I had a piece of toast sitting in the toaster for 22 hours. I threw it out this morning.
Thank you, that is all.
-Rue.
One word my boy: croutons.
Did you throw it out before or after The Little Woman asked what the heck that old, cold piece of toast was doing in the toaster?? Just wonderin’…
Ha! only 22 hours? I had a bit of old toast in the toaster for weeks once, I think, Trouble was - I could not work out why any time I tried to make toast it got quickly burnt. Of course, the ancient bit of toast was still there, turning into charcoal!
Uhhh… after. Last night she came home from work and asked. It still stayed there overnight. So it’s not just me.
-Rue.
This is what happens when you get married. Suddenly you have to take the dessicated burnt bread out of the toaster after one lousy day?
I bet you have to pick up your socks too.
“Honey, it’s just like when I don’t scrape off the grill before reusing it. It’s FLAVOUR!”
Here’s lookin’ at you, kid.
So what’s the story? Why was it left in the toaster?
I imagine it must be something important. Being an International Man of Mystery, I’m sure you were paged to hop a jet and fly to Bermuda or something, right?
right?
And may you be in Heaven half an hour before the Devil knows you’re dead.
Damn! Humble Servant beat me to it!
Thank the Odd Gods of the Galaxy you didn’t eat it! You coulda gotten cancer. Or something.
And here’s mud in your eye back atcha.
So, if you drop a piece of toast that’s NOT buttered into the garbage, how can you tell which side will land up? Or do those new “smart” toasters have little settings that let you select butter/honey/marmalade during the actual toasting process meaning that my assumption that Rue’s toast was not actually buttered could be in error?
Perhaps we would have time to discuss this before the taking of the tea and toast–perhaps over some toasty scones or something?
Kitchen appliance
Quickly heeds my anxious prayers
Toast pressed to my cheek
A slice of calmness
In mankind’s world of bloodshed
Spread some marmalade
Consume nirvana
God is not to be eaten
But toast will suffice
Spirit channeling
Through my toasted breakfast treat
Elvis on my plate
Ritualistic
A genesis of breakfast
Immaculate toast
Angry toastless man
Malfunctioning appliance
Senseless killing spree
Head hung in despair
Morning offering rises
I thank my toaster
Whole-grain metaphor
Anguish soon will dissipate
A bread transfigured
Toast in pitch black room
With a beautiful painting
Valuable toast
Intensely focused
I anticipate my toast
Somewhere a dog barks
Proudly I preside
Nineteen toasters hum in sync
A kitchen aflame
Summer in New York
Children frying sidewalk eggs
Beside my French toast
Thirty-six croutons
Sewn together with great care
Spicy slice of toast
Chilled below zero
Superconducting breakfast
With sweet grape jelly
The warm chosen slice
His jealous untoasted friends
Waiting for their turn
Hours after breakfast
A lingering aroma
The ghost of a toast
Bakery arson
Twelve thousand slices of toast
A silver lining
Willingly it meets
Its destiny at breakfast
Noble is my toast
Scrape into the sink
Constellation of black stars
A toast neglected
Loaf’s fortunate heels
Spared from a toasty demise
United at last
(See also the sublime Reader-Contributed Toast Haiku…)
Being the Progressive Parent I am, I let Katcha pick his own breakfast yesterday.
Whatcha want fer breakfast, m’boy? (I’m going to do this in colors. Just because I can. And think of all the time I’ll save not having to put in quotes and things like “I said” and “he said” and “he replied” and stuff. This new Board stuff is just great!)
Toast!
You want toast for breakfast?
Yeah!
Just toast?
Yeah!
So I made him some toast. I wasn’t worried he was going to get rickets or anything because I knew he was going to eat a wheel of cheese and a box of crackers and some grapes and probably a peanut butter sammich before lunch anyway. And he had a glass of milk. So you can see, nutrition is stressed in my house.
Then the toast popped up.
There’s your toast!
No want it! He’s two, he talks that way. Like Tarzan.
But you said… Yeah, I really tried to reason with him.
NO WANT IT!
OK
Then I gave him a PopTart. Untoasted, because that makes the filling real hot and there’s the possibility of burns. So it’s safety and nutrition here. Yessirree Bob!
But you’re right Scout, all this took place in Burmuda.
And now Zappo wants me dead.
That hurts Zap, that hurts.
-Rue.
Huh? Wha? Oh man! I overslept… who’s in Heaven? What? No way! I was supposed to get him ! I had dibbies! Damn this cheap clock with the broken snooze!
Heh, that’s a good one. I’m the Devil, of course my clock is damned. Like these sheets and this bed and my nightstand, all damned. Still, that was a good one if I do say so myself…
Where’s the phone… Ah, here it is, it got pushed back behind the lamp when I put my Jackie Collins book down… gotta make a call… 666-6648 (yeah, look it up on your own phone, it is a joke, with Roman numerals even)… it’s ringing… ringing… Beelzebub, yeah it’s me, get me a new clock and make sure the snooze works right. Yeah. Bye.
I blame Zappo for all of the above.
-Rue.
Oh crap! Beelzebub’s phone nuber was supposed to be 666-6684. Dang! I screwed up the joke. Now I’m sad.
-Rue. (sad, sad Rue)
So you just left the toast in the toaster after the rugrat said he didn’t want it. Some kinda parent you are Rue. You say safety is important in your house hah! I bet you left the toaster plugged into the outlet too, didn’t you? I bet the toaster also sits near the kitchen sink, doesn’t it? I bet you left the dishwater in the sink this morning. These are just the kinds of things a person who lets toast sit in a toaster for an entire day would do.
Betcha didn’t think anyone would notice this little safety violation did ya? Bet you never once thought that innocent, adorable, naive, trusting Katcha might have noticed that toast sometime later and thought…hmmmm…toast…me want it. At which point he woulda pushed a chair up to the counter where the plugged into the outlet toaster was sitting next to the sinkful of dirty dishwater and might have accidently bumped the plugged into the outlet toaster into the sinkful of dirty dishwater and electrocuted his innocent little toddler self. Safety first indeed! HUMMMMPH! I bet you left the butter sitting out all day too.
You mean, I’m not supposed to keep my toaster in the sink?
Good thing I don’t have kids.
And I don’t get the phone number joke. Do I need to write it out in roman numerals or something? 
Blah blah blah, safety first, blah blah blah, first-name basis with Satan, blah blah blah, Jackie Collins novel (echhh!), blah blah blah, dishwasher, blah blah blah…
You still have to pick up your socks, DON’T YOU?
[sup]C’mon. Throw the single guy a bone.[/sup]
Ex, not only do I have to pick up my socks, I have to make sure they get in the hamper. And I’m usually the one to do the laundry. (How’s that? A good enough bone?)
Scout, there is sort of a joke there. But as you can see, with the explaination it takes, it’s not really what you’d call a good joke.
Of course you know 666 is the Number of the Beast. Very bad. So, of course, Beelzebub uses it in his home phone number. The exchange is simple, it’s only three numbers. But the other part is four. So what do I do? I break the last “6” into the Roman “VI”. On the phone pad it’s “8” and “4”. So the second “666” is “66VI”.
Not really a good joke, but I thought it was funny. Sorta. And since I blamed it all on Zap anyway, I don’t have to take the heat for it.
Ha! Swampy, shows what you know. The toaster is not by the sink. That’s where I keep the blender full of daiquiris. The toaster stays by the steak knives.
-Rue.