Toasters 'n' Stuff

Quick story? Yes, I dare say so - quick story:
When I was in second grade, we had a toaster. It was not just any toaster. It was an evil toaster. This thing was one nasty, hardcore, devastatingly scarring hunk of metal. It was hellbent on burning everything you put inside it (excuse the pun) no matter how little time it was in there for. Of all things, this toaster had to have an eye kept on it. If you were to leave it to its own devices (again, excuse my pun), it would probably find a way to burn down the house. You could put a piece of bread inside this horrible, horrible, Toaster of Satan for five seconds, and it would come out burnt to a crisp. It was terrifying. However, in spite of the pyromaniac of a toaster, I had a longstanding addiction to toast as a second grader. I would scrape off the burnt outer casing to get into the delicious, rather hard, warm, innards of a toasted piece of bread. Did I mention that I was rather accident prone? So here, we have a combination of a devilish toaster, an accident prone, toast addict of a child, and my constant need to supply the addiction. So what did the toaster do when I was retrieving my toast?
Why, it did the one thing that the toaster always did. It bit me! Er, wait, no, it burnt me.
IT BURNT ME!

I had quite the aversion to this toaster. However, I was an addict, it was my dealer, and there was no way to stay away from the demonic little mechanism. I depended on it.
So, one day, sick and tired of my fingers being burnt time and time again, I plunked a piece of toast into it, popped it back up and - terror of all terrors - prepared to extract my toast. I was filled with trepidation. What to do, in the face of such an inescapable menace? I, being a rather "smart" little second grader, had an idea.
I took a pair of tongs from somewhere else in the kitchen. I jammed them inside the mouth of the devil thing. I clamped them firmly around my toasty treasure, and I...

was electrocuted.

Need me to reiterate that? I was electrocuted. It had reached a whole new level of sheer, burning sadism, and   I had no way of knowing how it accomplished this. So, still without my toast, I tried it again, more forcefully this time. Guess what? I was electrocuted. Again. More forcefully this time. I decided that the tongs had some kind of evil toaster power amplification power, and abandoned it. There was no way I was trying a third time. There was no way I was sticking my now electrocuted hand into the toaster to get my bread, either. So instead, I fished out a butter knife. And I tried with the butter knife. Care to take a wild guess as to what may have transpired? I was electrocuted a third time. Three times, I was electrocuted. Three. Three times.
I abandoned the accursed toast and went to school.

My friends say that this story explains a lot.