Office Hours; Office #10. Monday [ 09/13 ].
Farnsworth was sitting at his desk, hands folded with his elbows resting on it. There was nothing else in front of him but a placemat a plate, and a toaster, clearly in use, and the minutes ticked by without even until finally the toaster gave a faint ding and a pop and two things that were definitely not toast but were definitely charred shot up.
Way up. Almost to the ceiling before arching back down and landing on the plate on the placemat with two unsynchronized plops.
Farnsworth frowned at the new mess of dough, cheese, some sort of sauce and the suggestion of meat on his desk. "Damn it all," he said, "still too much trajectory. And they're burnt again!"
He took the plate, dropped it with a crash into the wastebasket beside his desk. He pulled out a new plate, centered it carefully, and then reached for a screw driver. He pulled the toaster closer, shaking his head.
"So very, very close to the newest innovation of the twenty first century! Toaster Hot Pockets! So very, very close..."
[[ door and post are open! ]]
Way up. Almost to the ceiling before arching back down and landing on the plate on the placemat with two unsynchronized plops.
Farnsworth frowned at the new mess of dough, cheese, some sort of sauce and the suggestion of meat on his desk. "Damn it all," he said, "still too much trajectory. And they're burnt again!"
He took the plate, dropped it with a crash into the wastebasket beside his desk. He pulled out a new plate, centered it carefully, and then reached for a screw driver. He pulled the toaster closer, shaking his head.
"So very, very close to the newest innovation of the twenty first century! Toaster Hot Pockets! So very, very close..."
[[ door and post are open! ]]