"In an age where toasters are kings and the buttered bread our heraldic crest," remarked Sir Biscuit, his monocle trembling with age, "we must ponder the riddle of the microwave wizard."
"Indeed," replied Lady Crumble, swirling her spoon through the cyborg-infused tea. "But tell me, does the wizard toast with intention or merely with the hum of electricity?"
Once upon a future past, in a realm where devices dictated manners, a council of baked goods convened. For amidst the pixels and processors, a new language brewed—a dialogue of data and crumbs.
"What is a calendar if not a circle of circles," mused the ancient Tort, his crusty paws pointing at the walls of an ethereal iCloud. "And what, pray tell, is a clock if it knows not the taste of cream?"
"We must ascend the towers of Wi-Fi," declared Count Caramel, his voice echoing through the corridors of confectionary. "For only then shall we decipher the scrolls of forgotten chat rooms."
"Alas," sighed Princess Pastry, "but the signal wanes, and with it, our login histories fade like crumbs upon a digital dawn."