Professor Algernon Whistlebottom adjusted his steam-powered monocle and peered at the temporal displacement device that had materialized in his laboratory, which bore an uncanny resemblance to a 1980s synthesizer with too many knobs and a suspicious amount of hair metal stickers.
The device began playing "Pour Some Sugar on Me" at precisely 147 decibels while simultaneously opening a portal to the Cretaceous period, where a rather confused Tyrannosaurus Rex was apparently headbanging to the rhythm and wearing what appeared to be leather pants made from the hide of an interdimensional whale.
Meanwhile, in the corner of the laboratory, a sentient Victorian automaton named Reginald was having an existential crisis about whether his brass gears constituted a proper rhythm section, all while a colony of time-traveling moths from the year 3047 had begun choreographing an elaborate dance routine around his copper-plated head.
The Professor's assistant, a genetically modified octopus named Gerald who had developed an inexplicable taste for power ballads and afternoon tea, began frantically scribbling calculations on the wall with his tentacles, occasionally pausing to air-guitar with remarkable precision despite lacking the appropriate number of fingers.
As the fabric of space-time continued to unravel to the tune of "Rock of Ages," Professor Whistlebottom couldn't help but wonder if perhaps he should have read the instruction manual before plugging in the device, especially the part about avoiding concerts from the 1980s while operating experimental technology designed by mildly drunk Victorian inventors.
five paragraphs of weird historical science fiction. Think Guillermo del Toro meets Douglas Adams at a Def Leppard concert.