“Oh, Fee, you are so terribly boring,” drawled Fi, taking a long sip of her cigarette.

“Well—Well, you shouldn’t…shouldn’t smoke!” squeaked Fee, trembling in his boots. “I-It’s really b-bad for you!”

“You shuttup now. Fum turn talk,” grumbled a giant of a man, absentmindedly chewing part of a golden harp.

“Agh! Let me go!” cried the harp. Fum didn’t seem to notice.

“Fum saw widdle man come up today, Fum did. Widdle man wanted…came up beanstalk.” Fum couldn’t seem to hold more than one thought at a time in his head.

“Yeh, dat’s very nice, Fum,” said Fo, sunglasses hiding his eyes, but not raised eyebrows. “Fo shizzle.”

“Oh, why do you resort to that dreadful slang?” Fi asked boredly. “It only makes you sound like an idiot. It’s bad enough Fum goes around screaming our names to the world.”

“We could—we could all get in trouble!” Fee hid behind a barrel. “They c-could hear our n-names and we could get in t-trouble!”

“Fee Fi Fo Fum,” said Fum, ignoring what was just said.