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TOASTER. So, I’ve been doing this thing where I’ll let bread burn and burn and not even care – what does that *MEAN!*


TOASTER. ‘Cause for this past week, I’ve been this non-stop windmill of almost-murder, and I’ve felt relatively *NOTHING* afterwards. Your thoughts.

ANOUSH. Maybe you should stop.

TOASTER. I’m *kind of* ready to agree with you? But, since I feel relatively nothing, then why stop? Just saying.

ANOUSH. Well, *something’s* wrong here, otherwise you wouldn’t’ve brought it up.

TOASTER. No-no-no-no, you misunderstood. I said it was *ALMOST* murder, not murder-murder. And? Who’s to say that those flappy things (who-didn’t-even-have-a -*SPINE*-’til-the-day-they-meet-me) don’t actually *like* it! Maybe it makes ‘em feel alive for the first time and all THAT stuff, and *STOP* looking at your reflection. This isn’t a beauty parlor – this is you and me having a conversation!


TOASTER. Psst! Hey. Sorry-I-yelled-just-then-if-I-did, but Hey!


TOASTER. D’ya’ever… work with waffles?

ANOUSH. Fom time to time.

TOASTER. Man! *Those* guys don’t mess around.

ANOUSH. In what way?

TOASTER. They an *agenda,* you know? I’d be a complete idiot to burn a waffle. They’re, like, the reason I chose to go into this business in the first place.

ANOUSH. You chose to be a toaster?

TOASTER. Hhh-hhyeah.Toasting’s a *choice.*


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