There once was a vague, mauve bagel. He was a blueberry bagel, but he didn’t know it. He had spent his life squished up against a couple of cheese bagels, and so assumed he was cheese too. He could have worked it out, being mauve, but his vague bagel thoughts did not extend that far. Cheese often permeated his thoughts.
He has been eaten now. There was a small man at the bottom of the eater’s oesophagus who directs food to the appropriate stomach. He stopped the vague, mauve bagel. It took him some time to decide where he should go. The bagel was no help, except to say with vague surprise that he couldn’t smell cheese anymore.