Butter-Toaster 3000

Once upon a time, in a small English village called Quirkton, lived a man named Nigel who was well-known for his peculiar hobbies. Nigel wasn’t like the other villagers, who spent their days drinking tea or playing cricket. No, Nigel had a passion for inventing utterly pointless gadgets.

One morning, Nigel woke up with what he thought was his greatest idea yet—a toaster that could butter the toast for you. “It’s brilliant,” he thought to himself as he scribbled out a quick sketch at the kitchen table. “The world will finally recognise my genius!”

He spent the next few days working on the invention, welding odd bits of metal together, wiring circuits he didn’t entirely understand, and spending far too long arguing with his cat, Sir Pawsington, about where the butter dispenser should go. By Friday, the Butter-Toaster 3000 was complete. It was a magnificent contraption, albeit a bit oversized—roughly the size of a small washing machine. But Nigel was not one to let practicality get in the way of progress.

He invited the whole village over for a grand unveiling, convinced that this would be his moment of glory. Villagers arrived, intrigued, although many came just for the free sandwiches. Nigel stood before them, beaming, with Sir Pawsington perched on his shoulder.

“Welcome, friends! Behold—the Butter-Toaster 3000! A toaster that not only toasts your bread to perfection but butters it for you with precision only a machine can achieve!” he announced, pulling off a dusty sheet to reveal the monstrous appliance.

The crowd murmured as Nigel placed a slice of bread in the toaster and pressed the button. The machine hummed loudly, sparks flying here and there—slightly concerning, but Nigel assured everyone this was part of the “innovation process.”

Suddenly, with a loud pop, the bread shot out of the toaster, flew across the room, and slapped straight into the face of Mrs. Perkins, who had the misfortune of standing closest to the invention. Before anyone could react, the butter dispenser kicked into action, flinging a pat of butter with alarming force, which followed the bread, hitting Mrs. Perkins again squarely in the face.

For a moment, there was silence.

Mrs. Perkins, covered in butter, blinked, took off her glasses, and calmly said, “Well, it’s better than that talking washing machine he made last year.”

The crowd laughed, while Nigel stood in shock, muttering, “I’ll… adjust the settings.”

To this day, Nigel, undeterred, is still in his workshop working on the next big thing—an umbrella that doubles as a cup holder. “You just wait,” he says, “this one’s going to be massive.”