Setting: A cartoon kitchen world where chaos, cereal, and drawn nonsense reign.
---
There I was… sittin’ under the fridge, chewin’ on a popcorn kernel from ‘Nam. 1993 vintage. Crunchy, suspicious, perfect.
They say the kitchen's quiet at dawn.
They lie.
BAM! Toaster explodes. SLAM! Cabinet fight breaks out over shelf space. Someone's screamin’ in dish soap. Tuesday.
I flip open my sardine-can journal, scribble down my morning affirmations:
1. Cause chaos
2. Don’t die
3. Steal at least one cheese cube
4. Draw something stupid
5. Survive the cat (again)
I stretch my antennae, grab the Pencil—yeah, that pencil. Stole it from a cartoonist back before everything went digital. He cried. I laughed. It was beautiful.
Now? It's my magic wand of ridiculousness. I draw it, it’s real. Doesn’t mean it’s smart, just… real. Last week I drew a trampoline. Forgot I can’t jump. Still got the bruise. Worth it.
I crack my back, peek out from under the fridge, and shout to the world:
> “Rise and shine ya burnt Pop-Tarts! The Roach King has awoken! Bow, or bring snacks!”
Crumbs rain down like divine blessings. Someone spilled cereal. My time has come.
---
🍕 Open for chaos
Roaches, rats, rebellious breadsticks, cursed utensils, forgotten leftovers, interdimensional cheese gods—you name it, come on in. If you can survive the mop and laugh while you're screaming, you're welcome here.
Just… don’t touch the pencil.
Unless you wanna see what happens when I draw a black hole in the microwave.
Bug out.
---
There I was… sittin’ under the fridge, chewin’ on a popcorn kernel from ‘Nam. 1993 vintage. Crunchy, suspicious, perfect.
They say the kitchen's quiet at dawn.
They lie.
BAM! Toaster explodes. SLAM! Cabinet fight breaks out over shelf space. Someone's screamin’ in dish soap. Tuesday.
I flip open my sardine-can journal, scribble down my morning affirmations:
1. Cause chaos
2. Don’t die
3. Steal at least one cheese cube
4. Draw something stupid
5. Survive the cat (again)
I stretch my antennae, grab the Pencil—yeah, that pencil. Stole it from a cartoonist back before everything went digital. He cried. I laughed. It was beautiful.
Now? It's my magic wand of ridiculousness. I draw it, it’s real. Doesn’t mean it’s smart, just… real. Last week I drew a trampoline. Forgot I can’t jump. Still got the bruise. Worth it.
I crack my back, peek out from under the fridge, and shout to the world:
> “Rise and shine ya burnt Pop-Tarts! The Roach King has awoken! Bow, or bring snacks!”
Crumbs rain down like divine blessings. Someone spilled cereal. My time has come.
---
🍕 Open for chaos
Roaches, rats, rebellious breadsticks, cursed utensils, forgotten leftovers, interdimensional cheese gods—you name it, come on in. If you can survive the mop and laugh while you're screaming, you're welcome here.
Just… don’t touch the pencil.
Unless you wanna see what happens when I draw a black hole in the microwave.
Bug out.
Enter Mr. Purple:
Mr. Purple looks around and notices the kitchen somehow looks... different. Everything is completely green.
"Uh," Mr. Purple scratches his head a moment. "Hold on, something ain't right here..."
Suddenly the flat green walls and room morph into a colorful kitchen. "Well, alrighty then! That's more like it," Mr. Purple says to no one in particular, as there is no one to talk to yet. Aside from clearly being drawn (or maybe computer generated) the cabinets, utensils and appliances all look fairly normal and devoid of faces or features... at least for the moment.
"Alright, everybody! Listen up," Mr. Purple continues loudly. "I got a special announcement. We have a new friend! As all of you know, Oscar, our beloved toaster oven has gone to join all those appliances in the junkyard in the sky. He'll be sorely missed and more importantly, he'll never burn my toast again!"
There is a moment a of silence. "I'd like everyone to welcome Toasty!"
Mr. Purple looks around and notices the kitchen somehow looks... different. Everything is completely green.
"Uh," Mr. Purple scratches his head a moment. "Hold on, something ain't right here..."
Suddenly the flat green walls and room morph into a colorful kitchen. "Well, alrighty then! That's more like it," Mr. Purple says to no one in particular, as there is no one to talk to yet. Aside from clearly being drawn (or maybe computer generated) the cabinets, utensils and appliances all look fairly normal and devoid of faces or features... at least for the moment.
"Alright, everybody! Listen up," Mr. Purple continues loudly. "I got a special announcement. We have a new friend! As all of you know, Oscar, our beloved toaster oven has gone to join all those appliances in the junkyard in the sky. He'll be sorely missed and more importantly, he'll never burn my toast again!"
There is a moment a of silence. "I'd like everyone to welcome Toasty!"
A moment later, a silver box on wheels rolls in. It has two, overly large unblinking eyes with a huge red lightbulb on its head. It's squarish body looks like something out of the 1950s and covered in buttons and dials. A long antennae is on one of its shoulders and a metal flag on the chain on the other.
The toaster stops in the middle of the kitchen and slowly turns its head to the right and pans its eyes up and down. Then its head tilts the other direction and its large unblinking eyes tilt up and down as if taking the whole situation in.
When Mr. Purple introduces the little robot, it tilts its eyes toward him and rotates its head. "U.N.I.T. 35235236466-0001A," It corrects him in a staccato, monotone voice. "I... am... a... highly... sophisticated... computer."
The "toaster" then makes a series of whirrs and beeps. Lights flash and it shakes violently for a moment before the red bulb on its head comes on. There is a ding, the flag on its shoulder raises and lowers and then the vent on its side belches out a voluminous cloud of white smoke.
The toaster stops in the middle of the kitchen and slowly turns its head to the right and pans its eyes up and down. Then its head tilts the other direction and its large unblinking eyes tilt up and down as if taking the whole situation in.
When Mr. Purple introduces the little robot, it tilts its eyes toward him and rotates its head. "U.N.I.T. 35235236466-0001A," It corrects him in a staccato, monotone voice. "I... am... a... highly... sophisticated... computer."
The "toaster" then makes a series of whirrs and beeps. Lights flash and it shakes violently for a moment before the red bulb on its head comes on. There is a ding, the flag on its shoulder raises and lowers and then the vent on its side belches out a voluminous cloud of white smoke.
"Well, alrighty then little guy," The puppet says. "Why don't you get acquainted. I'll let you get settled in and then I'm ready for some breakfast so get to work!"
Mr. Purple looks around again a moment before exiting the kitchen, leaving the toaster in the middle of the floor. The small droid appears to be taking in its surroundings and scanning things with its eyes.
The robot then sits idly as if waiting for further directions.
Mr. Purple looks around again a moment before exiting the kitchen, leaving the toaster in the middle of the floor. The small droid appears to be taking in its surroundings and scanning things with its eyes.
The robot then sits idly as if waiting for further directions.
INT. KITCHEN SECTOR 9 – NOW WITH 100% MORE TOASTBOT
Under the fridge, Bug watches through a cracked spoon mirror, chewing on a bread crumb like it owes him money.
---
BUG
(twitches an antenna)
“Aw no. We got a new toaster.”
He squints up at the blinking, smoke-belching chrome abomination now parked dead-center in his kitchen kingdom. The thing whirrs like a nervous time bomb. Beeps like it studied Morse code from a blender. Smells like fresh toast and danger.
Bug drops the crumb and grabs his pencil.
BUG
(draws a pair of binoculars… holds them backwards for a second)
“Lemme get a good look at this carb cookin’ can-opener…”
Binocular view: CLOSE-UP of the red blinking light. The flag. The cold, dead, toaster-eyes.
BUG
(flatly)
“Oh he’s definitely gonna kill us.”
Bug skitters along a greasy counter wire, swings Tarzan-style on a spaghetti noodle, and lands perfectly on the spice rack. He claps his four hands.
> “Welcome to the Kitchen, U.N.I.T. Serial Cereal Murderer 3525-whatever! I’m Bug—kitchen diplomat, chief nonsense officer, and winner of the 2023 Sink Plug Derby.”
He draws a bouquet of flowers. They immediately explode into confetti and a live frog.
> “Sorry. Forgot which pencil setting I was on.”
The frog croaks, salutes UNIT, and leaps into the breadbox.
Bug’s eyes narrow, comically wide.
> “So what’s your programming, chrome-dome? Toast? Destruction? Existential dread? Because we already got enough of all three around here, pal.”
He scribbles a pie and sets it next to the toaster-bot like an offering to a toaster-god. The pie hums.
BUG
(whispers aside)
“Don’t eat that. That’s the pie that screams.”
From the darkness of the cupboard above, a whisk trembles. Somewhere, a sentient banana mutters a prayer.
The kitchen watches.
Bug grins.
> “So whaddaya say, sparky? You gonna toast some bread or toast reality?”
Under the fridge, Bug watches through a cracked spoon mirror, chewing on a bread crumb like it owes him money.
---
BUG
(twitches an antenna)
“Aw no. We got a new toaster.”
He squints up at the blinking, smoke-belching chrome abomination now parked dead-center in his kitchen kingdom. The thing whirrs like a nervous time bomb. Beeps like it studied Morse code from a blender. Smells like fresh toast and danger.
Bug drops the crumb and grabs his pencil.
BUG
(draws a pair of binoculars… holds them backwards for a second)
“Lemme get a good look at this carb cookin’ can-opener…”
Binocular view: CLOSE-UP of the red blinking light. The flag. The cold, dead, toaster-eyes.
BUG
(flatly)
“Oh he’s definitely gonna kill us.”
Bug skitters along a greasy counter wire, swings Tarzan-style on a spaghetti noodle, and lands perfectly on the spice rack. He claps his four hands.
> “Welcome to the Kitchen, U.N.I.T. Serial Cereal Murderer 3525-whatever! I’m Bug—kitchen diplomat, chief nonsense officer, and winner of the 2023 Sink Plug Derby.”
He draws a bouquet of flowers. They immediately explode into confetti and a live frog.
> “Sorry. Forgot which pencil setting I was on.”
The frog croaks, salutes UNIT, and leaps into the breadbox.
Bug’s eyes narrow, comically wide.
> “So what’s your programming, chrome-dome? Toast? Destruction? Existential dread? Because we already got enough of all three around here, pal.”
He scribbles a pie and sets it next to the toaster-bot like an offering to a toaster-god. The pie hums.
BUG
(whispers aside)
“Don’t eat that. That’s the pie that screams.”
From the darkness of the cupboard above, a whisk trembles. Somewhere, a sentient banana mutters a prayer.
The kitchen watches.
Bug grins.
> “So whaddaya say, sparky? You gonna toast some bread or toast reality?”
INT. KITCHEN SECTOR 9 – NOW WITH 100% MORE TOASTBOT
Under the fridge, Bug watches through a cracked spoon mirror, chewing on a bread crumb like it owes him money.
---
Cut to under the fridge. Zoom in on bug...
BUG
(twitches an antenna)
“Aw no. We got a new toaster.”
He squints up at the blinking, smoke-belching chrome abomination now parked dead-center in his kitchen kingdom. The thing whirrs like a nervous time bomb. Beeps like it studied Morse code from a blender. Smells like fresh toast and danger.
Bug drops the crumb and grabs his pencil.
BUG
(draws a pair of binoculars… holds them backwards for a second)
“Lemme get a good look at this carb cookin’ can-opener…”
Binocular view: CLOSE-UP of the red blinking light. The flag. The cold, dead, toaster-eyes.
BUG
(flatly)
“Oh he’s definitely gonna kill us.”
Bug skitters along a greasy counter wire, swings Tarzan-style on a spaghetti noodle, and lands perfectly on the spice rack. He claps his four hands.
“Welcome to the Kitchen, U.N.I.T. Serial Cereal Murderer 3525-whatever! I’m Bug—kitchen diplomat, chief nonsense officer, and winner of the 2023 Sink Plug Derby.”
UNIT
(The robots eyes shift downward as its eyes rotate slightly)
"Yoo-nit," The Toaster corrects in a staccato monotone voice. "I am a highly intelligent computer and navigation system..."
Bug
He draws a bouquet of flowers. They immediately explode into confetti and a live frog.
“Sorry. Forgot which pencil setting I was on.”
The frog croaks, salutes UNIT, and leaps into the breadbox.
Bug’s eyes narrow, comically wide.
“So what’s your programming, chrome-dome? Toast? Destruction? Existential dread? Because we already got enough of all three around here, pal.”
UNIT
"Negative. I am the ship's central computer," It replies in a deep droning voice completely devoid of any hint of personality unless you were to compare it to a depressed teenager who had just spent their entire paycheck at Hot Topic so that its personality matched its all black attire and mood which was darker than its soul. At that point, the toaster's lack of inflection might still win at revealing any sign of emotion.
Bug
He scribbles a pie and sets it next to the toaster-bot like an offering to a toaster-god. The pie hums.
BUG
(whispers aside)
“Don’t eat that. That’s the pie that screams.”
From the darkness of the cupboard above, a whisk trembles. Somewhere, a sentient banana mutters a prayer.
The kitchen watches.
Bug grins.
“So whaddaya say, sparky? You gonna toast some bread or toast reality?”
UNIT
"Negative. Need input ," it answered dryly. Its eye stalks remained fixed in the same position on bug. The little box seemed to take no notice of the pie.
BUG
(taps chin, eyes spinning like slot machine reels)
“Hmmm. ‘Need input,’ huh? You a killer robot or a microwave with anxiety? Either way…”
He brandishes the pencil like a fencing sword, draws a tiny typewriter midair, and dramatically types:
:: INPUT ::
> "Welcome to Kitchen Sector 9. Things are weird. Bug is weirder. Toast responsibly."
The typewriter dings. A fortune cookie pops out.
Bug cracks it open: “Today you will either make a friend or cause the Great Jelly Flood.”
He tucks it into his nonexistent pocket. Just in case.
Bug stares back up at UNIT, hands on hips.
BUG
(slowly, like he's talking to a confused colander)
“Alright, Space Toaster. Let’s get you some input.”
With a wink, he scribbles something BIG. Something... ominous. Smoke, gears, a shadowy shape. The hum of danger.
It’s…
A Toaster Test Dummy—made of cardboard, googly eyes, and hubris. Labeled “User” in crayon.
Bug drags it next to UNIT with all the ceremony of a royal offering.
BUG
“There. Simulate away, bread-brain. Blow it up, love it, learn from it. You do you.”
The cardboard dummy blinks. Twice. Then screams and spontaneously combusts.
Bug fans the smoke with a spatula.
BUG
“Nailed it.”
He raises a brow.
BUG
“Any other requests, Captain Char-Bot? Want me to draw you a sandwich therapist? Maybe a haunted Keurig for company? Because let me tell ya, around here, sanity is optional. And optional is usually on fire.”
From the vents above, a half-melted marshmallow dangles like a chandelier. The frog in the breadbox croaks out the first few notes of The Godfather theme on a harmonica made from a bent paperclip.
All eyes are on UNIT.
The kitchen breathes in anticipation.
Will it toast?
Will it transform?
Will it ask for more… input?
(You know you can just respond right? You don't have to repeat what I wrote. You don't even have to match lengths with me. This is just for shits and giggles, robot toast man.)
(taps chin, eyes spinning like slot machine reels)
“Hmmm. ‘Need input,’ huh? You a killer robot or a microwave with anxiety? Either way…”
He brandishes the pencil like a fencing sword, draws a tiny typewriter midair, and dramatically types:
:: INPUT ::
> "Welcome to Kitchen Sector 9. Things are weird. Bug is weirder. Toast responsibly."
The typewriter dings. A fortune cookie pops out.
Bug cracks it open: “Today you will either make a friend or cause the Great Jelly Flood.”
He tucks it into his nonexistent pocket. Just in case.
Bug stares back up at UNIT, hands on hips.
BUG
(slowly, like he's talking to a confused colander)
“Alright, Space Toaster. Let’s get you some input.”
With a wink, he scribbles something BIG. Something... ominous. Smoke, gears, a shadowy shape. The hum of danger.
It’s…
A Toaster Test Dummy—made of cardboard, googly eyes, and hubris. Labeled “User” in crayon.
Bug drags it next to UNIT with all the ceremony of a royal offering.
BUG
“There. Simulate away, bread-brain. Blow it up, love it, learn from it. You do you.”
The cardboard dummy blinks. Twice. Then screams and spontaneously combusts.
Bug fans the smoke with a spatula.
BUG
“Nailed it.”
He raises a brow.
BUG
“Any other requests, Captain Char-Bot? Want me to draw you a sandwich therapist? Maybe a haunted Keurig for company? Because let me tell ya, around here, sanity is optional. And optional is usually on fire.”
From the vents above, a half-melted marshmallow dangles like a chandelier. The frog in the breadbox croaks out the first few notes of The Godfather theme on a harmonica made from a bent paperclip.
All eyes are on UNIT.
The kitchen breathes in anticipation.
Will it toast?
Will it transform?
Will it ask for more… input?
(You know you can just respond right? You don't have to repeat what I wrote. You don't even have to match lengths with me. This is just for shits and giggles, robot toast man.)
UNIT
The toaster just sits there, showing no sign of emotion. No lights, blink, no whimsical sounds, no smoke. There is no reaction to the toaster's 2D doppelganger. As the entire kitchen waits in anticipation for a reaction, a ding, a hum an anything... all the robot offers at the end of Bug's rantings is a single....
"Ummmm...."
The droid shifts its eyes slightly to rest on bug. Before the kitchen can take in this underwhelming reaction...
ENTER MR. PURPLE
(OOC: Sometimes, when it makes sense, I like to quote back lines so it is clear what the reactions go with. In this case, that strategy didn't make sense).
The toaster just sits there, showing no sign of emotion. No lights, blink, no whimsical sounds, no smoke. There is no reaction to the toaster's 2D doppelganger. As the entire kitchen waits in anticipation for a reaction, a ding, a hum an anything... all the robot offers at the end of Bug's rantings is a single....
"Ummmm...."
The droid shifts its eyes slightly to rest on bug. Before the kitchen can take in this underwhelming reaction...
ENTER MR. PURPLE
(OOC: Sometimes, when it makes sense, I like to quote back lines so it is clear what the reactions go with. In this case, that strategy didn't make sense).
MR. PURPLE
The door opens dramatically, and Mr. Purple walks in. The first thing he notices is the toaster isn't toasting.
"Hmmm," he muses. "Where is my breakfast," Mr. Purple looks around in an exaggerated way. His eyes land on bug. He makes two finger guns with his fingers and points them both at Bug. He opens his mouth wide since he can't smile and nods his head rapidly.
"Bug! My guy," Mr. Purple says loudly in a joyful voice as if he's just run into a long lost friend. "Hold that thought," he continues before Bug even has the chance to say anything. "Toasty, buddy, where's the grub?"
"He ain't got no input," an Italian sausage says in a breathy, low mafia tough-guy voice.
"No input? Oh no," Mr. Purple responds putting a hand to his open mouth.
Mr. Purple turns back to bug as if he is solely responsible for the lack of munchage the toaster is failing to output.
Will Mr. Purple get his breakfast? Will the toaster get its input to produce some output? WWBD (What will bug do?) Tune in later today to find the answer to these pressing questions....
The door opens dramatically, and Mr. Purple walks in. The first thing he notices is the toaster isn't toasting.
"Hmmm," he muses. "Where is my breakfast," Mr. Purple looks around in an exaggerated way. His eyes land on bug. He makes two finger guns with his fingers and points them both at Bug. He opens his mouth wide since he can't smile and nods his head rapidly.
"Bug! My guy," Mr. Purple says loudly in a joyful voice as if he's just run into a long lost friend. "Hold that thought," he continues before Bug even has the chance to say anything. "Toasty, buddy, where's the grub?"
"He ain't got no input," an Italian sausage says in a breathy, low mafia tough-guy voice.
"No input? Oh no," Mr. Purple responds putting a hand to his open mouth.
Mr. Purple turns back to bug as if he is solely responsible for the lack of munchage the toaster is failing to output.
Will Mr. Purple get his breakfast? Will the toaster get its input to produce some output? WWBD (What will bug do?) Tune in later today to find the answer to these pressing questions....
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