What can YOU say in six sentences?
You only have yourself to blame, mother. This is what happens when you don't do Jack's homework for him and put it in his teacher's hands, or clean his room down to the last magic marker, cardboard scraps, open pocketknife, playing cards, book of World War II aircraft, and 81 shredded dixie cups and paper plates--he gets bad grades, the TV is banned, and the boy upstairs turns into a mad scientist and gets to work.
This is what happens when you spend the (no TV!) day trying to decipher the Voynich manuscript, playing vintage Iron Maiden videos, and try to write a half-assed short story due in two days.
You get nothing done, and Jack comes flying down the stairs with a capful of glow-in-the dark radioactivity he made all by himself (you don't even need a black light to see it's glowing, oh my god). He's levitating with glee at the WONDAH he's created by (trust me you don't want to know). Perhaps if I spent less time creating and more time keeping Jack from creating--wait, that's not right either...