In Nineteen-Eighty-Something four of the nine planets aligned. Some said it meant the end of the world. It wasn’t. Unless of course I’m in stasis somewhere floating in the cosmos and dreaming all of you. If that’s true don’t tell me, ignorance is bliss. Actually, I don’t think the world ended so you all can rest assured that you really are there. Unless you subscribe to the teachings of Nietzsche. In which case I can’t tell you if you’re there or not. You have to decide that for yourselves. We don’t have time for that discussion so let’s move on with the assumption that you’re there and I am not alone.

A dramatic event that really did happen at that time was that my mother bought a toaster. She still has it to this day. So, perhaps these kinds of cosmic events are not so much bad for humanity as they are good for small appliances. Just a bit of science and philosophy to start this on a highly educated note.

I actually used my mother’s toaster the other day. I was over mom’s house to feed her cat while she’s away. Did I say cat? I meant “Beast Spawned from Hell”. Duffy, shall we say, does not like strangers. Anyway, after I put food in the bowl and bandaged my cuts, I made some toast on my way out the door. It made me think. Since I have been married, I have had three toasters, so the cosmic connection must be true.

Here’s another interesting thing. In every sit-com, dad must prove his dadness by going to the workshop and fixing the toaster. They’re all idiots. Toasters cost fifteen bucks. Let’s say you can fix the stupid thing in a half hour, and you make twenty dollars at your job. Well in job standards, it cost you ten smackers to fix a crumb-filled, burnt up, dull piece of used metal, when you could’ve had a new one for fifteen. You might’ve even made the big move to four slices. Trust me, whether she says so or not, your wife would rather have the new shiny one. Also, I have a four-slice toaster and they’re great. I’m just saying.

As nice as it is, even a four-slice toaster isn’t enough for a family of five. Why? Because of a simple fact of nature. Nobody ever wants only one of anything that you put in a toaster. Pop-Tarts even tell you that the serving size is two pastries. But there are those who would have us believe that you only want one toaster waffle. Don’t believe it? This is a lie created by marketers who desperately want us to say, and remember, stupid things like, “Leggo My Eggo.” It’s not true. What those commercials don’t tell you is that after the first one, those folks ate three or four more waffles before going home.

Therefore, my toaster is now relegated to being two, two-slice toasters side-by-side. This can be a problem, because of the little knob at the bottom. That knob has caused more family strife than all the money and communication problems combined. You see my wife likes bagels. I like toast. I set the knob to four, she sets it to six. Sometimes one of us forgets to look at the knob. If that happens war breaks out. I start screaming that my toast is burned and she yells that her bagels aren’t even crusty. This happens in the morning when we are not awake and not yet rational. Then add the fact that we have three children, each with there own toaster needs. Waffles need number three, frozen pastries need five, cinnamon sticks want three and a half and so on. That has become the most turned knob in our house. Far more turned that the hot water on the shower. So, you can see how a mistake can happen. Well that mistake did occur and it was a disaster.

It happened about a week ago. My older son toasted a frozen pumpernickel sandwich and needed the knob set to the max. I came next with Frosted Strawberry Pop-Tarts and didn’t check the knob, which needed to be set at two. I pressed down the lever, and went out to get the mail. When I got back to the kitchen, I heard a bang. Turning quickly, I noticed the toaster was on fire. I made it to the plug and pulled it before the cabinets ignited. My first thought was it was time for a new toaster, but then I got a whiff of the sick strawberry smoke and came to a realization. Toaster pastries are flammable. In point of fact they must be made of some unstable compound and, under the right conditions, they explode.

You might think this discovery is just a cautionary tale, then a few things happened that changed mind forever. First, I found out that in all the food bundles the US sends to foreign countries, Pop-Tarts are included. Yes, we are sending explosive food to every conflict area around the globe. Could this be a CIA plot? Well think about this. If you get caught with a brick of C-4 in Baghdad they will arrest you, but no one will say a word if you’re seen with toaster pastries. This could be why the “so called” Green Zone still gets bombed sometimes.

What if you are plotting some mayhem and come across a checkpoint? Have you ever tried to eat a brick of C-4 or drink a bottle of nitroglycerin? These things may not be poisonous but they don’t have a delightful frosting and tantalizing strawberry flavor. Remember also that TNT has a terrible aftertaste. Nor are any of them fortified with ten essential vitamins and iron. Detonators are also a problem; they are expensive, hard to get hold of and sometimes fail. You can get a toaster at any discount store. Heck they’re cheap enough buy two, or even three, just in case.

This was starting to really bother me, so I went to one of those militant websites where they show folks how to make bombs. My worst fears were realized. There was no mention of a toaster pastry bomb on any of those sites. I could only draw one conclusion from this. This killing technology is so devastating that even anarchists and survivalists are afraid to use it. Have all references to this been suppressed on the web? I can’t get to the dark web so I don’t know. I only have access to a medium gray web which really isn’t very bad at all. Sort of like anarchy for trainees.

I must tell you that as I was learning all of this, a black van started showing up across the street. If I should suddenly disappear my notes are definitely not in the shoe box under the bed. Wink Wink. I’m scared because those covert people are really getting bolder. They even put a temporary tag on the van, and convinced Bob Peterson to say he just bought the van.

But I know the truth.