I am the subject of a running gag, With a big himbo and wrinkly hag, The right one gets you a ride to the lab, Who knows about the wrong one - but it's usually bad!

I am a path made of metal tracks. Trains travel on me to carry people and goods. What am I?

Pies may cool upon the sill, while coffee starts to steam. Before they’re thought to be complete, someone reaches for me.

Time passing by... Don't kick me just yet! So much to do: you might keep a list, for there's so little time!

I have no hands, yet I can tie. I help things climb, swing, or fly. I may be twisted, braided, or spun, But pull too hard, and I come undone. What am I?