"Harold," whispered Emily through the open kitchen window, "did you hear it spinning again?"
Harold stood on the damp grass, carefully orchestrating his dance around overturned garden gnomes. "Emily, people don't just hear a machine that doesn't exist. It's supposed to blend breads. But why is it blending... well... clothes?"
"I found a perfectly baked donut sock yesterday!" countered Emily with a look that hovered between giddy bewilderment and public service announcement. "I wore it immediately. Incredible aroma."
Harold nodded sagely, scratching his head with a forgotten spoon. "We could charge entry fees. Exhibit of baffling twist and cotton-croissant delight."
Emily leaned out slightly, looking around conspiratorially. "Could we maybe take it... apart?"
Raising an eyebrow, Harold brandished his spoon menacingly towards the cause of their brawl. "Only one man can face the terror of toaster sockinator: Me, Harold. Champion of miraculous gadgets."
Thus, a quest was kindled not only of curiosity but one of absurd revelry. And somewhere in the unsorted laundry heap, lay the wrench of destiny.
"Harold," whispered Emily through the open kitchen window, "did you hear it spinning again?"
Harold stood on the damp grass, carefully orchestrating his dance around overturned garden gnomes. "Emily, people don't just hear a machine that doesn't exist. It's supposed to blend breads. But why is it blending... well... clothes?"
"I found a perfectly baked donut sock yesterday!" countered Emily with a look that hovered between giddy bewilderment and public service announcement. "I wore it immediately. Incredible aroma."
Harold nodded sagely, scratching his head with a forgotten spoon. "We could charge entry fees. Exhibit of baffling twist and cotton-croissant delight."
Emily leaned out slightly, looking around conspiratorially. "Could we maybe take it... apart?"
Raising an eyebrow, Harold brandished his spoon menacingly towards the cause of their brawl. "Only one man can face the terror of toaster sockinator: Me, Harold. Champion of miraculous gadgets."
Thus, a quest was kindled not only of curiosity but one of absurd revelry. And somewhere in the unsorted laundry heap, lay the wrench of destiny.