Diary of a Toast Eater

Not wanting to let the previous lack of toastitocity get me down, I opted to borrow a toaster from a friend. However, I couldn't do so because I have no friends. With no other options available, I decided to steal one instead.

When I got to the door of my chosen house, I was saddened to find that it was locked. Getting myself a toaster was clearly not going to be as easy as I had hoped for. Not having the key for the door, I decided on the only other option: I leapt headfirst through the front window. Once I had straightened myself up and put my arm back into its correct socket, I left the room and tried to find myself a toaster. Passing a large, nightgown wearing man with a baseball bat in the hallway, I found the kitchen and hunted out my bread heater. However, my eyes failed to find such an item. The only thing that resided on that kitchen counter was a toaster-shaped patch of dirt.

"Excuse me", I asked the bat-wielding man outside the kitchen door. "Where is your device that makes toast from bread?"
"In t'bin", he grunted.
"Why?", I asked.
"Broke", he replied.
"How?", I asked again, getting more and more frustrated. I sighed slightly, as I felt this was the correct protocol when getting frustrated.
"Dunno", he responded again.

Alas, I was once again thwarted by fate's cruel hand. I sadly leapt headfirst through the kitchen window and made my way back home. When I got home, I let out a small tear from my left eye due to sadness. I was once again without toast, and my life had lost its meaning. I decided to kill myself by swallowing an entire pack of paracetemol. However, the packet was far too large to be swallowed, so I just watched Newsnight and masturbated.

My lack of toast machine had made me impatient and slightly frustrated. I didn't know what to do with myself, although my dole had come through so I could now spend it on anything.

I considered using it to buy myself some heroin, but the prospect of handling money around someone so black scared me somewhat. I realised that maybe now was the time to buy my toast making toast cooker.

So I went to Argos, and I looked through the catalogue. After finding a very nice, shiny toast making toast maker, I wrote down its number and went to the front desk. "One toast making machine", I asked the woman. "Sorry love," she belched, "We 'ave nout left."

I was disgruntled and disshevelled, although I don't think i've ever been gruntled and/or shevelled. My toast making had once again been thwarted, and my emotion was: sad.

So I got the bus back home, and tried to hang myself. I didn't have any belts, however, so I just watched Jeremy Kyle and masturbated.

I was talking to my mate Dave the other day about my toast-related predicament. He told me that in order to make toast, first you must take bread, and then cook it.

So I attempted to do so. Unfortunately, I don't have a toast cooker. So instead I watched Trisha. And masturbated.

Today I attempted to eat some toast again. I failed, however, because I only had bread in my house and no toast. So instead I sat at home and masturbated and cried.

Today I ate some toast. I had some butter and some jam on it.




Actually, that's a lie. I didn't eat any toast at all. I just ate jam straight from the jar. I just wanted you to think I was cool.