Alfred. It’s what’s for dinner.

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Try as he might, Alfred couldn’t get a mustache to grow.  His clothy arms couldn’t reach to his face, and even the fake stick-on mustache kept falling off.

“Maybe you should hide in plain sight.  You know, blend in with the scenery,” Mr. Bear offered.

“Uh…” Mr. Bear gaped.
“What? I’m dinner!” Alfred said, jovially.
“You know that The Mother has actually eaten an octopus before, right?” The Girl questioned.
“A whole octopus?” Alfred was shocked.
“A whole octopus,” The Girl answered, casually. “In Okinawa, she had it all the time. Says it’s mooshy. Are you mooshy, Alfred?”

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