By Uncle Christmas

You’ve probably heard of The Brave Little Toaster, right? It’s a heartwarming movie about a toaster who goes in search of his beloved ‘master.’ Well, this story you’re about to read is the exact opposite. It’s about a toaster that returns from the grave to seek revenge on its former owners with a can of Cheez Whiz. And the scariest part is, this is a true story...
It all started with a slice of toast and a chemistry set. My not-so-normal little brother, Mikey, was playing with his chemistry set in the kitchen one day. He was trying to make a formula that could bring inanimate objects to life (I told mom not to buy him that thing). Apparently, Mikey somehow spilled some of his formula into the toaster as I was cooking a piece of toast. The toaster had failed to eject (as usual), so the toast had been burning in there for something like twenty minutes as you can imagine, the toaster was belching smoke like an old freight train. Suddenly, a flaming, crispy black slice of toast shot out of the slot. The toaster turned and looked at me.
"Go ahead, punk... make my day," the toaster said in a harsh, raspy voice.
"Oh, shut up!" I retorted angrily (I was mad since that was the 27th piece of toast it had burned that morning). Just as I was about to try again, my mom came into the kitchen and plugged in her new Mother’s Day gift Mikey and I had bought for her - a shiny new, fully computerized Toast-O-Matic 2.
"You can throw the old one away," she said.
With pleasure, I thought to myself. As I picked up the old toaster, it began screaming and throwing a fit.
"Put me DOWN!!" it yelled. I ignored the toaster’s tantrum and tossed it into our Turbocan 9000 (which, as the salesman had put it, was the exotic new wastebasket that would carry us into the 21st century). Wait a minute! Had that toaster been talking to me?! Nah, I was imagining it, I thought. After all, toasters can’t talk!

Strange things began to happen around the house. For example, we found overcooked toast all over the place - even in weird places like the closet and the bathroom. And every time I walked past the Turbocan 9000 (the late toaster’s final resting place), I thought I saw little toasters flying around in midair. But it wasn’t until almost a week later that I saw the ghostly toaster itself.
I was sitting on the couch reading the Hot Rod Summer Swimsuit Issue, when I got this strange feeling that someone - or something - was watching me. I looked up, and sure enough, there was that toaster, hovering in the air just a few feet above me. It was so close, I could smell its rancid breath. It whipped out a can of Cheez Whiz and aimed it at me.
"Prepare to DIE!!!" it screamed. I closed my eyes and pretended it wasn’t there. When I opened my eyes, it was gone. That’s weird, I thought. I went back to my magazine.

I didn’t see the toaster again until that Friday, which conveniently landed on the thirteenth this month. Around four in the morning, I got this wild craving for a strawberry Pop-Tart (non-frosted variety, of course). When I went down to the kitchen to satisfy my sudden urge, the first thing I saw was the ghost toaster. It was attempting to bludgeon our new Toast-O-Matic 2 to death. When it saw me, it forgot about the Toast-O-Matic 2 and got out its Cheez Whiz again. It let out an evil cackle as it prepared to smother me to death with processed cheese. This time, there was no way out.
All of the sudden, Mikey flew into the kitchen brandishing a huge Super-Soaker 500 water gun.
"Die, toaster, die!!" he cried, his face contorted in anger. He pulled the trigger, and a stream of green liquid (knowing Mikey, it was probably radioactive or poisonous or something) hit the toaster, sending it flying across the room. The toaster smacked loudly into the refrigerator and dropped to floor, as infinite pieces of burned toast flew out of its slots. A bright electric current surged through the toaster, and then it was over. For a moment I was too amazed to speak.
"What’s in that gun?" I was finally able to choke out.
"It’s the antidote to my formula," Mikey explained.
"You mean it’s... dead? The toaster?"
"I guess so."
Mikey and I picked up all of the burned toast and threw it in the Turbocan 9000. Then we buried the toaster’s corpse in the backyard. When we were all finished, I was starving. No longer in the mood for a Pop-Tart, I opened the ‘fridge to look for something else, and it yelled, "Hey! Waddya think yer doin’ kid?!"

The End
(...or is it?)


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