If Peepmaster can do a "play script", then so can I.
EGON: Hey, Dennis, I made you a bike.
DENNIS: Yippee, at last, a bike for Christmas. I almost thought that destiny had preordained that Santa would never give me a bike in case it led to some kind of mental or physical catastrophe or deep lasting trauma that would ultimately dwarf any small pleasure I might get out of receiving it. So that I don't get my hopes up too much that this is all to change, and given your awful track record with even the most basic culinary endeavours, may I first enquire what you made my bike out of?
EGON: Brussel sprouts.
DENNIS: Excellent! What does the bell sound like?