A rough night calls for a smooth coffee. Mine is made, and adding half and half turns the dark brew to the color of toast. The first sip signals the brain that we are indeed going to survive, and it can now lay down the hammer. Once my head recovered from the clanging low caffeine warning, a new threat arose instantly with the Westminster chime rendition of the doorbell. A toss of a plush toy into the soundproof room and slamming the door put an end to the baying of Igor’s hounds in the form of Twiggy and Tempeste.
The security camera could not pick up the idiot who cannot read the “do not ring the doorbell” note above it. “Who’s there?” is the challenge. “Letter for J. Howell,” the reply. The suggestion of leaving it on the porch was met with the age-old excuse of needing a signature. While thinking of all the times a signature was not required on items like proton torpedoes and machine guns, the security system shutdown is initiated.
The SWAT team needs to be put on standby. A quick text to the leader confirms that status. Also, the flight of A-10 Warthogs must be diverted. Another call to the commander puts that worry to rest. The SEAL team needs to be called off, and a call to the leader makes that possible. A call to the tow truck driver stops the deployment of an M1A1 Abrams Tank. The control panel simplifies the shutdown process of the security system. The boiling oil vats are put on standby, the turret mortars disengaged, the Trebuchet on safety, the concertina wire rolled, the Claymore mines reset, the tower Gatling guns on safety, the moat net dropped, the alligators fed, and the IEDs and shoulder-held rockets put away. The Proton torpedoes switched off. The gamma ray beams covered. The high-powered maser guns switched to standby, and the nanorobots were chained in the basement. The locks on the door are thrown. And the door opened.
Standing there is a little mouse who looks very much like Jerry from the cartoons. His clipboard is bigger than he is. He shoves it towards me, and my signature is recorded. He hands me the letter and sticks out his hand er paw. A classic quest for a tip. “Value experiences over possessions,” is my tip. Slamming the door and opening the envelope, I see it is from Linda Hill. It reads:
Your Friday prompt for Stream of Consciousness Saturday is “toast.” Use it as a noun, use it as a verb, use it any way you’d like. Enjoy!
To see what others have done with the prompt, visit Linda’s post. Here is the link.
https://lindaghill.com/2025/08/29/the-friday-reminder-and-prompt-for-socs-aug-30-2025/
Toast by John W. Howell © 2025
“You know there will be comments about slamming the door in the face of a cartoon icon.”
“You tell me what you tip a cartoon. Ink? Paper? Or what?”
“I would have gone for a piece of cheese and a slice of toast.”
“You just said that to get in the prompt word.”
“Maybe, but at least the cheese would have been nice.”
“This may surprise you, but I don’t carry cheese around in my pocket.”
“Short distance to the fridge.”
“And what? Leave the front door unprotected.”
“You been smoking weed?”
“No, why?”
“I sense a little paranoia.”
“Well. You know how I am about security.”
“Yeah, we all know.”
“What about the Uber?”
“It’s over there, but maybe we should get some armed guards to go with us.”
“Stop it. Over where?”
“There.”
“You have to be kidding me.”
“See that bench on the front. That’s for us.”
“That’s a giant flower pot.”
“True, but all we have to do is remove the brick and be on our way. Here, take these goggles.”
“What are they for?”
“Bugs.”
“Bugs?”
“Yeah, you don’t want bugs in your eyes, and I would keep your mouth closed as well.”
“How does the dribe see?”
“His problem, not ours. Let’s go.”
“I hope this works.”
“Small sacrifice for a VooDoo Ranger.”
Y
