So you’re depressed and thinking “it can’t get much worse than this.”  While words may be of little comfort, it’s necessary to say it could be a great deal more awful; you could be a talking kitchen sink.  Think about it—you know what part your mouth would correspond to… that’s right, the drain: the spot where people throw their slimy, unwanted foodstuffs.  How’d you like it if people were constantly shoving trash down your throat?

And then there is the constant physical abuse.  You know what I mean: they come up, grab it and give it a hard turn.  You can’t help it, you don’t want to be excited—it makes you feel all bad inside—but you’re helpless to prevent the release.  Of course, the human is only toying with you anyway… turning you on and off at his or her whim…

I just can’t think about it anymore; it hurts too much.

Just don’t go telling me you have pain, because the only thing I, a kitchen sink, have to look forward to is… I really don’t have ANYTHING to look forward to…

Oh god, it’s hopeless…