When The Smee got an earful of The Misters’ Abrahamic plan to put his ears under the knife, well, you can imagine, those Misters got themselves an earful:
“I’se actually gonna submit at first, but then I realized they’re trying to get at that secret code in my ears so they can break into bank accounts and such,” posited a paranoid Smee.
“Mister, it’s a phishing scam to get The Smee’s sensitive informations.”
“Phish I don’t mind,” countered The Smee, “but don’t put me on the wrong side of the bait ‘cos I ain’t gonna do nothing phishy up in dere…”
… and thusly The Smee prates on in typical paranoid schizophrenic mode about peeps wanting to peep into his ears, the secret agenda of the vets.
(Unbeknownst to The Smee, the Misters have already divulged that information to The Smee’s medical team -- partly so that genetic Smee-cell research can begin to clone a line of Smees (an attempt to make the world a happier place with blogs like this one)).
“You’re really phishing now, Mister.”
