How Much For Some Large Funny-Looking Springs?

Apparently I live in a Rube Goldberg machine of my own devising. This morning, while standing up too swiftly and carelessly, I accidentally struck a small box of trash bags (A.) that rests on top of my computer (B.), causing the box to shift forty-five degrees and knock off the neighboring large dumb fantasy paperback (C.) off the edge to the right, where it landed on (D.) a plate containing pens (E.) and a pencil sharpener (not relevant), which was precariously balanced a thin pile of computer game manuals (E.) on the desk (F). When the book landed on the plate, this action, I swear to god, resulted in a seesawlike catapulting of a few pens (E.) to the floor, where one of them knocked over an empty box (G.) that had once contained a bottle of rye whiskey. And that, unfortunately, is where the action stopped. But only through lack of foresight! Now all I need is a duck, a treadmill, and a boot on the end of a stick, and I'd have a device that could help me fold shirts.