My mental tractor beam is on the fritz,

The carrots fixed although my brain transmits.

I excavate the chipmunks’ home – what wrath!

My parents nearly drown me in the bath.

I’m agent Max, illustrious canine spy;

I lurk here til the vacuum passes by. 

A bag of chips, my quarry, doth escape.

My Dad says no, points to my rotund shape.