Cats surround me. The primary employees of this shuck research center, they bustle about conducting Science Kit test tube activities. No research is to be accomplished here, only fun little explosions. An enormously fat and hairy tabby auditions for the role of "mad scientist" throughout the process, presuming its aviator goggles to qualify it for the role. Spouting a running commentary of nonsensical sentences.

Everything nicely hospital white and clinical. Included is the adjacent garage inhabited by no red radio flyer wagons, croquet sets, bikes, welders, oxy acetylene tanks, sunflower seeds, hoses, snowblowers, leafblowers, tarps, fertilizers, fertilizer spreaders, shovels, trowels, gloves, buckets, scissors, or clippers; one would only know its purpose by the red convertible styled for those humans attempting to relive a conventional twenties. We pile inside for a joyride, to where, I cannot tell. The adamant protests of the lady attempting to spread her condition of being on task to us have no effect. "A metaphorical rag in the gutter, she is! Not a real one, the real being added for emphasis, but inaccurate, that!"

The garage door groans open agonizingly slowly, reluctant to reveal what lies behind it: a Cannonball Loop of a tunnel, brightly lit by no apparent fixtures. We speed off as soon as the door rises just barely enough for our heads to clear it. No insufficient water pressure to hinder us on the loops both horizontal and vertical. "Her shrieks will stop glooming eventually", in regard to the fading shouts of the lady.

Two can be included here, even shorter and in a setting similar. A mockery of modern art, strangely shaped stone chairs and pillars to bear the weight of the crushing ceiling taking up too much floor space. The rest being crowded by awful museum attendants formerly elementary school movement teachers. An exhibit fit to turn all unfortunate museumgoers into Stuckists. "Anyone could have done these!", exclaims the average philistine. But they did not, due to its pointlessness.