A Slice of Mischief

Wandering into the kitchen this morning felt like the logical next step after conquering the desk. Right beside a half-eaten loaf of sourdough sat an old two-slice toaster, its shiny chrome casing reflecting my grin in slightly distorted proportions. It practically begged for interference. I hopped up onto the polished marble edge, leaned back against a glass jar of honey, and casually tapped the spring-loaded lever down with one foot until it latched with a heavy, satisfying clunk. The heating coils gave a soft hum and began to glow an appetizing faint orange, perfectly toasting absolutely nothing at all.