competition. Among other privileges, the year's Top Stoat was allowed, by law, to run amok in every henhouse in the district. 

The second-most important event, however, was the annual Juggle Off. And since they lacked the level of stoatiness required for the stoat-judging contest, it was the Juggle Off that Mogey and Smush entered.

"What's your strategy this year, Moge-ster?" Smush inquired.

"Two words," said Mogey. "Bowling balls."

"That's your strategy every year! And every year you forget until too late that bowling balls are too heavy to juggle."

"Ah, but that's where this year will be different. I've tried using eight-pound balls in the past; this year it'll be 12-pounders only. What's your strategy, anyhow?"

"Oh, I've got a little something up my sleeve." 

Later, as Mogey nursed a bowling ball-squashed foot, Smush's turn at the Juggle Off finally arrived. He mounted the stage, calmly produced a single hard-boiled egg, and tossed it from hand to hand several times before chucking it directly into the mouth of Lil Stoatie Bellingham, that year's Top Stoat and Juggle Off judge.

"The winner!" announced Lil Stoatie with an eggy hiss.

The Abbreviated Adventures of Mogey & Smush: Quarantine Episode 9

 One bold and zesty afternoon, the pals strode through the village of Little Binky on their semi-annual expedition to procure toe-warmers, dog-wormers, and calf-firmers. As they passed Madame Bucheron's, Smush stopped short.

"Fancy a coffee?" he inquired.

"I don't drink coffee," Mogey replied, "and neither do you. Coffee ice cream? Yes. Coffee ice cream which has been sitting on the coffee table until it - like coffee - has become a beverage? Yes. But anything resembling actual hot bean water I promise you we will both detest."

"Now that's just not so," Smush insisted. He entered Madame Bucheron's, bold as you like, and approached the counter. "One medium Smush Special, please." 

"What's that?" asked the enflanneled axe-wielding barista. 

"A cup of heavy cream with three drops of your finest coffee," Smush announced.

He and Mogey played a spirited game of Guess Which Peanut until the brew was ready, at which point Smush took a proud sip... and promptly sprayed his entire mouthful across Madame Bucheron's window.

"There are at least five-to-six drops of coffee in here!" Smush spluttered. "I require immediate assistance to eliminate this wretched taste from my mouth! Quick, get me two more cups of cream and a cup of half-and-half. I am on a diet, after all."

The Abbreviated Adventures of Mogey & Smush: Quarantine Episode 8

"Mogey?" Smush inquired after he'd seen his pal enter the kitchen, make a cup of sugar water, and exit for the third time in 15 minutes. "What are you up to?"

"Oh, ehm, nothing," Mogey replied, lying more obviously than a sarcastic genie whose master is leading a double life. "Just getting some refreshment."

"Alright, out with it: What sort of creature have you adopted this time?"

"I didn't adopt him!" Mogey insisted. "I'm just helping him recuperate. I think he might've crashed into one of our windows. I'm not sure what you call his species, but I named him Gnasher."

"Where is he now?" Smush asked.

"I made him a little nest out in the barn. Want to meet him?" 

Mogey led Smush out to the dairy'n'loungin' barn and hauled open the great oaken door. Smush gasped. Wriggling in the hay was a 15-foot tiger shark.

"He might've crashed into one of our windows???" Smush demanded. "We live 250 miles from the ocean!"

"Well you see, Smush," Mogey replied authoritatively, "at certain times of day, the reflection of the glass makes it look like there's a whole other world beyond the window. Poor little guys like this get confused." He gave Gnasher an affectionate scratch just behind his gills.

"Gnash," the shark added.

 

The Abbreviated Adventures of Mogey & Smush: Quarantine Episode 7

"Ahoy, Boatswain Mogey!" Smush ahoyed, swinging the tiller slightly to starboard.

"Ahoy yourself, Third Mate Smush," Mogey said. "What news?"

"Scuttlebutt's been quiet," Smush replied.

"Do you mean scuttlebutt as in 'gossip,' or Scuttlebutte, the deckhand who is half crab-half aristocrat?"

"Actually I was referring to you, Boatswain. A few of the sailors have noticed that your rear end has gotten so large lately that you enter the galley sideways."

"Excuse m--" Mogey began, but Smush interrupted him by tacking the Lady McRib violently to port.

"Avast!" Third Mate Smush exclaimed, "there be the waterspout we've been looking for! It carries the distinct fragrance of purple gatorade, which can mean only one thing: It be Dale Lasertag, the extreme athlete humpback! He won't escape me this time, skateboard or no skateboard."

 

The Abbreviated Adventures of Mogey & Smush: Quarantine Episode 6

"If you could climb like any creature," said Smush as he reached for the next branch, "what would it be?" 

Mogey tapped his chin thoughtfully, leaving behind an impressive lump of pine sap. It was unusual, these days, for the pals to be climbing The Needly Sheriff, the oldest spruce on the eastern seaboard. But in the month of May, spruce nuggets were in bloom. 

"I believe that's a trick question," Mogey replied.

"How could that be a trick question?" 

"Look at it this way: If I say 'a monkey,' I'm a banana-gobbling buffoon; if I say 'a goat,' I'm a baaing hoof tapper; and if I say what is clearly the correct answer, I'll be accused of overthinking it." 

"Notwithstanding the fact that all three of those things are already true, what is so clearly the correct answer?" Smush inquired.

Mogey heaved a massive, sprucy breath and was about to reply, when the long-suffering limb upon which he stood gave way. Mogey plummeted to the ground, hitting zero branches on the way down. He'd only been climbing for an hour, after all, and thus hadn't made it past the first limb. He landed flat on his back, which was good: Mogey's back was in a five-way tie for his fleshiest body part. 

"If you could climb like any creature," the mostly-inert Mogey called without opening his eyes, "you should climb like a sloth: Brandishing a big set of claws and stopping often for naps. I know it, you know it, and the sloths know it too."

The Abbreviated Adventures of Mogey & Smush: Quarantine Episode 5

"Smush...?" said Mogey, disconcertedly, "what is the spatula doing in the flyswatter drawer?"

"I've been looking for that everywhere!" Smush exclaimed while he stylishly flipped a nanner'n'nutter butter flapjack. "But I found a solution."

"What is that in your hand?" Mogey asked.

"I'll tell you what it's not," Smush replied, brandishing a batter-flecked flyswatter, "it's not a device as limited as that old spatula. With this, I can flip and swat at the same time, almost like I'm some sort of..."

"I swear," said Mogey, "if you say 'elite multitasker' in that evil robot voice I'm going to switch your body butter and your regular butter again."

"ELITE MULTITASKER!" Smush interrupted as he flipped another flapjack and then swatted Horatio MacPamplemousse, Mosquito Burglar, in one fluid motion. 

The Abbreviated Adventures of Mogey & Smush: Quarantine Episode 4

"I've got some bad news," Mogey said sorrowfully as returned from his biannual visit to Doc Bulbous, Hobbit Physician. 

"Crouton stuck in a major artery?" Smush guessed.

"Not this time. It turns out I'm legally blind when my eyes are closed." 

"Oh Mogey, I'm so sorry," Smush consoled. "I wonder... does this mean you're eligible for a service animal?"

"You mean like a seeing eye dog?"

"Sort of. I've heard it doesn't have to be a dog though. It could be all manner of creatures. A pig, for instance."

"Why in the world would I want a pig when I could get a--hnnnghhh!" Mogey gasped, clapping a hand to his mouth in horror. "You mean to eat my seeing eye pig, don't you?" 

"Don't be absurd," said Smush, but his words were belied by the drool in the corner of his mouth and the bib around his neck that read You Are What You Eat, and I Eat Ham Hocks.

The Abbreviated Adventures of Mogey & Smush: Quarantine Episode 3

The fragrance of raspberry turnovers with just a hint of danger wafted through the air one cloudy afternoon when Mogey and Smush decided it was time, at long last, to select their DJ names.

"I've got my name narrowed down to two finalists," Smush said. "I'm between MC Toblerone and Doctor Dentist. How about you?"

"DJ Dragonfly," Mogey replied.

"Of course! Because dragonflies are the apex predators of the insect world and your favorite music genres are spleenpunch and murderbeats?"

"Close," said Mogey, "but it's actually because my legs are very short relative to the rest of my body and I have way more teeth than most people think." 

The Abbreviated Adventures of Mogey & Smush: Quarantine Episode 2

It was rare, but not unheard-of, for Mogey and Smush to spend a night in the hoosegow. The big house. Lock-up. In short, jail.

Almost every one of these stints began with petty theft of cheese or cheese products. The problem was this: However carefully our pals planned a dairy heist, they simply could not resist the sweet, sweet pull of sampling the goods. And for Mogey and Smush, sampling cheese inevitably became an hours-long affair, plenty of time for the local constable to catch them in the act.

Luckily, Officer Aufesore himself had quite the weakness for velveeta. Not that the man could be bribed - far from it - but he understood the mind of a dairy addict. While he would insist that Mogey and Smush spend a night in the pokey to "sleep off the curd," he always released them the following morning.

On the particular occasion in which we find our pals, however, Officer Aufesore was on vacation: a patrolmen's ice-sculpting retreat. The substitute jailor was a three-legged rhinoceros with a nasty case of lactose intolerance named Pierre Saint-Michel.  

"Same cell as usual, Aufesore-- who in heaven's name are you?" Smush exclaimed when Farmer Braithwaite hauled them in on a citizen's arrest.

"The name's Pierre Saint-Michel," said the rhino turnkey, "and you fellows are going away for a long time." 

"Oh, good," Mogey said, stifling a yawn. "Then will it be camembert for breakfast, or emmental?"

"You want... more cheese?" demanded Farmer Braithwaite, sounding as shocked as a fireman entering a pudding pop factory.

"Good point, Braithwaite," Smush replied, giving the farmer a hearty pat on the back. "Let's make it both, Pierre, and add a bit of stilton too, would you?" 

The Abbreviated Adventures of Mogey & Smush: Quarantine Episode 1

In the summer of yore and yon, Mogey and Smush found themselves confined to their manor house, for a plague of Itchy Thumb ran rampant across the countryside.

"I've had it!" declared Mogey, after their eleventh day of isolation. 

"With what?" queried Smush most drolly.

"I'll tell you with what. I've had it with the whole darn thing! And most of all, I've had it with you, Smush!"

"Ah," Smush replied.

"Haven't you-- say, where are you going?" Mogey asked.

Smush paused, his hand hovering over the banister, which had been hand-carved from the trunk of Gnarled Frederick, the most conceited tree in Bean County.

"The way I see it, Mogey, we've got two options: Either I go defrost a couple of supremo p'zones, or we give Sheriff Troll J. McNutter a call. You'll want McNutter on hand, you see, because if you face me on the rasslin' mat - and surely that's where this discussion is headed if we don't get some p'zone in your belly - I cannot be stopped until I've administered at least seven reverse German suplexes or law enforcement intercedes. So: Which option do you choose?"

The sound of Mogey's tummy rumbling was the only answer Smush needed.

The Abbreviated Adventures of Mogey & Smush Volume 650

"What is your favorite letter of the alphabet?" Mogey asked casually. The pals were playing two-on-two Scrabble: Mogey and a golden retriever disc jockey known as ScuttleMutt versus Smush and a dragon boxing champion called Teence Lancelittle.

"You know very well that my favorite letter is 'Q,'" Smush replied. "It starts out so many of my favorite words: quack, quilt, quince, quality foodstuffs. Why do you ask?"

"Because," Mogey said, leaning forward intensely, "we're going to beat you with a word that has at least five Qs in it. ScuttleMutt! Get out that dictionary and find me the most Q-loaded word in there. And make it a triple word score!"

The Abbreviated Adventures of Mogey & Smush Volume 649

"Do you think we can go to the coal car now?" Mogey asked for maybe the fiftieth time.

Smush sighed and put down his copy of Beef and Other Meat Wellingtons Weekly. "I suppose so," he said, "but you're not going to like it. Where you got this idea that you want to ride in a coal car is beyond me. Are you sure you're not thinking of the caboose? Or better yet, the dining car?" 

"Yeah! "Yeah! Yeah!" Mogey exclaimed. "The coal car: Second from the front, full of coal, a pleasure to ride in for man or mole."

"You say that like it's a well known verse, but I'm proof positive you invented it yourself," muttered Smush as the two pals made their way through the Bennington & Northern train. After passing through half a dozen cars, they finally emerged into the open air. Before them was a filthy, unadorned box of a train car, loaded about halfway to the top with sooty coal. 

"See, Mogey," Smush said. "There's nothing glamorous abou-- Mogey?" Smush spun around in a panic, only to see that Mogey had already hopped across the gap and was burrowing into the coal in a way that could only be described as "snuggling."

"Coal car," Mogey sighed, yawning deeply. "Coal caaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaar." 

The Abbreviated Adventures of Mogey & Smush Volume 648

Perhaps it was a coincidence, but anytime Mogey and Smush ate barbecue ribs, the subject of mortality seemed to come up.

"So," Mogey said around a mouthful of sweet, sweet St. Louis style, "if it had to end, how would you want to go?"

Smush peered around the epic pile of bones in the center of the table that would later be used for a game known as "pork jenga."

"'Tis an unpleasant subject, but I've always thought 'Killed by a Crocodile' would read nicely on a tombstone," he replied. "That's why I challenge Hambone the Croc - a notoriously sore loser - to a weekly arm rasslin' match. When the day comes that I finally pin him, it will be time. And yourself?"

"There's only one way Mogey's shuffling off this earthly coil. A fair maiden is captured by a dastardly kidnapper and taken the the tippy top of the water tower in Cliffburgh--"

"That thing must be 500 feet high!" Smush exclaimed.

"You're darn right," Mogey said. "Anyhow, I pursue the kidnapper to the tippy top, where I become locked in combat with his dastardly self. Only, I realize that there's no way I can win - he's just too strong for me. After assuring that the fair maiden is safe, I manage to latch on to the dastardly villain and send both of us tumbling over the edge. Now what the kidnapper (dastardly though he is) doesn't know is that I'm wearing a parachute."

"Wait a second, I thought this was supposed to be the way it all ended."

"Let me finish! I pull the ripcord, but it malfunctions, you see. Turns out, instead of packing the parachute, I've filled the bag with two full racks of these fine St. Louis style ribs. I finish all of them before impact. The end."

The Abbreviated Adventures of Mogey & Smush Volume 647

Of all the games at all the fairgrounds in Tungleton-on-Gunk, whack-a-mole was far and away our heroes' favorite.

In the first place, as is evident from the town in which they lived, Mogey and Smush loved hyphens. Few carnival games offered as many hyphens in their names as whack-a-mole. And when you threw in the fact that the principal tool of whack-a-mole is a whack-a-mole mole-whacker, the game couldn't be beat.

In the second place, Mogey and Smush hated moles. Their beloved childhood dog, Chunko, had been killed by moles long ago. Well, he was killed by moles in the sense that moles dug the tunnels in which Chunko (who was slender of brains but not of tummy) got both inextricably stuck and hopelessly lost. Mogey and Smush had despised moles ever since.

In the third place, Mogey and Smush found mole a l'orange to be the most delectable dish in Tungleton-on-Gunk, and possibly in all of existence.

But Mogey and Smush had never won a game of whack-a-mole. They'd come close one afternoon when a light rain slowed the moles' reaction time, but even then, they'd been foiled.

Today, however, they decided to win at all costs. They had devised a mole-whacker of such epic proportions that no mole could hope to escape un-l'oranged. But though their mole-whacker covered three-quarters of the whack-a-mole board, still moles continued to pop up, taunting the pals with their clever, delicious-looking faces.

Finally, in frustration, Mogey dropped the mole-whacker and leapt into one of the mole-holes, getting stuck partway through just like Chunko all those years ago.

"Hey!" Mogey shouted as Smush tried to pull him out by his ankles. "These moles are just plastic! They'd make a mediocre mole a l'orange at best."

The Abbreviated Adventures of Mogey & Smush Volume 646

One warm summer evening, as the fireflies floated aimlessly, the polecats sneaked furtively, and a lone, moony toad dreamed of winning the 100-Meter Hop, Mogey sat by the fire pit, toasting marshmallows. Being a connoisseur of fine cuisine, Mogey was far more concerned with the toppings he added to fully toasted marshmallows than he was with the mallows themselves. So though he had but a few meager sticks on the fire, the picnic table was spread with an incredible array of so-called toppings, from caramel sauce and hot fudge to crushed cheez-its and an entire Hawaiian pizza.

"Ah," said Smush, wandering over from the hammock he'd strung between two ancient statues of trousers. "I was wondering where my bucket of chicken wings ended up."

"The honey barbecue ones are particularly tasty on top of a fresh-toasted mallow," Mogey replied.

"True, but this fire is pitiful! You'll never cook your mallows through on that thing."

Mogey simply shrugged and swept his arm toward the smorgasbord atop the picnic table. Smush sighed a weary sigh and trudged in the direction of their homestead's armory. "You know, Mogey," he said, "Uncle Herman was wrong about herring-scented candles and he was definitely wrong about his ability to fight that ostrich warrior who came to town, but he was right about one thing: If something's worth doing, it's worth doing with a flamethrower."

The Abbreviated Adventures of Mogey & Smush Volume 645

"What do you think of this bouquet?" Mogey asked nervously. "It has to be perfect - I've been waiting my whole life for a chance to go on a date with Miss Molly MacFluffernutter."

"Oof, Mogey. That bouquet is uglier than that piglet who was born with a human nose," Smush replied, for he too was secretly in love with Miss Molly MacFluffernutter.

"Uglier than Slinky the Pig?" Mogey gasped. "Smush, you have to help me!"

"Well, first off: The daffodils send totally the wrong message. Are you looking to take her to dinner or back in time to the age of the dinosaurs? And tulips? Come on, Mogey, you're not Tad Khan, boy millionaire. The daisies come on too strong. The lilies don't come on strong enough. And the baby's breath is flat out disgusting."

"But if I take all of those away, I'm only left with a single stinkblossum flower!"

"Exactly," Smush said sagely. "Keep it simple - she'll love it." With that, Smush guiltily ushered his best pal out the door and watched him saunter down the road, stinkblossum in hand....

Many hours later, Smush was awakened by the sound of an extremely smitten Mogey bursting into his study. "You were right!" Mogey hollered. "She loved the flower!"

"She... did?"

"She did! We're going out again next week... to my two favorite places: Cluckie's Chicken Shack and Legoland," Mogey said, swooning dramatically onto Smush's desk. "And it's all thanks to you - she was so impressed that I brought her a flower that perfectly matched my cologne!"

The Abbreviated Adventures of Mogey & Smush Volume 644

Mogey and Smush crashed through the tall grass, their arms clutching golden candlesticks, jewel-encrusted meat thermometers, and all manner of other ludicrous treasures. When they finally emerged into a clearing before the entrance to their secret cave, both pals were gasping for air.

"Open Sesame!" Mogey wheezed, but the door hidden in the wall of stone didn't budge.

"You changed the password, remember?" Smush said.

"So I did... Open Licorice!" Still the doorway did not emerge.

"Hurry, Mogey - the sultan's soldiers will be here any minute!"

"Open Bacon! Open Butter Brickle! Open Double Quarter Pounder with Cheese! Shoot!" Mogey exclaimed. "I know it was one of my favorite foods."

"But that's all of them!" Smush said desperately as the hoofbeats of a dozen soldiers mounted upon mighty steeds (horses, probably, or perhaps large pigs) thundered in their ears. "Every food is your favorite food!"

"Too true, Smush," Mogey replied, taking one last long gaze at a toilet brush adorned with rubies and emeralds, "too true."

The Abbreviated Adventures of Mogey & Smush Volume 643

After Mogey and Smush saved the life of Earl Earlington, Earl of Earlham, Lord Earlington insisted that the two pals spend a holiday in his Earldom. Mogey and Smush were hesitant, in the first place because they were worried about the midnight snacking policy in a place as proper as Earlham Castle, and in the second place because the only reason Lord Earlington had needed saving was that they had summoned the evil spirit Choo Choo Magoo in an attempt to win a dance-off. Choo Choo was malicious, but he was also one heck of a dancer, and Mogey and Smush were desperate. When the dance-off ended with Mogey, Smush and Choo Choo victorious, the ghoul then attempted to devour the judges (of whom Lord Earlington was one) whole, and was only stopped when Mogey and Smush used a serviceable imitation of his arch nemesis, Enormobrawn Ironpants, to distract him.

Anyhow, the lure of whole roast beasts of many species overcame Mogey and Smush's guilt, and they took Lord Earlington up on his offer. Sure enough, they learned that midnight snacking was discouraged at Earlham, which was how Mogey and Smush found themselves creeping through the darkened castle in search of the kitchens.

Multiple minutes into their search, as the rumblies in their respective tumblies reached a deafening level, Mogey and Smush came upon a balcony that looked out into the Great Hall. They could see the entrance to the kitchens, but the floor lay 50 feet below, with no easy way down.

"I know," Mogey whispered. "We'll slide down the tapestry like the secret agents do! I've seen it a hundred times."

"You mean this priceless tapestry that Lord Earlington said has been in his family for several hundred generations?" Smush asked. Mogey nodded. Both of their tumblies rumblied audibly. "What choice do we have?"

Each pal grabbed one side of the immense tapestry that hung below their balcony, swung their legs over the railing, and began to shimmy down hand over hand. Almost immediately, the fabric began to rip apart, and with a wrenching sound, the whole tapestry tore in half, sending Mogey and Smush tumbling to the floor. Smush groaned and propped himself up on one elbow, gazing up at the 50-foot-long tear.

"Let's get to the kitchens, grab some dunkaroos and a staple gun, and get to work, Mogey," he said. "It's going to be a long night."

The Abbreviated Adventures of Mogey & Smush Volume 642

"How sure are you that it's safe?" Smush asked Mogey as the two pals gazed up at their new tree fort. Mogey had spent fifty painstaking minutes assembling the building - which took up the top third of a mammoth redwood tree out back - out of particle board, packing tape, and that multicolored clay that you buy in arts & crafts stores. Mogey loved arts & crafts stores.

"I'm positive," Mogey replied. "There's a better chance of someone not smoking a pipe calling you 'old bean,' than of this tree fort falling apart. Has someone not smoking a pipe ever called you 'old bean?'"

"Of course not - what would he tap thoughtfully on his chin? His walking stick? I think not."

"Precisely," Mogey said. "Now watch me: I'll show you just how safe this fort is." He leapt onto the rope ladder with the grace of a baby whose diaper is too tight and began to climb. When he reached the halfway point of the 80-foot climb, the tree fort completely imploded, showering the area with potato chips and dippin' sauces, and sending the ladder plummeting earthward.

Luckily, the globose Mogey was an extremely bouncy fellow, and he absorbed the force of his fall with only a mild look of annoyance as he rebounded back into the air. Impatiently, he waited for the bouncing to subside while Smush scurried around the forest floor in search of chip crumbs.

The Abbreviated Adventures of Mogey & Smush Volume 641

Mogey and Smush met for the first time in the crowded cafeteria of St. Pumpernickel's School for Troublesome Lads on a gloomy day long ago. Smush was about to chomp into a pickled beef sandwich when he heard a grunt across the table that - at first - he assumed had come from a stray pygmy hippopotamus, of which St. Pumpernickel's had many.

"Oy," said the grunter, who was of course our old friend Mogey, "I'll trade you this jar of cabbage'n'stuff for your fruit-by-the-foot."

Smush paused mid-bite, a feat more uncommon than lightning striking twice and then issuing a formal apology for overzealousness.

"How about my cold guinea fowl leg for your butterscotch pudding cup?" he replied.

And so ensued a half hour of fierce negotiations, mediated by a stern, but fair, third party: Billy "Li'l Baaaa" Goatherd. When it was over, Smush had acquired two strips of bacon, a magnetic checkers board, a pile of candy corns, a pog slammer shaped like a cobra skull, and a hefty slice of turkey pie. Mogey, on the other hand, had gained the fruit-by-the-foot, a year-old Highlights magazine, the alleged key to the school's alleged chicken coop, and some jerky of unknown origins.

"I believe this is the beginning of a long and prosperous friendship," said Smush with a wide grin.

"Whatsat?" Mogey sputtered. He glanced up quickly, then resumed trying to suck butterscotch pudding through a rolled up fruit-by-the-foot.

The Abbreviated Adventures of Mogey & Smush Volume 640

One evening, Mogey and Smush were headed home after playing an invigorating whist tournament against the likes of Rupert Grandiose, tortoise historian and a troll named Beastly. As they passed a local establishment known as The Horse and Corncob, Mogey paused.

"You know," he said, "this establishment would be the perfect establishment for some mountebankery."

"Some what?" Smush inquired.

"You know, a swindle. A charlatan's quackery."

"I feel sure that you don't know what any of those expressions mean," Smush asked. "You think they're some kind of food, don't you?"

"No...."

"Yes you do, you think they refer to a savory pastry involving apples, bacon, and possibly a duck."

"Well, don't they?" Mogey replied pleadingly as his tummy growled with the power of a trash compactor crushing two dozen short tons of stale graham crackers to a delicious powder.

The Abbreviated Adventures of Mogey & Smush Volume 639

One afternoon, Mogey returned home to find his best pal Smush shaping a big pile of mud in the front yard.

"Welp," Smush said, with a sigh of satisfaction. "It's finished."

"What's finished?" Mogey inquired.

"This!" Smush cried, pointing violently at the pile of mud. Mogey could tell Smush was devastated by the question, mainly because he began filling his hat with mud in a despondent manner.

"Oh of course," Mogey said, "this... sculpture..." Smush's ears pricked up, "of... me?" Smush nodded expectantly. "And... you? Riding a... hawk?"

"It's actually a falcon," Smush replied smugly. "But I wouldn't expect a novice in both mud art and ornithology like yourself to know the difference."

That day and every Tuesday afterward, Smush came back out to the garden under cover of darkness and gave his mud sculpture a single, prideful pat on the head, the kind of pat a man gives to the best chimichanga he's ever made and then eaten in a single bite.

The Abbreviated Adventures of Mogey & Smush Volume 638

"How was your day, Moge-man?" Smush asked as he sat down next to his pal one evening at the local sodey fountain.

"Pretty good," Mogey replied. "I met Count Chocula."

"How did that happen?"

"Well, I was feeling a bit more peckish than usual so I ate twelve bowls of cereal in a row. At about the ninth bowl I began to hallucinate, and by the twelfth, Count Chocula himself paid me a visit. We went rollerblading together through his chocolately palace and he busted a gnarly misty flip off one of the buttresses."

"Ok...."

"What, is there some other way to meet Count Chocula?" Mogey demanded.

"I was thinking you met, like, a guy in a foam costume," Smush said.

"He duped me, didn't he? That Transylvanian trickster! I kept telling him, 'I'm imagining this,' and he would always say, 'Relax, guy, have another pudding pop and some chocolate milk.' Such shenanigans will not stand! I'll get you for this, imaginary Count Chocula!"

"Oh boy..."

"I'll get youuuuuuuu!" Mogey howled into the night.