When I was a kid, my mom decorated cakes in a bakery. Then she was a cop. I like the complete contrast in career choices here. It's a move that I would make, as I'm an animator who would like to someday be a vigilante.
Anyways, at some point my sisters, mom and her boyfriend Eddie, and I were all in the kitchen on a weekend morning eating breakfast. I think Eddie was reading the paper, and the rest of us were sitting down or making the breakfast.
Suddenly there was gunfire! Eddie yelled, "EVERYONE GET DOWN!"
We all hit the floor. As the bullet(s) rang out, we felt and heard the tiny beads fall around us---forgive my ignorance about bullets though, 'cause I don't know what these little beads are called.
The bullets were SO close, and yet as we looked around, no windows were broken, no holes in the walls. I guess after a certain amount of time we thought it was safe, so we all got up. Eddie and my mom checked outside. A mystery.
But as we examined the kitchen, and/or went back to preparing breakfast, we noticed that the toaster was imploded, bent outward, and sorta smoking. Then we noticed the unused bullets next to it and realized what had happened.
Before anyone used the toaster that morning, it had a cover on it---either an actual vinyl toaster cover or a dishtowel. My mom had lined some bullets up there on the covering, as her bullets were never kept in or with her gun. Or perhaps she had placed the bullets on the counter, and one of us had moved them to the toaster to get them out of the way. [Sounds careless, but we were afraid of guns, not bullets, and who in the hell ever expects bullets to go crazy without the guns?] Whoever used the toaster that morning had slid the covering off and let a bullet or two fall down in there. I don't know how we couldn't see this happen, but we did. And then when someone made toast, they toasted the bullets.
Toasted the bullets. This could only happen in our house.