"We must consult the Hot Dog Oracle!" I said, wringing my hands together and falling to my knees.
"Yes yes yes yes, hot dogs are doggedy logs," Snicker replied, putting one foot on the Empire State Building and the other twenty feet into the ground.
So we went to the Hot Dog Oracle and asked her how we should rescue Quiggle. "Oh, Hot Dog Oracle, you're so yummy and delicious! Surely you know what to do!"
The Hot Dog Oracle was a very special hot dog because he was the only hot dog who could sit on fire without being cooked. He was... RAW.
"Oh yes, there is a very simple solution that will solve your little dilemma, my dearies," said the Hot Dog Oracle. "You must cook the Smarts."
"Yes!" I cried.
"You must host a giant cookout in the clouds. Say that you will be cooking Crazies. Disguise as Smarts and ask the real Smarts if they would like to take a turn cooking the Crazies. They will most likely say yes, so as they are cooking push them into the oven or onto the grill and close the door on them. They shall be crisp. Or you can always push them off the cloud, your choice. But crispness is appealing. Ah, Crispy, my old friend," he murmured, going into La-La Land. "How I wish I had been more careful and not tripped you, making you fall into the oven. How I wish I hadn't tripped on the oven door and closed it. How I wish you don't live in my display, as crisp as ever." He gestured to his collection, where an extremely crispy hot dog sat proudly on his aluminum foil throne. I fought the urge to cry.
"Go along, my little fat friends!" the Hot Dog Oracle shouted.
"Thank you, my oblong sausage!" I sang.
"LET'S HAVE A CLOUD PARTY, WE DON'T NEED THE SMARTS!" Snicker sang, putting a remix on the remixed Smart song.
"Bum bum bum bum." I did the backup.
"Quack it quack quack quaaaack quack. Quacking quackidy quacks a quack," rapped Dotty.
"PREPARE TO DIEEEEEE MY SMART ENEMIES!" I squealed.
