Room 408, Saturday Morning-ish
The first thing George noticed when he woke up was how horribly primitive this room was. The bed hadn't folded up like a toaster and popped him out. This certainly wasn't the Skypad Apartments, and none of the suitcases here turned into aerocars, either.
The Food-a-rack-a-cycle was probably on the fritz again. When he'd married Jane, she could whip up a meal like a dream, pushing buttons here and there, but now she just whined about wanting new gadgets. He wasn't made out of money!
Good thing he didn't work today. But he needed to find some coffee. Even coffee that had lumps in it would be welcome right around now.
(Oh, yes, George is now George Jetson. Open if you want.)
The Food-a-rack-a-cycle was probably on the fritz again. When he'd married Jane, she could whip up a meal like a dream, pushing buttons here and there, but now she just whined about wanting new gadgets. He wasn't made out of money!
Good thing he didn't work today. But he needed to find some coffee. Even coffee that had lumps in it would be welcome right around now.
(Oh, yes, George is now George Jetson. Open if you want.)