Here goes:

Monkey, Tutu, Cucumber. 

It was a dreary day at Happily Ever Laughter Laboratories, but then, it always was. The laboratory was started by a rich eccentric with too much time on his hands and an obsession with fairy tales that ran beyond unhealthy right into the realm of wicked witch. His name was Barnabus Brigsby, and it was his vision to make fairy tales a reality. The lab techs, who the Barnabus called his happy little elves, had been slowly working their way up the food chain for about a year. So far they had spliced, transplanted, injected, and, in one unfortunate case, inside-outed a small yet oh so cheery collection of animals. The first success story was the mice, who were now the lifeblood of the Happy Farm Sweat Shop where they made prom dresses. These were then sold at great profit, insuring that the lab continued about its sordid business. Second the singing birds. They were like obsessive compulsive parrots in that they mimicked any song that they heard sung. These were also sold by the laboratories and generally found homes doing lip-syncing work for teen pop idols. If you think that this sounds like a bad life, you have clearly never visited Happily Ever Laughter.
Today's unfortunate test subject was Chippy, the chimp. She was overdue for her weekly "Imaginarium (TM)" injection and was starting to get a bit fidgety. Imaginarium (TM) was created to bring out the fairy tale potential in any creature, and lab techs were interested to see what long-term effects it would draw out of the monkey, a creature not normally found in fairy tales. About thirty minutes after the injection, Chippy began to feel... odd. She was thinking, really thinking, for the first time in her short primate life. She thought about what she wanted to be when she grew up, which is something that chimps rarely think of (and when they do it generally involves a certain amount of parasite eating, something that was completely absent from Chippy's mind). She wanted to be... a fairy godmother. She wanted to have a wand and help unfortunate children. This drive was so strong that she could think of nothing else, and the next time a lab tech happened by to open her cage to check her vital signs she swung out of the cage, dashing madly for the nearest door. Her animal instincts guided her through the laboratory (accompanied everywhere she went by the shrieks of the lab techs) and to a room that one of the lab techs referred to as "Oh god she's headed for the Happy Farm!"
Once inside the sweat shop she stopped. Arrayed before her were the gaudiest of the gaudy; dresses in reds, pinks, blues, and oranges (sometimes all at once). No time, no time, she thought. The lab techs were coming for her. She grabbed a promising looking tutu in something of a rainbow-gone-horribly-wrong shade and threw it on. Must keep moving.
The next door she passed through found her in the Department of Vegetable-based Transportation, where vegetables of all shapes and sizes waited to be exposed to Imaginarium (TM) at which point they would transform into slowly rotting carriages. A fairy godmother needs a magic wand, she knew. She grabbed a cucumber off the nearest counter and fled, returning only to stuff a few bananas into her tutu. Finally she saw daylight. She had found the greenhouse. She smashed through one of the windows without a second thought and vanished into the urban jungle, intent on finding some children to take under her wing (victims, as they were later known on the news).