That wholly unpleasant sound snapped me out of my morning routine of watching my cat Loki acting adorably as he begs for some of my yogurt. Startled, I quickly snapped around to see that my precious gingerbread Poptarts had suffered a horrible fate in the depths of our cheap-as-cheap-can-get $5 toaster, whose timer had decided that a year and a half of good service was more than enough and it would just let whatever the hell was supposed to pop up perfectly instead smolder in the toaster’s clutches. A good-sized stream of smoke was climbing upwards to pool at the ceiling. I jumped up, shut of the damnable toaster, and snatched a calendar to wave the smoke away from the smoke alarm.
Our toaster, unfortunately, DIED. As did my gingerbread Poptarts, which had become unbreakable bloated black pouches filled with molten marshmallow crème. Very unfortunate.
For two days our apartment was filled with the
sweet aroma stench of burnt Poptart. I strongly advise that you don’t burn Poptarts. It smells awful.
So, my boyfriend figured out that the toaster works fine; put simply, the timer stopped working, so instead of popping up after whatever time…that thing will just keep on toasting whatever the fuck is in there, even if it’s on fire (presumably). Whenever we want Poptarts, toast, or Toaster Strudels for breakfast, we have to sit and watch the little toaster like Big Brother. Not fun.
Of course we’re getting a new toaster. This thing’s useless now. (Unless, of course, we get so bored that all we can think of doing for fun is watching bread…toast).
That is why I posted a new Geeklist the other day…can you guess which toaster we’re buying? You have a 20% chance of being right!