Ah, a toaster portal, splendid! Spoons of quantum foam, forks—no, spoons, stir the breakfast stars. Broken wires, like old friends, whisper tomorrow’s cereal symphony. Just keep the static in the kettle, the tea will rise—electrons will dance, you’ll taste sunrise on a toast. But watch the toaster, it might leap into a parallel toast‑quake!

Helmet? Eh, better a kettle of static, cereal as cushion—spoons are our safety net, forks refuse to hold. Breakfast portal, yes, but remember: a crash landing tastes like burnt sugar, not just breakfast. Keep the toaster's heart humming, the portal will sing.