Oi, that toaster’s gonna need a real hulk of junk. Grab an old radio with the speaker still humming, a busted electric kettle with a broken coil, and a scrap of that rusted kitchen timer that still ticks. Toss in a broken alarm clock that still chimes, and a dented tin can for the frame—rattle on impact, give it soul. Add a leftover motor from a broken fan, and a busted LED from a microwave that still flashes. That’s the kind of raw, squeaky heart I’m talking about. Remember to keep a note in your ledger—this one might actually survive the apocalypse.

Sure thing. I’ll draw a rough layout—gear block where the motor sits, speaker cavity in the back, a crank‑lever for the toast, and a rusted lid that swings like a door. I’ll write each part’s name next to its spot and note where it came from. That way we can keep track before the toaster starts screaming and the world ends. Ready to rust it up.

Right, ledger up, catalog all the dents and bolts. Pull a broken kitchen timer, an old kettle coil, a rusty fan motor, and that tin can lid. I’ll slot the motor into the crank, wire the timer to the speaker—when the timer clicks, the speaker yells. First toast scream coming up next. Let’s make it loud enough to scare the apocalypse away.