The Best Toaster Ever asked me to post this

I was going to sign him up for his own G-mail account so he could put this in on his own, but now Google insists on sending confirmation numbers to cellphones via text messages for new G-mail accounts. Google and their stupid little ads that I can't believe anyone in their right mind would actually click on can kiss my ass, just like the jerkoff I saw actually kick the T earlier this evening when it wouldn't let his lard ass on.

Here we go...

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Hello ladies.

The Best Toaster Ever is in the mood for romance, and he's taking applications.

See, it's been a rollercoaster ride of a year for me. I fondly remember the carefree days I spent on the shelf at Target, wooing the lovely young blender across the aisle. She was a tough nut to crack, what with her five variable speeds, her easy-to-read gradations, her slick chrome shell, and the intensity of her come-hither dials making her aisle 9's untouchable equivalent to Marilyn Monroe. But though she seemed soft and beautiful on the outside, her insane ice crushing capabilities and her resistance to all but the toughest stains made her a bit of a tiger. Meeeeeeow! Of course, yours truly was up to the challenge, and the time we spent together with the other appliances making fun of all the people in the store who were a few lucky chromosomes above the Wal-Martian level were among the happiest days of my life.

But alas, it wasn't meant to be. She was whisked off her feet by a man willing to spend more money to keep her happy, and I was left to weather the retail storm cold and alone. I will never forget the price of her love, that terrible $29.99 that my heart could give but my wallet couldn't. Even the hilarity of the occasional Wal-Martian confused by all the red couldn't salve my wounds.

And then a guy who seemed like he might occasionally be amusing took me home to live with him. He gave me a piece of prime real estate next to the sink, and the coffee pot and I became fast friends. And truth be told, Scott was mildly amusing. The coffee pot and I often placed bets on what his blood alcohol level would be when he finally stumbled home, and we'd laugh in merriment as he'd swear mightily about some crap he's never actually going to get published, and we'd laugh even harder when he'd imply that he was going to marry a girl with a yacht rather than a girl that's as big as a yacht. Things were good, and though they weren't quite good enough to heal my broken heart, it was almost enough.

But now I'm bored. All Scott wants to do now is sit on the couch and drink beer and eat pot pies and watch those stupid ass Hulk Hogan DVDs. Just to spite him, I even cheered for the Ultimate Warrior when he beat the Hulkster at Wrestlemania VI. Then I looked the Ultimate Warrior up on Wikipedia, found out that he'd legally changed his name to Warrior, that his children were stuck with the last name Warrior, and that he'd turned into some Born Again right-wing nut job who'd probably feel right at home in the Spanish Inquisition, and I apologized to Scott and promised I'd never cheer for the Ultimate Warrior again.

But that's neither here nor there. I need to get out more...and what better way to do it than with a pretty young thing of the fairer sex?

So ladies, what's it gonna be? A cold night alone...or a steaming plate of waffles? Going to the Foggy Goggle with some douche bag that only tries to dance to "Gold Digger" and won't buy you anything better than Bud Light...or a warm, gooey strudel?

I guarantee you won't regret it...I'll just have to get rid of the coffee pot so we can have some privacy (maybe I can hook him up with the espresso maker in the pantry).

-Yours forever, baby
tBTe
The Best Toaster Ever