“Bricks don’t fly, and neither do bulldozers,” Arthur told the floating yellow machine firmly. When it failed to conform to gravity and other applicable laws of physics, Arthur shrugged philosophically. “Of course, fish don’t translate in your ear, mice aren’t scientists and pangalactic gargleblasters aren’t like getting hit with a slice of lemon wrapped around a gold brick... so go ahead and float there, I suppose — you do you,” Arthur concluded, stepping over the rubble that used to be his foyer on his way to make a cup of tea.