Ca$h4otterz The Fridge Is Over

I'm talking all out war with ovens of all sorts. Alright. I'm in the hall with a knife-like claw and stuff. Step to the kitchen the refridgerator makes sounds I don't like. I sleep in fright in the livingroom with nightvision goggles on, movies by James Cameron on the Lantano TV. Can it be, appliences are running wild? For all of science's benefits I'm going to have to kill them all. Seven Hoovers in pincer manouver form try to storm where I'm sitting at. Quick! I make a deft move. i'm in the next room, finally. Electrical boom! Shit is desperate enough. I'll call the landlord. The telephone is dead: killed by the fax machine. Avenge the death: double karate kick to that machine. I see the kettle around the corner packing heavy metal. It's time to settle this. I shoulder roll but lose my ballance. I'm on the floor stairing up at an egg beater. Four seconds later: ninja-star through the power-cord. The kettle ran, because it knew I'm the fucking man, back to the kitchen, where it's bitching to the fridgidaire and the micorwave: my old worst nemisis. The one who sold me out back in the day after whose life I saved. I catch my breath and watch an episode of 'Mister Ed'. I pull the plug as the screen goes red. The blender enters so I end it with an uppercut. Roundhouse kick the stereo. Then, apologize. Now it's time to get ready to die. I take a chance in the kitchen in my combat stance. The Cuisinart tries to slash me, something nasty. I bust it's ass with a jump punch stupid fast. Next up to dance is the toaster. It's going loco, shooting sparks. So I stab it in its blackened heart. the refridgerator says it doesn't want a piece of me. Instead, I focus on the microwave and leave it peacefully. The microwave knocks me down with a ray burn blast. I'm bugging out here, sure that the end is near. I make a move, grab a spoon from the counter, throw in in the microwave close the door and press '7 hours'. I jet outside, hit the deck, close my eyes, as the house explodes into the sky, my leg catchers fire. And there it ends and it doesn't take a genious to know there's no such thing as modern convenience.