The Fridge's Midnight Rant

Last night, I woke up because my fridge snapped at me. Not creaked… snapped.

I walked into the kitchen and the fridge door slowly opened by itself. Inside,

every single item had moved—the milk was on the top shelf, the eggs were stacked like Jenga,

and the butter was wearing a slice of cheese like a tiny cape. Then the fridge

coughed and said, “BRO… shut the door. I’m literally freezing.” I screamed, slammed the door,

and ran—but as I left, I heard it mumble: “Also… we’re out of ice cream.

Do better.”