He’d loved Grandpa, but he wished the old man had used some of the ample spare time from the tail end of his life to replace his junk with stuff that could more gracefully reintegrate with the materials stream. But then his grandpa had died and they’d cleaned out his little room at the pensioner’s ward6 and he’d just shoved it all in the container and sent it out to the desert.įrom time to time, he’d thought of the eight cubic meters of stupidity he’d inherited and sighed a put-upon sigh. He’d been throwing away stupid stuff all his life, because the smart stuff was just so much easier. Most of the things in the container were stupid. He put on old, stupid clothes and clipped some lights to his glasses and started sorting. the giant warehouse under the desert and zipped it straight to the cargo-bay in Mister Toussaint’s building. Mister Toussaint paid the rush-rush fee that the storage depot charged to send over his container. There were lots more people with LOONY GOONYs to process. When they released Mister Toussaint the next day, they made him take LOONY GOONY home with him. “You’d better wear a breather and you’d better wear a hat, I’m a vial of terrible deadly hazmat,” LOONY GOONY sang. They’d even shrinkwrapped their machine-guns.
LOONY GOONY THE BRAVE LITTLE TOASTER FULL
The entire station had been evacuated and the police wore full biohazard containment gear. They were waiting for him on the platform, and they cuffed him just as soon as he stepped off the train. They arrested Mister Toussaint at the 678th Street station. He’d throw it out in a trash-can on the way to work. “I hate you,” Mister Toussaint said to LOONY GOONY, and he stuck it in his coat pocket.
LOONY GOONY THE BRAVE LITTLE TOASTER WINDOWS
The windows wouldn’t retract their safety screen to let it drop, but that wasn’t much of a surprise. The toilet wouldn’t flush it (“I don’t belong in the bog, because down there I’m sure to clog!”). The dishwasher wouldn’t wash it (“I don’t mean to annoy or chafe, but I’m simply not dishwasher safe!”). “I’m no drink and I’m no meal,” LOONY GOONY sang. Even the cleverest squeezy-pouch couldn’t survive a good nuking. “Excuse me if I’m chattery, I do not mean to nattery, but I’m a mercury battery!” LOONY GOONY’s singing voice really got on Mister Toussaint’s nerves. You’ve probably guessed what the trouble was. So he took out everything in the bin, one piece at a time. The trashcan told him that toxic substances had to be manually sorted. “Why haven’t you emptied yourself?” he demanded. The can had not cycled it through the trapdoor to the chute that ran to the big collection-point at ground level, 104 storeys below. The next day, Mister Toussaint came home and discovered that the overflowing rubbish was still sitting in its little bag under the sink. He chucked the pouch in the rubbish can and put his new groceries away. The label said that the drink was called LOONY GOONY and it promised ONE TRILLION TIMES MORE POWERFUL THAN ESPRESSO!!!!!ONE11! Mister Toussaint began to suspect that the pouch was some kind of stupid Internet of Things4 prank. Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily, I’m offgassing ethylene.”3 Mister Toussaint sniffed the pouch suspiciously. Mister Toussaint pored over his refrigerator’s diagnostics and logfiles, and soon enough, he had the answer. The refrigerator hummed smugly at him.īut the food hadn’t been spoiled. “Why did you throw away all my food?” he demanded. He’dgotten it from an enthusiastically smiling young woman on the metro2 platform the day before. Or rather, it was almost empty: there was a single pouch of energy drink sitting on a shelf in the back. It was mysteriously empty, even though it had been full that morning. Furious, Mister Toussaint confronted his refrigerator. His refrigerator had sent in the list, and she had the signed order to prove it. But Miz Rousseau told him that he had ordered the food. I don’t need this stuff and besides, I can’t pay for it.” he called up Miz Rousseau, the grocer, and said, “Why have you sent me all this food? My fridge is already full of delicious things. 300 euros’ worth of groceries on his doorstep. One day, Mister Toussaint came home to find an extra