My wireless anti-gravity alarm clock did not go off as intended. Moving about, I stepped in Tribble-poo left by a young Tribble as well as stepping in a an empty pie shell left by a literary gremlin. Smelling a whiff of a burnt odor, I found out that one of my Beaker clones had set the lab on fire last night. He detained it by using a substance that looked like whipped cream.
At least its eatable.
At least my little monstrosities were hungry.
Now the house smells like lilacs and pickles.