The Day My Kneecap Ran for Mayor of Tuesdays

Bernard merely wished for a quiet Tuesday morning. Instead, his toast levitated with an air of profound philosophical contemplation, then performed a perfect pirouette before landing, butter-side down, on the ceiling. His coffee, a particularly opinionated Ethiopian blend, began arguing heatedly with the sugar cubes about the inherent meaninglessness of granularity. "It's all relative!" shouted the espresso, frothing indignantly. Just as Bernard's left sock announced its candidacy for local office on an anti-gravitational platform, his right kneecap started humming the national anthem backwards. "See?" it vibrated, "Total anarchy!" Bernard, accustomed to this sort of thing since the incident with the sentient dust bunnies, simply poured orange juice directly into his ear, hoping it would improve reception for the upcoming sock-election debates. He'd tried explaining it to his therapist, but she just offered him a slightly deflated balloon and said, "Hold this. It understands."