The Great Breakfast Calamity

Barnaby, a man whose grace was often compared to a baby giraffe on roller skates, decided to tackle breakfast. "How hard can scrambled eggs be?" he mused, narrowly avoiding a collision with the kitchen counter. He cracked the first egg, only for a piece of shell to land directly in his eye. Blinking furiously, he reached for a napkin, knocking over a carton of orange juice which then proceeded to cascade dramatically over the toaster, creating a small, hissing electrical hazard. Panicked, Barnaby lunged for the unplug button, his foot catching on the rug, sending him sprawling. His descent was punctuated by a mournful 'thud' and the sound of the egg carton (containing the remaining dozen) bouncing across the linoleum floor like a sad, beige Slinky. He lay there, amidst a rapidly expanding pool of OJ, contemplating the singular beauty of chaos, and wondering if toast crumbs could be considered a balanced meal. His cat, Mittens, sauntered in, eyed the disaster, and then licked up a splash of orange juice, clearly judging him.