The airborne potato soup story reminded me of an oldie-but-goodie.
When my country-girl aunt graduated from high school & moved to Houston to take a job, she had an adorable apartment in a converted Victorian house;
this was just after WWII, & there was no air conditioning.
Canned biscuits had just been invented, & she was all happy & excited to be able to just crack open a can rather than pounding dough & letting it rise & pounding it again.
Things went well for a few days, & then one morning time got away from her, & she ran to catch the bus without breakfast.
leaving the can of biscuits on the countertop.
in Houston, Texas.
When she returned, there were shreds of raw biscuit dough on the countertop, on the cabinets, & on the ceiling.
When she came home to the farm after 2 weeks rather than 1, her father told her that they'd been worried about her (no such thing as a telephone in their isolated little farmhouse):
he asked her why she hadn't come home the previous week-end, & she said,
"I spent the week-end cleaning biscuits off the ceiling."