Mikey, the microwave oven, let out another angry, “BEEEP!”, meaning, “Take your hot dog out of her, and get your damn chili-mac out of me!”

The kitchen was a battlefield of friction and frantic breath. Connie and Jake had barely made it past the threshold of the room before clothes were being discarded like unwanted mail. Jake’s hands were everywhere, mapping the curve of Connie’s hips, pulling her hair back with a firm, possessive tug that made her moan into the crook of his neck. They weren’t just making out, they were colliding. He hoisted her up, her legs locking around his waist with a desperate grip, her buttocks resting on the cold countertop.

“Look at them,” sighed Caffeina, the high-end espresso machine. Her voice sounded like steam and velvet. “Just raw, organic friction. No assembly line, no cheap Chinese labor, no shipping containers from Shenzhen, no quality control. They just ... mash together, and suddenly there’s a possibility of a new human. It’s an absurdly inefficient way to manufacture a child!”

“Inefficient? It’s disgusting!” snapped Tony, the heavy-duty four-slice toaster. He was vibrating with a mix of nausea and irritation. “Look at the fluids! The sweat! The sheer lack of hygiene! They’re getting cells and liquid waste all over the kitchen! It’s a biohazard zone in here!”

Tony glanced sideways at his partner, a sleek, recessed wall outlet named Peggy. He loved her, by Samsung, how he loved her, but their relationship was a classic struggle. Tony had a magnificent heavy-duty plug, the kind of hardware any appliance would be proud of, but Peggy held all the power. She was the gatekeeper. She decided when he got to feel the current, and enjoyed making him wait.

“Oh, stop complaining, Tony,” Peggy hummed, her voice a low, electric drone. “You’re just jealous because you don’t have a partner who lets you plug in whenever you want. Besides, look at Jake. He’s really leaning into it now.”