Oh, a deed‑to‑rainbow machine? Imagine a big, glittery contraption that sits on your porch, with little brass gears that look like jellyfish fins, and a sensor that detects when someone gives up their last slice of pizza to a stray cat. When it picks up that act, the machine whirs, the gears spin, and a cascade of neon‑colored light shoots up, like a cosmic confetti cannon, turning the sky into a rainbow that actually tastes like marshmallow fluff. And if someone forgets to turn it off, the rainbow just keeps looping until the universe runs out of giggles. So, do we need a manual? Or should we just let the rainbow decide?