Tuesday, March 14, 2017

On Her Majesty's Secret Toaster Service



















My longstanding toaster finally gave up the ghost - along with the ghost of the toast - and I headed to my nearby Bed Bath & Beyond to seek a replacement. I wasn’t picky and frankly planned to pretty much buy whatever I could as fast as I could.

That is, until I saw out of the corner of my eye a strong silent model sitting by itself. The unit was striking in its dark, rather cruel good looks.

“Sir,” I said to the salesperson, “what is the name of that toaster?”

“Let me check,” he replied. “Oh, yes, it’s … it’s …


What a strange name for a toaster!  But I had to admit I was intrigued. Somehow I knew that James Bond Toaster Serial # 007 could not help but give me great toast, first time, every time.

That night about 2:00 A.M., I heard strange noises coming from the kitchen and I crept downstairs.  There I saw my new toaster burning to a crisp two large screaming hunks of Pumpernickel Bread!

“What the …?”

“Sorry, old chap,” said the Toaster, “had to turn the tables on these two hunks of bread that tried to choke me to death.”

“So it is true what everyone is saying. All kinds of electronic equipment like television sets, hair dryers, and can openers are being used in high level espionage these days.”

“Yes, it’s true," the Toaster replied. "Permit me to formally introduce myself:


“But why were you attacked by hunks of bread, Toaster Bond?”

“They were agents of the despicable villain that I’ve been trailing.”

“Who is that?”


"What does he want?"

“He wants to destroy the world as revenge for being cursed with tiny little fingers!"

The next few nights were uneventful as Toaster Bond continued surveillance of my kitchen. One night I heard my blender making high pitched fervent sounds for hours on end;  next day I couldn't get her to blend long enough to even make a halfway decent black and white shake.

Well, that's my Toaster!  That's my James!

Yet the presence of electronic and other spies throughout my house began to leave me unnerved, although I managed to hang on.  Yes, I was shaken but not stirred.

One morning the door to my refrigerator was ripped off its hinges and incinerated pieces of toast were everywhere!

“You just missed the obligatory last reel destruction of the villain’s secret headquarters!” said Toaster Bond sardonically. 

“Where was the headquarters?” I asked.

“In the meat keeper. You may want to run out and buy some eggs or something later on.”

“Did you catch Drumpfinger?”

“No, but it's only a matter of time. His tiny hands were all over the butter!"

"Are you leaving now, Toaster Bond?"  I asked.

"Yes, old chap.  M is reassigning me to another kitchen. Maybe even Chris Christie's."

“Toaster Bond, I’ve always wondered something.”

“Yes?”

“What does M stand for?”

“Microwave

Ha!  So my 1997 low wattage Sunbeam runs the entire international operation! I'll bet even Kellyanne Conway didn't know that.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 


6 comments:

Russell said...

The thought of Drumpfinger fondling the butter made me gag. There's no telling where those tiny fingers have been.

I suspected an ol' fashioned man's man like yourself would still be using a 1964 toaster oven instead of the new, high-tech pop-up gadgetry. By the way, is that cream cheese on your upper lip, or have you been making out with the milk jug again?

Tracey Delaplain said...

Very funny. I'm happy to see you in my inbox again. Get your mind out of the gutter, you know I meant email.
Tracey

Perry Block said...

First that isn't cream cheese, because I'm a fromage-a-phobe. But I am a man's man! And that man is a combination of Wally Cox, Barney Fife, and ... um ... me. I feel faint when someone even says the word "camping." Although I do like the word "jug" and like it even better pluralized. Now let's settle back for the next James Toaster Bond Thriller "Live and Let Whine."

Perry Block said...

I dunno, but I've had very lurid fantasies of my favorite doctor for most of the day. Ohh, that oh so hot Ben Carson!

Gardenlover said...

That isn't a gutter his mind is in, it's an eight foot square drainage ditch. And the truth is, he fantasizes about Dr. Ruth because she talks about sex, which Perry refers to as having oral sex.

Perry Block said...

Yes, she talks about sex and spongecake, which really does it for me. And height-wise, she's about eight inches square now.