Father Jabberwock looked up to the sky and frowned. Another day of weary temperatures. Even the Bandersnatch had refrained from galumphing on the wab.
“Bandu when can we again chump over the wab?” asked his son Goggle.
“The wab choogles and plungles my son, there is no chumping, it is too hot for such froogs.”
“Then I will go for a walk with with my tove.”
“But stay away from the groobles. They glonk in these temperatures. If only it would ploog to cool down the grimmles.”
“I don’t think so Bandu, plooging comes with a wonkle sky. Come tove, splice your crumbles and be ready for a walk.”
The tove was sweltering from his plugs and hoped for a wade in the wab, but there was no trickle or a promise of plundergloo. He pulled at the lead and moaned.”
“Come tove, we will go to the tum tum tree for a blink of plog.
At once the tove was glomping on his crumbles in anticipation of a cooling sip of plog. Suddenly they could hear and feel the vibrations of a trimmle of momraths who were also searching for plog. Goggle felt sorry for the Jabberwocky creatures. There had been no plog since the sky decided to stay red. If only the sky-blue-pink would return to the Kingdom of Jabberwock. It was then Goggle had a jabberwock idea. We will go to the King Momrath and ask if he will chongle with the sky.
The tove galoshed with his eyes and shed a klinkle: perhaps there was a spark of hope, but the tove knew that speaking with King Momrath could be a wangleful task. Momraths can be oblugerous when asked for something, especially if they were a King.
The Momrath was curled in the root of a chubby tree, making snoogle noises.
“Hello Momrath” spoke Goggle.
“Go wayno” was the answer. No zittle for klobs.”
“Manko sky-blue-pink?” Goggle choobed.
The Momrath opened one of its four eyes and took a closer grom.
“Jabberwock son, when shlipping not time for sky-blue-pink.”
“But the wab is chugging and plunging, we cannot chump and my tove is quite slinked.”
“Then take a momrath with you, momraths are always chumping.”
“I know, but without toves, momraths have no plungle to snoogle.”
“No plungle to snuggle! “Galumphle, trigonchu, wonki blog.”
The chubby tree shook its trunkle and a shower of floogs tumbled onto the roots, striking the momrath. There was a silent hummbie for a while of dangles and the Momrath spoke:
“Let there be sky-blue-pink and there was a juggle and a ling. There was sky-blue-pink and it began to plog, it galoshed with plog, trundled with plog. There was almost too much plog.
The Jabberwocky father came galumphing over wab and floog over the borogoves.
“Halloo, Hallay, sky blue pink. Weary temperature galooshed. Goggle was this your chumple?”
“Not quite Bandu, King Momrath decided to change the plunge to snooggle and spoke the maggle words of Blog.”
“How did you do it?”
“Fairly obvious Bandu. The momrath saw that there was no plungle to snooggle.”
“Of course my clever son and now the country of Jabberwocky was covered with a sky-blue-pink sky and the weary temperatures disintigrated to a level of Jabberwocky gloog.
“Yes” thought Goggle “it is quite simple when you know how” and his tove licked Goggle’s 15 fingers in recognition of the success.