"Okay, Chowder. If we're not back by 9 o' clock, lock up here and leave the key in the secret key-keeping place." The blue chef told his apprentice.
"Do you mean under the welcome mat that's the first thing people will see when they come in?" Chowder asked.
Frowning slightly in revelation, Mung said: "Never mind. Just put it in the mailbox."
"Yes, sir!" Chowder sited enthusiastically. He began walking back into the catering shop then stopped when he asked: "Wait, remind me again why I can't come to this 'Only for those with concrete species' party?"
"Well, because…you have no concrete species." Mung explained.
"Oh…" After blinking twice, Chowder asked: "What does 'concrete' mean?"
"Um, never mind. Bye, Chowder!" Mung ended, as he Shnitzel and Truffles sped away.
"Bye-bye, Chowder!" Truffles yelled.
"Bye Truffles! Bye, Shnitzel!" Chowder raised his voice.
"Radda Radda…" were things Chowder heard from his housemates.
Then when they left, Chowder dashed off to the kitchen and grabbed as many kitchen utensils as he could. And then, in a flash, he ran outside Mung's Catering place and up to his room.
Panting, he laid all of the utensils around his entire room and lay on his bed, quietly humming: 'I'm not your boyfriend.'
"This is perfect, Kimchi! Now, Mung can't force me to play Sniffleball (even though it is night time…) and I can play with Mr. Spoon and Mrs. Cook Pot and Lady Rolling Pin, and Dame Spatula…"
But as Chowder's enumeration of humanly-named kitchen tools was beginning to end, he felt a strange drowsiness come over him.
Woozily, Chowder began whispering: "You're the greatest chef in the world!!" In a fakey-fake girly voice.
Then he yawned loudly, letting in a few pigeons, and then as he began to close his mouth, he muttered: "You don't know what you're missing…if you aren't in the kitchen…"
After one flatulent noise from Kimchi, Chowder drifted into a sleep, deeper than anything you could think of…