Yo mama.
Okay, so what are we inventing this week? Ten gallon sippy cups? Anti gravity yo-yos? It's worth asking. I hate to be the one always checking up on our mad science advisor, Mitch Macaphee. For one thing, the hazmat suit doesn't fit me very well. And I can't speak very clearly through that portable blast shield, particularly with the welder's mask on. Suffice to say that you enter his lab at your own risk, so we only do it when absolutely necessary. Very often I will send Marvin (my personal robot assistant) in with a note clutched in one of his claws. Not that Marvin is expendable, you understand. It's just that he has wheels and can roll backwards. If I sent Anti-Lincoln or the mansized tuber in there, they could end up on melba toast with a caper in their eye. (That's the caper.) Fact is, the only reason I'm venturing into Mitch's wing of the abandoned Cheney Hammer Mill, our now-permanent squat house, is that the neighbors have been complaining....