[t] o a s t y n e s s

[Moony™]

{AUTHOR'S NOTE}
And the great thing about toast is... that they include with a super-sized-planet (Ps, not that it's a real planet, you know...physically and stuff. But it's made out of words! Pretty cool, huh?)! And the planet's name is Toastyness! Sorry eggs, potatoes, sweet potatoes, cheese... it's just that toast dominates the planet here, please do not argue, it's a true fact in the story.
Even though toast is awesome and dominates the planet, there are other food/people here too. There's eggs, potatoes, sweet potatoes, cheese, bread sticks, ice cream, omelets, jellies, and everything you can name that's food. Ooh and don't forget, humen is among there too. And each country, there is a dominating race. Like on Easter, that's where the eggs live and the country Toastyness where toasts live (Yes, they're the same names, man I'm running out of name ideas). But of course, creatures are allowed to visit with really cheap plane prices! Which eventually ended the sweet potatoes' dependence on gas not because of cars but airplanes.

[Moony™]

{CHAPTER ONE}

Lt. Butter’s Sacrifice Street
Somewhere in the Land of Toastyness
In Guy’s Eye-Blinding Pink Kitchen

Toast stared blankly at the forever-pink sky, his thoughts exploding of desperate hope. The thought of it, was quite boring, although it wrenched inside of his conscience, so much that he couldn’t just ignore and end with a nice video game of Unicorns II: Attack of the Long Eyelashes.
But it didn’t. Didn’t it?
Biting his lip, he tried to leisurely move away from the villainous toast-hungry human, Guy and his malevolence henchman Buddy.
“Pink,” Toast thought at the moment while his life desperately hung over death. “The room is very, very pink.”
Pushing away gradually with his pretend-limp toast skin, he leaned toward the middle of Guy’s index finger and his thumb. Man, oh man, his thumb was chubby. He struggled unhurriedly at the establishment and gained momentum on the way. Pink.
Trying to be evil as possible, Guy suffocated Toast by squeezing him harder to the wintry, bitter, white china of death. His veins pulsing faintly, Toast wiggled, still no hope going out of him.
Now, as you read this story: Imagine yourself as a little talking toast, only to look forward to a nice vacation in the land of eggs, out of many good and bad possibilities, in Guy’s eye-burning-pink kitchen, directly beneath his deformed fingers. Now kids, this kind of fingers looked practically like Canadian bacon in thick strips. And while trying to escape the wrath of the ravenous freak, all you can think of is pink. How very, very pink.
Guy gripped him harder, easily making Toast’s bubble of hope explode into little miserable confetti.
Gritting his teeth, he gave up; interest heaving his brain with bunch of stupid questions that a typical dude would ask in these situations. What will happen now? Will I die? Then what? Yawn, I’m bored. After he busied himself with these ice-breaking questions, his thoughts went back to occupy the sight of pink and its malevolent features.
Such like these pinkish books: Once Upon a Pink Kitchen, Someone Call the Doctor: I’m Seeing Pink, Life and the History of Pink the Dictator, ooh and don’t forget, Who is this Pink Dictator Anyways?
Driving in to topic, Guy peered the bottles and jars of toast toppings, and his unsteady grip slightly loosened; satisfied that Toast has accepted his miserable, happy ending for Guy's, deathly fate, which fate stubbornly did not quite agree. And no one dared to stand in fate's way — well, OK, someone did but not in this story.
Guy thought hard about the choices of life laid in front of him. Butter, ice cream, or jam? Gee, like was hard! He licked his lips of the delight: Him, greedily eating the toast’s life out with awesome topping choices, like ice cream.

"YEAHH! GO ICE CREAM!" And the narrator/author coughed, such in a fake way, twice. "Eh hem, sorry, got too carried away by the ice cream wind… Oh yes, by the way, if you are eating a slice of toast or any other thing that you can imagine it talking, don't feel guilty. Keep on eating, you're not going to be arrested or explode or anything, but only, just only, if it doesn't talk. So anyways—"

With an enormous help from the narrator/author, Guy’s depleted brain finally hatched an idea. I have an idea… I’ll put all of them in! – Guy, you are one smart dude. To celebrate this honorable memory, Guy performed a really show-offy hair flip. This totally did not rock off anyone’s sock. With no hesitation, he grabbed all of the jars and one plastic container with a flick of his wrist and opened it with the same agile agility. He reached out for the butter knife with the satisfying curved edge carved in the plastic, “Safety First!” it read. With the pride for safeties at his side, he dug it in and flicked off the butter like a real cool guy, and he missed to the wooden glossy table next to the purdy plate.
Toast smiled broadly, deep in amusement vastly entwined with underestimation for Guy, Guy turned away and flicked his butter knife again.
Very sadly, it missed.
Flicked again. Missed.
Flicked again with wrath. Missed.
Praying slightly before, he flicked, double-crossing his fingers. Missed. With a lot of explosive disapprobation flooding inside of him, he shouted at the butter knife and flicked again. Missed.
“URG!” He yowled and his steady heart returned to him, “Okay buddy, shouting at this knife won’t help. He gave an easy breath, and spoke slowly; his voice tainted with trembling frustration, “Please, butter knife! Please let it hit the toast with your buttery goodness! I’m trying to look cool in front of the readers! Please O sacred butter! I worship you!”
He sighed and felt this new placebo hope. He flicked and missed.
Fluttering in resentment, he sighed, and set the new “idea” again. He strutted forward, that he was closely eying the butter knife, one on one, and whispered calmly with no exact expression known to the world, “I. Love. You.”
He flicked and missed.
Feeling like a loser, which he indeed was, his voice changed from a weird whisper and to a baffled shriek. “Ugh, you know what? I’m so giving up on this. Stupid… uh….I Can’t Believe it’s Not Butter! butter!”
After a time-stopping moment of knowledge, he blinked, his voice wasn’t consequently angry anymore and conversed to a shocked, knowing whisper. It was his favorite past-time. “Wait! It’s not butter?! Oh my gosh-! I’m so sorry butter — I mean vegetable oil!” 
 “Man, I’m such a lo — ” He broke off and cradled his head on his ugly hands, calling himself a loser, well, it was true in fact. Wow, that was really “loseriffic”. Nice job Guy! Real smooth; congratulations!
 He frowned and tried to think positively optimistic and said in the Dora the Explorer voice, “Well, sorry toast, I’m gonna eat ya anyways!”
He gave off a broad grin that would have scared the freak out of, even the world’s most “Muhahahaha” individual. 
 Toast tried to block the scenery with his short, wiggling hands, to cover the shining light of ugliness and the big void of pink.
“Pink!” He gasped in horror as Guy held the yellow greasy butter in his hands, heading right towards Toast’s way. 

Toast shouted and shouted, so loud that it woke Mr. Lax Sleep up.
“Huh? What was that?” Mr. Lax Sleep said in sleepiness confusion as he awoke with a start on his nighty-tighty frilly bed. He was miles away of course, so the author has decided that Mr. Lax Sleep is not going to be here for like the rest of the story. Sorry people, but he just got cancelled.
So the narrator’s typing and where was I? Oh, yeah, right…
Guy threw the butter, his throw starting so intently to Toast, increasing his exactitude far higher, and making him look like a cheater. The creamy, yellow goo that once used to be yummy and mouthwatering, now in a gross manner landed on Guy’s hand, instead of the toast.
“Aw Guy, you did it again!” He reached for his fork and his slow threshold noticed that there was butter on his hand and it was gross.
“Ewwww,” He said with slow and dreadful disgust, and then he pushed the fork to his hand and mixed it slowly, making this yucky mix of 60% vegetable oil. Making a face of grimace, he turned back to the pink sink (I won’t be surprised if you blew up once you’ve seen it) and began to wash his hands like he learned in 6th grade science class with some really bad singing; let’s say enough that Simon exploded.
Toast made a full grin, with an evil point. He muttered words of joy under his breath and slowly crept over the plate, his “feetless feet” stalking silently in I Can’t Believe it’s Not Butter! butter. He glanced back, seeing Guy singing the theme song of Teletubbies. He couldn’t help performing a snigger. He pinched his thumb to stop laughing but… too late...

Guy noticed the explosion of mocking laughter, anger flare rising inside of him, like a big firework explosion. The giant stomped over to Toast.
Toast thought quickly, he clutched the butter knife in his seemly hand, and launched his almost-butter ammos to Guy, which landed on his face. A perfect bull’s eye his shot made, and exactly on Guy’s left eye where the butter settled. Feeling a tiny pride, he flicked the knife again, already loaded with ammo. Ooh! And again! It was almost cooler than the game, Unicorns II: Attack of the Long Eyelashes. Interactive too, this just might get some five-starred reviews. His right eye was covered, leaving Guy for only one thing to do… a totally new kind of a mad dance!
Guy barked and bellowed, whose eyes burned with the rage of almost-butter, dancing with terrific mad skills; flinging his hands in the air, rage and anger exploding at a high nuclear rate.
If you play this in slow motion, or simply read it and imagine it in Hollywood slow-motion, we agreed that it really looked like a mad dance. No, really! The butter was like total hip pop sun-glasses, waving his arms in the air like he just didn’t care, running around in circles, punching at the air blindly which is a new dancing trend by the way, screaming was somewhat music to Toast at that special moment, the moment which will be treasured forever and ever in his dear heart. At the right time, the big ball of fire peered over the kitchen blinds, making the substitute for the dance floor. The butter knife did a part too, the sun’s rays reflected off of the butter knife, and Toast waved the butter knife, like a little kid with a glowing stick, which was born to be a graze of wondering, shining light; a perfect disco ball.
Toast laughed and smiled happily, waving the light stick to the screaming rhythm/beat of Guy. But he knew it couldn’t last like this. Happiness left and left him alone with sudden caution. He crept out of the table, slowly to pause the stupid creaking door. As soon as he walked out of the deathtrap by Guy and his buddy Buddy, his pace greatly enlarged, the law didn’t cover for him, this wasn’t Toastyness, and he was in Easter! The egg country!

A little toast-history for today, this little world is constructed in delicate pieces of words and letters, combined to form a world where: Food that talk with humane features, laws that protect talking food creatures from being eaten, and a “normal” world peace. And in each country, there is a dominating race that sparked all, Toastyness for toasts, Easter for the eggs, North Pwntato for the potatoes and all potato-foods, South Pwntato for the sweet potatoes, and Icesatopia for the ice- creams and other frozen delights, Cheesy World for the cheese, Sushiwaki for the little friends of sushi, and there are many more to come – it’s a big world. But as in some countries, the law only protects their own genuine species, like this very example now, Easter, well; their law only protected the eggs and their close friends, tofu. So which means all: Guy and Buddy don’t go to jail for trying to eat Toast. They may in Toastyness, but not on Easter. No violence there!

As he ran, he felt the wind blowing hard on his “toasty feet features”. Thoughts raced to his head, the president of the eggs doing Dance Dance Revolution — wait, what? He muttered insultingly at the author (Gasp! Baaaaad toast! Bad!) and ran faster to the airport, which actually took approximately 36.76 steps. Uh-huh.
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[Moony™]

{CHAPTER TWO}

Cloudywings, an Airport
On the Country Easter

Oh gosh, there came Toast heading for the freaking airport. He broke off his running as soon as he came – indoors. Walls of shine glittered at the end and cranky people/eggs/toasts/potatoes/sweet potatoes/pancakes/Krabby Patties… and you know the rest, so the cranky creatures roamed around muttering loudly to the air and some running and some drinking coffee or hot chocolate along the silvery new walls.
As far as Toast could see, there was at least thousands of TVs, waiting chairs along the TVs, that reminded Toast about a movie theater, Starbucks with glossy tables that had yucky gum beneath them, full-size windows, uncovering the parking lot with the biggest ground space, and birds inside the same building, flying or sitting in the high barred ceiling which reminded Toast a weird vision about the Chuck E Cheeses dude flying like a Tarzan saying, "Hey kids, grab this thin rope and let's go to Chuck E Cheeses! (Life insurance not included)."
He quavered off the bizarre vision that was very likely to happen (no offense) and walked to the nearest airport lady who accepted the tickets and handed you another cooler one that actually invited you on the plane.
"Excuse me; can I get this verification ticket to the newer accessing one?" He asked in a littlest tone as possible since some people/creatures just seemed like they really didn't wanted to work or enjoy life, leading them not to work.
"Yeah, hang on kid." The middle-aged egg gave a grunt, like a huffing noise, and typed with thick fingers cramming in to the keyboard that you really couldn't tell if she was pretending to type really slowly or that's the best she could do. She paused, frowned at the screen and talked again, "Kid, I need your ticket and your name son."
Toast put his toasty hand inside his left pocket, feeling some candy and a... paper! He pulled it out easily and handed to her short hands. "Toast Eatme ma'am. And here it is Mrs..."
He stopped shortly and noticed the dull nametag on the egg. After he saw the heart-breaking name tag of fun, he looked at her in a new angle.
Trying not to give a chuckle or whatever, he continued on, "...Mrs. Nightmarebelly."
"Whatever kid. So what time are you getting on?"
"The closest as possible"
"You mean the 5:15 AM one at Skippity Hop Aurora Rainbow of Pretty Rainbows and Flower Sunshine," She raised her stubby index finger and pointed out the window, "The one that looks like a rainbow-ish peacock." She paused and pointed east to a herd of seats, "You wait somewhere there until 5 or something.
Any questions?" She lifted her hand, holding the ticket and her face frowned; the usual.
At a snail's pace, he reached for the ticket and held it in his hands. Eyeing Mrs. Nightmarebelly nervously –that’s when he noticed her shaven moustache— he ran away with all his might to the group of seats, trying really hard not to scream or yell ‘Fire’. He sat next to an elderly man drinking hot chocolate and eating cookies.

The old man raised a white fluttery eyebrow at Toast. He nodded and spoke, not caring if Toast was agreeing to have a talk, "Well, is this your first visit to Easter?"
Toast glanced uneasily at him, and nodded, lifting his head.
The old man continued talking, his eyes glimmered at age, reflecting on the ‘good times’ and often dotted with amusement, "I remember the yen old days when I used to work on the Skippity Hop Aurora Rainbow of Pretty Rainbows and Flower Sunshine. Was one of the CEOs actually," He paused, took a sip of his tea, and glanced at Toast's way. "Listening now, are we?" After that, he added a chuckle, responding at the wide amber-eyed Toast.
"That’s cool . . . er, but –” He started, his thoughts trailing across his mind and possibilities, searching for a word, a sentence, a nice one too. He glanced back at Skippity Hop Aurora Rainbow of Pretty Rainbows and Flower Sunshine, and regretted he ever started the sentence at all. It was very hard to lie.
"Oh,” The old man responded. “You’re talking about – that, right?” Now he pointed to the direction of the plane, specifically, and nodded, understanding.
Toast simply nodded back, willing him to continue.
“. . . well, in fact, I didn't! This lady on the meeting said that the original blueprint design wasn't cute enough. So she changed it to what it looks like of right now." The old man muttered, frowning.
"Really?" Toast laughed and continued, "Did the name go along too?"
"You're a lovely guesser," He took a sip of his tea. "Eh, but no actually. We had a contest to the public… and that was the best one so far.” He took another sip and continued. “Ah, this tea is good! Hmm… smells a little but funky — Anyways, yes. We decided to go with Aurora Air, someone in the meeting chose it, but they said it wasn’t cute enough. Ah, well, I’m still proud of it, number one plane." The old man muttered and smiled, at the sight of Toast, he smiled in amusement.
"Okay, well, hi, I’m Toast Eatme."
"Toast, eh? Well, sir Toast, I am called Sage Heart." He stopped, and gently sat down his tea.
"My name is weird isn’t it?!"
“Eh, I guess so… but my name was a problem when I was young. I tried to act cool, or what the other guys called it. Sage-dawg, Sage-eh, Sage the Plant Man, Plant Gone Wrong, Will Wrinkled in Age Sage, and many more creative, dumb, names… ah, but who cares? I began to like the name Sage. It rhymes a lot, you know.”

A lady sitting not far called out, sitting in a tidy desk close to a well-shut door.
"Calling all future passengers going to Toastyness on," She gave a young chuckle.
"See what I mean?" Sage whispered into Toast's ear.
"... Skippity Hop Aurora Rainbow of Pretty Rainbows and Flower Sunshine, please proceed to this line here and get your tickets ready for an exciting ride!" The lady smiled and pointed to where people started the line, checking the tickets. She made casual airplane riding FUN! How ironic; people rode these at least once a week, if not, a month tops. Cars were so last year.

Toast got up, offering the old man a hand. So they walked and walked to the line. Eventually, the lady checked the ticket and they finally got their seat. Sage Heart and Toast had to separate, like all the good little not important characters do with the main character.
A-34, enjoy your ride! The ticket read and it echoed in Toast's mind, until he reached the seat row.
In the seat row, which it actually contained three seats; one on the window edge was taken by an egg. Since there were only three seats in the row, he ambled silently to the middle-seat, parking next to the egg.
The egg was about the age of him, which was like around eleven, who had a white shell and a yellow yolk face. The narrator was truly sorry for not including a long description, but hey, she had all the features that a typical chicken egg did with some extra ones. Use your imagination.
"Hi," Toast simply said, his head toward egg.
The egg jumped in spontaneous surprise with a gasp and turned around, away from the frosty window to the apologetic toast. “Holy OOOOspore!”
“Oops, sorry! Heh,” Toast apologized, his face sorry and embarrassed.
"No, no, it’s fine, really… So I guess you're sitting here?"
"Mm-hmm, and sorry for—scaring you."
“Ah, nah, I’m fine,”
“Well, then: Hi, I’m Toast,”
“I’m Egg. Er, this is very coincidental,”
“Eh, yeah, my parents aren’t very creative. Well, a lot of people think it's weird."
"I don't."
"You're the first, excluding myself."

Consequently, the conversation continued on, with more laughter and smiles as it went. Then it stopped, suddenly, until the third chosen sitter came out of nowhere. The chosen one arrived. The sight of him—walking through the aisle, throwing stuff everywhere, knocking down a little kid accidentally, muttering,. "A-35, A-35, A-35" gave a scary plot for a horror movie. Repeatedly.
In the seats, Egg gave an uneasy look and Toast grimaced.
"And finally! A-35!!! Oh, hello you guys, justice calls for me, Mr. Pohtatoe the hobo potato! To save the day by settling on this plane! Da da da di do da! Owwwwwwch! Oh yeah, thank you! Thank you!" He stomped, feet away from the seats, and when he's right about to sit and enter the row... BAM! He nicely bumped his head on the thing where you put your luggage in, creating a passed out potato on the floor. Oh Pohtatoe, not again.
Egg and Toast shared their faces and picked Mr. Pohtatoe up to his seat, his tongue sticking out on one end, creating like a comical expression of unconsciousness and one of a daily amusing meal of the day. They fastened his seat belt, because the scary attendant told them to.
The flight until they took off the seat belts did not take long. And to get back Mr. Pohtatoe to Toastyness took longer (to get him out of that state). For a while, Toast and Egg continued on to their conversation, which eventually made them pretty good friends.
Mr. Pohtatoe the potato woke from his dazing dream and picked his nose saying, "Oh, oh, what happened? Hey, it's you two again! What's up? I'm a superhero of the land Pwntato! Pohtatoe the hobo potato, I am! Ho ho ho ho ho! So, young'ins, what's your name? Ahahahaha! Mr. Potatoe saves the day, aw, man I’m awesome. Yeah, yeah, chow.”
"Aw man..." Toast whispered, making Egg give a small chuckled smile. And at that second, he saw another imagination sight again... this time filming a cola commercial then having a show in Vegas. And eventually become rich. Yeah right.
So the next couple of hours were quite boring, Pohtatoe bragged all sorts of his hero-wannabe “hobofied” life. The result of the talk was like this: At first Toast and Egg tried to listen... lost it on the 13th sentence: I feel pretty! ... Gave up... tried to resist sleeping... and eventually they ordered two blankets and fell asleep dead okay, fine, in deep sleep.
The next morning on the plane was filled with sleeping/sleepy people. You really couldn't tell if it was a morning, it depended on where they were, and he had no idea. Toast gave a whisper of a yawn and stretched, waking himself more.
Next to him, he felt Egg's light gentle breath, the moist fog deepening on the window. The window gave a show of the heavenly blue sky, really fluffy clouds in a delicate carefree way, all poofed up.
And Pohtatoe’s face was just embarrassing; his mouth was open in an angle, eyes closed shut, and his brows high up and matching his mouth as if saying “Ooh!” and fell asleep. He bought a camera a few minutes later.

[night]

Um..I didn't read all of it, but it sounds like a cross between Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy and Maximum Ride, except fro the part about the toast, that seems quite unfamiliar...

[Moony™]

Yeah, before writing this, I read Hitchhiker's. And LOVED the narration's voice. xD
Maximum Ride? I gotta read that. =)

Toast, yep it is.

[froststar]

YES YOU HAVE TO READ MAXIMUM RIDE! ITS REALLY AWESOME!

=cough= but anyway, I love the story, Moony! Toast!! Where the heck did you get that from?

[Moony™]

Yuppie!
And yeah, I read Maximum Ride, the first one -finally got it out of hold-. Man, THAT WAS TOTALLY AWESOME! xD
Toast was random... I listened to this iloveegg song and was inspired. So there's some eggs in my story, but the toast is the main character. Toast is random. Sheeeah.

[Bhuvana]

lolz! This is soooo random but I love it anyway!

OMG! I love the Iloveeggs song!!!!

[Moony™]

-gasp- =o
Seriously?!
Yayyyy! xD

[Bhuvana]

lolz xD

[miss. s k i p]

Oh mee goodness! I love Maximum Ride! AND the I Love Egg Song! Me and my neighbor videotaped ourselves singing it once for a music project! (then I did something weird where I dressed up like Mario and ran around with a wrench...which was completely irrelevant to the topic, but I did it! XD Then i realized that we had to show it to teh whole class, haha, but the funny part is that under my hat and mustache, nobody recognized me! XP

[Moony™]

Haha! I read Maximum Ride and it is one of my favorite series ever! Seriously amazing T^T!

xD Omg, I have to see that video!
Now there's the carrot song, milk song, and a bunch more. Doing that on karaoke is so much fun too~!