Once upon a time in the Kitchen.

One of them Fridges what I've been talking about. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

A gentle breeze wafted through the kitchen from the open window, a soft caress of air fondling itself across my chest. The sun was shining happily and I was did likewise, emitting a piercing heat that destroyed anything in a nearby radius. Well, that part was a lie. I was actually washing the dishes, my mind wandering and skipping through happy fields of thought as I scrubbed and scoured. My idyllic sluicing was disturbed, however, when a voice called out from behind me.

 "Hey, hey you!" It shouted in the manner of one recognising an old friend.

 I turned, happily, and gazed at my fridge.

 "Fridge!" I exclaimed, "You've taught yourself to talk!"

 "Yup." Fridge replied, "Sent off for some books and stuff, picked it up over the weekend."

 "That's great news." I said, "So, what's up anyway? Bet you've got lots of things to tell me."

 "Nope." Fridge replied. "Just been sitting here, waiting for you to open me up and stick your hand inside."

 I nodded. Now, as the situation dawned on me, I had absolutely no idea why I'd been so happy my fridge could talk. Even in the best-case scenario, there was some lettuce in the vegetable crisper that was probably a  little too crisp to say the least, and a lot of almost-empty jars of jam scattered around the innards of my now vocal refrigerator. But now, of course, the fridge had manifested itself as some sort of sexual deviant. I mean, this is probably more of a reflection on me, and I'm sure it wouldn't take much of a psychologist to read something in my homoerotic overtones. But anyway, let's return to the real problem here, talking fridges.

 "Oh, right. Well, that's... That's great fridge."I lied.

 "Yup." Replied Fridge, "You're running low on Tomato Ketchup by the way. Might want to stock up before your fancy dinner party."

 Damn, I thought, he was right. I was having a fancy dinner party this weekend, and I would need a lot of cheap, store-brand ketchups to feed my guests. I was pondering this thought, and wondering if I could just keep everything in the cupboard from now on (I'd cut out its tongue months ago), when another voice interrupted.

 "Oi! What's all this then?" The new, icy voice called out.

 "Well, well, well, look who turned up!" Shouted Fridge, "Finally got your act together, did you, you bastard!"

 I watched in horror as my Fridge-Freezer began to argue with itself, both components vying for superiority. Slowly, I began to edge across the room, hoping to reach the plug for my nightmarish white goods were happily plugged in. Suddenly, as I reached out my arm, they realised what was happening. Cries of indignation rang out, and a half-eaten tin of chopped tomatoes and a small pile of ice-cubes were launched in my direction. Shielding myself, I fled the room to jeers and taunts, which only ceased 5 minutes later when I cut the power to my house.

 Sadly, I unplugged the Fridge-Freezer and reconnected the electricity to the rest of my home. Dragging the verbal behemoth outside and into the boot of my car, I reflected sadly on how this seemed to happen every few months. Shaking my head sadly, I began to forge a suicide note in my best fridge handwriting. Tomorrow, I would put the Fridge-Freezer in the driving seat and push the car down off a cliff. I was beginning to wonder if the police would ever find out. Probably not, I'd tell them my car had been stolen along with my Fridge-Freezer. In a few days, they'd turn up and I'd show them the suicide note I 'discovered' recently, and they'd believe me, and that would be the end of that.

 Slowly, I returned to the house, checking no-one was watching. I'd ditch the car later, when it was dark, and then in a few days I'd file a new claim with the Insurance people. And no-one would ever be the wiser...