Toast

Do you ever think about toast? Like, really think about it?

I don't either; well, I didn't.

No one does, not really. And you know why? Because it'd be a waste of time. Almost anything is better than thinking about toast, including, but not limited to, clipping your toenails, folding jeans, cleaning the lint trap on the dryer, and actually making toast.

About the only time you can think about toast and not waste time is when you consider the fact that, when dropped, toast always lands butter side down. It's a fact of life that toast always lands in the best way to ruin itself.

However, there are people out there whose lives revolve around toast, butter not included. For example, someone designed the toaster that sits in your kitchen; someone else helped piece it together in a factory; at that factory, there was someone in quality assurance that made sure it wouldn't burn your house down if you turned the knob beyond "dark".

This is to say nothing of the Pop Tart people, who banked their entire empire on the notion that people could and would jam hardened cake in a toaster if only they had the option. You know why those little rectangles are wrapped in foil, right? It's because that's how they used to keep dog food fresh, and the technology just translated right to breakfast. Yum!

But I digress.

Once upon a time, someone even invented the toaster. Not the concept of toasting bread, you understand; I imagine that idea was coined by the first guy carrying a baguette to trip near an open flame. Probably a French caveman. I'm talking about the pop-up toaster, the one that merrily goes "Sproing!" when it's butter time.

It's my job to go back in time and kill the man that invented that.

Don't ask how or why I ended up here; let's just say I overslept, and by the time I arrived all the good little boys had already signed up to kill the important men. Caesar. Ferdinand. Lincoln. Me? I got stuck with pop-up toaster man. I'm gonna to be a footnote in the book of history, but I'll make it good.

I'm gonna hide in his bed. Right before he turns out the light, right as his finger touches the knob - or string, or whatever they had back then - I'm gonna leap up at him out of the covers.

I'm gonna scream "Sproing!" and stab him to death with a butter knife.

When I'm done, I'll leave him butter side down on the floor.