The Beaver's tale, OR Toothy's very mundane day in which nothing of note happened, yet the titular beaver, toothy, who is of an odd purple shade, didn't seem to mind.
It was a day like any other – it certainly began like any other. Toothy the beaver, who was a very odd shade of purple, woke up from a long, reposeful slumber, full of vim and vigor and ready to take on what he was certain was going to be another arduous day. He mumbled various, select quotes from Poor Richard's Almanac, which he'd committed entirely to memory, to himself groggily: "A penny saved is a penny earned. The debtor is merely the slave to the creditor; thus avoid debt; for true leisure is not measured in how much time is spent not committing oneself to something arduous, but by avoiding the indefatigable distresses that comes of being financially unsound."
The purple rodent smiled confidently, his enormous buckteeth catching the gleam of the morning sun, reflecting like oblong pearls of enormous proportions, while his freckled cheeks bunched up beneath his large, expressive eyes. He took in a large swallow of air through his pink nostrils, savoring the strong odor of pinesap that was contrasted quite beautifully with the comparatively subtle smell of freshly cut grass. The scents affected him in the same way the smell of blood and rum infected the privateers of old with an unquenchable lust to seize the day with gusto.
"Bully! Quite a day this shall be – yes, I am certain; for today is the day that I shall partake of the frozen dairy delights down at the parlor in which they are commodities available for my procurement!"
Without another word, Toothy grabbed up a wad of North American Federal Reserve Notes and departed his home, ambulating jauntily down the sidewalk that his tax dollars went to relaying just last Thursday. He sand as he went along his merry way: "Rule, Britannia! Britannia rules the waves! Britons never, never, never, never will be slaves!"
At that moment, just as he was passing beneath the shade of an old, bushy walnut tree, the beaver came across a crimson porcupine suffering from an acute case of psoriasis.
"Salutations, Flaky – my compatriot whose gender is often debated by the feebleminded. How goes your morning? Well, I hope."
"Ah. Very well, indeed. And a good morning to you, my friend. What brings you out today? Fancy a stroll, do you?"
"The stroll is a treat, for the day is fine, but I have a destination in mind: the parlor on Forth, the one that crafts such superb custard. I wish to partake of such sumptuous fare today."
Flaky waggled a finger at Toothy. "Though art a saucy thing for indulging such a frivolous pallet."
"Frivolous, you say? Bah! Nonsense – poppycock – balderdash, even, you old foggy, you," the beaver said in jest. "My cravings stem from an inward sense of urgent necessity. You'd do well to learn to listen to your own callings, comrade. Care to take my arm and join me in a skip to the good parlor?"
"I must decline, though your offer is courteous and proper. I do love a good skip, but I was just on my way to the general goods depot. Perhaps another time?"
"I suppose that will have to be the case in this situation; for you seem most sincere in your expedition."
"Well observed; for that I am."
And with those words, the beaver and the porcupine parted company, leaving the walnut tree to brood on its lonesome.
…
Without further incident, the beaver reached the parlor on fourth, making good time; for he'd been strolling at a leisurely pace now for only a prompt half hour.
The parlor, McGillicuddy's it was called, was splendid in its day, though gaudy by contemporary cosmopolitan standards; but Toothy admired it none the less.
"It is what is on the inside that counts," he assured himself verbally.
He entered the cool parlor accompanied by the ringing sound of the bell that was hung to be pendulant above the inward swinging doorway so as to alert the patrons of a new spirit come to add fuel to the fires of conversation and fraternity. He was received well by the tasteful individuals – a blue skunk, a pink chipmunk, a green squirrel with acute psychosis, a yellow rabbit wearing the most gaudy and laughable pink slippers, and a blue moose, sporting a large handlebar, who minded the counter.
"Good sir," the moose addressed the beaver. "Come and try our newest flavor – a free, though tantalizing sample."
The moose's reputation as somewhat of a rube inspired the cheeky beaver to flaunt his keen intellect in an uncharacteristically impish manner.
"This flavor," the moose said brandishing a brass spoon loaded with custard "comes from the Sweetsop, native to the Caribbean Islands! You're bound to develop a passion for it."
The beaver took the spoonful of the heavy dessert. He let it sit in his cheek for a while, and then smiled roguishly at the assembled patrons.
"Good sir, you're mistaken. You see, you've mistook the Annona Squamosa with the Asimina Tribola, the common pawpaw, or prairie-banana. You've been duped by your suppliers."
At this revelation, the room erupted in haughty laughter.
The End
P.S. They all eventually died.