Peter and Brian in 'There's A Criminal In My House'

Happy Birthday, Gromit!

“Space. The final frontier. Possessing the ability to recreate an exact likeness of an object or person or –

   “No! Wait! Wait! That's not from Star Trek! That's from Captain Scarlet! I could have written a much better script than this crappy advice you guys have given me to say.”

   Gromit was in space, floating away from a space satellite. He was wearing a space helmet, a class space uniform, with except of strange green trousers.

   “Just shut the hell up, Gromit!” snapped the satellite controller’s voice. “Tell me what it's like to be the first dog to try out those new NASA trousers in space.”

   “Well,” began Gromit. “They're, eh – loose and, eh – falling down to Earth!”

   He was right; the green trousers were falling down! His bare legs were showing.

   Then – GURGLE! Gromit's stomach rumbled and, for some reason, he began to expand like a balloon.

   “Are you all right?” the satellite controller asked. “Are you feeling okay? What did you have for breakfast?”

   “Hey, boss,” said a different on Gromit’s radio. “The whole supply box of beer is gone!”

   “Gromit, have you – ”

   “My – my liver! It’s dying!” were Gromit's last words as he ended up like a dying and screaming movie star.

He continued to scream… in the living on 62 West Wallaby Street. On Earth.

   “Phew!” Gromit sighed, wiping his head. Then he turned to the readers. “Did you know that opening of this story is actually the first scene in the script of The Wrong Trousers? And I’m hell as glad Nick Park didn’t film it and put in his version. Though it would have been great if I didn’t have that nightmare scene either.”

   Then the room echoed with the breakfast signal, causing Gromit to fall back and fall off his chair.

   “God, this beeping machine is as bad as that Volcano movie with Tommy Lee Jones!” muttered Gromit as he got up.

 Upstairs in his bedroom, lazy old Wallace was in his bed, pushing the 'Breakfast' button on the service machine.

   “Come on, Gromit!” he shouted to downstairs. “It's my turn for breakfast. I want an omelette with waffles and… Whoa! Not that way!”

   But too late. His bed leaned over and Wallace fell straight through the hole.

   Gromit had just pulled the lever down and went to get through the mail. He opened one birthday card and read it. It was a birthday card and played Celebration good times by Kool and the Gang.

   Wallace, in his vest and polka dots underpants, landed on his chair in his brown trousers. “I should’ve been a stuntman. My arse has fallen on this chair hundred times. And I rip nine trousers every week.”

   Then he reached out as two white selves covered his arms. Then he reached up and the dresser robot threw his tank top over his head, but it got jammed halfway down the stomach.

   “Hey, robot, I need help!” cried Wallace.

   “I’ll help you all right, sir,” said the robot. “I suggest that you exercise more and do your own stuff more!” shouted the robot and left annoyed.

   Then Gromit pressed the red button on the table and a spoon flicked jam from the pot and flew. By the time, Wallace got his tank top down, the jam landed in his face causing the tank top right back to his head. Five seconds later, the toast shot out of the toaster and landed on the plate.