Some forms of life, when given an unexpected windfall of space cash, would go live it up, with fancy cars, fine food and drink, perhaps luxury trips to Zegema Beach. Yes, some would, but not you. You went out to Intergalactic Sky Mall and bought yourself a sentient space toaster.
At first, it was novel to have a talking convection oven companion with one purpose in life, but being that you can only eat so much toast, it has gotten, let’s just say… clingy. You understand that everyone and everything just wants to fulfil a purpose in life but you can only oblige by consuming so much gluten at a time. To be honest, your space pants are no longer looking out of this world anymore, you’ve put on a few lbs and it’s ALL THIS FRAKKING TOASTER’S FAULT.
“Hey. Hey. Hey. Hey. Heyyyyy… HEY! HEY! HEY!” the toaster escalates. This was so typical toaster.
You sigh. “What is it, toaster. What do you need?”
The toaster appears to perk up a little by being acknowledged. “Hey buddy, let’s play a game? Can we?”
On one hand, you’d be playing a game with a toaster. On the other hand, it might quit whining for a few minutes and also, you don’t have anything better to do. “Sure, toaster friend. What’s the game?”
Two pieces of toast pop out. “One makes you bigger, one makes you smaller.”
You make a mental note to check the toaster’s wiring, as something is faulty, but you’re just hungry enough that toast sounds acceptable, and being that it’s right there, you grab a slice.
You instantly regret it, as almost immediately, your insides feel as if they need to be outside. A grinding pain erupts from your lower intestines. “What the FRAK, toaster?”
“Oh no, you chose the wrong one! Quick, eat the other one, it will help!” the toaster cries in monotone.
While you’re not certain this appliance is to be trusted anymore, and putting something in your body when the entirety of your contents are screaming to be let out sounds like the most unappealing thing in the entire universe, you figure it’s worth a try. After the second piece of toast goes down the hatch, you are not any worse for wear, but considering you there wasn’t far down to go, that’s not saying much.
“What the frak, toaster? Are you mad?” you shout, while the violent hate parade in your digestive system continues at full force.
The toaster seems to glare at you and say, “We’re all mad here. Muahahaha!”
After the great Space Taco Bathroom Incident recently, your commode hasn’t been very tolerant of… let’s just say… the ship’s log. You’re obviously going to need to find a place with indestructible bathrooms to… sit this one out.