Scratch

Sorry to hear about Butter, he was a dear friend.

WrongToast. That is so UN-SMASHING of you to impersonate people.

GhostOfButterToast wrote:

Interesting post Bitter.

I don't appreciate people posing as my deceased friend. It's disrespectful and most unsmashing of you 

I feel so bitter now, and it will take me a long time to type up the next segment.

@imnotbob: I'm sorry to hear you think that. I'm not quite sure why you believe this to be spamming, as I am posting, after all, smashing writings of ButterToast. And BenevolentToast crafted a beautiful eulogy--surely that counts as something he made and created?

BeautifulToast wrote:

WrongToast wrote:

BeautifulToast wrote:

WrongToast. That is so UN-SMASHING of you to impersonate people.

What!? Who am I impersonating! How UN-BASHING of you to claim such things! Especially in a time of grievance for our lost friend!

You know, it is a lot like a human to say UN-BASHING. True Toasts say unsmashing. Maybe you are a Toast, but a spy for the humans.

What!!! Preposterous!!! True toasts are true to their personalities and that's exactly what I am!

*/off/ topic
*ButterToast
Dear me, so many typos. Very not smashing.

This started off as a great story that I was getting interested in, but this is just turning into spam. 

This is actually spam... I think this should be removed.

Part Four
    So I remained at the Toaster for the next three years. All the world’s a stage, and the men and women (and I hope Toasts, too) merely players—and so my next role came into play. I thought of it as Act III in my life’s play. Act I was the happy years with my grandparents, and though attending the Academy was a bit change, it felt like the same part of my life; Act II was when my parents passed away and I was separated from my beloved brother.
    Act III was now.
    I was legally an adult, now, and Bright would be next year. In accordance with my parents’ will, their fortune was to be divided equally among their children; so I received half of it, a very good amount indeed. I had more than enough to buy myself a house, and to adopt Bright too. It was a very happy reunion, between the two of us.
    Bright was a professor at Oxford, and he urged me to go to college there. Being Bright’s closest relation, they naturally accepted me, and I spent several years there gaining more and more knowledge every day. I loved learning, but, I must confess, my true ambition was to teach. I had found out there was nothing I enjoyed more.
    When Bright grew up, he became more and more busy, and eventually moved into a house of his own. We still had lunch together frequently, but I felt it wasn’t the same. The years apart had subtly changed our relationship, perhaps forever.
    I earned my degree, and began teaching at a local college. It was there I taught Shakespeare, something I immensely enjoyed returning to, and met perhaps my most memorable pupil.

Part Five
    My first year of real teaching was actually quite smashing. My pupils were diligent, to say the least, and most had a talent for linguistics—being college students with English majors. This was a welcome change from the Toasty Academy, where the children often struggled, whined, and complained about their assignments. Also, I was more respected now that I had the dignified, stuffy title of “Professor ButterToast,” rather than being a fellow student tutor.
    Yes, the students were certainly not untalented. There were a few smashing compositions, here and there, but nothing really excited me. The years flew by in passionate literary bliss.
    I apologize, but I must backtrack a little. During my happy years of teaching, BenevolentToast and I met again. I was older now (but still quite young) and greeted him warmly. I realised I’d actually been quite lonely, and now I knew why. It was because students and fellow teachers were not enough. I did not have real friends.
    True, I hadn’t even noticed at first. There was no outright yearning for company; the nag was nearly undetectable. Oh yes, there was a reason for this, but it wasn’t clear to me at the time. When I was very young, my best friend was my brother, and I needed no other friend. And then, when I went to the State Toaster, I alienated myself from my peers much of the time; I had a few friends, but nobody that I felt truly close to or kept in contact with. It pains me to say I don’t remember any of their names, but if I did, I would remember them here in this autobiography. Most of the people I recognise as friends now are, or were, students of mine.
    (Like you, Mr. BitterToast. It occurs to me I’ll never be able to mentor your young sister, BookishToast; this saddens me, but I hope that you’ll encourage her in her reading. She has much potential. I’d like if you told her I said so, in hope she will pursue an English major, like her brother.)
    So I was very happy when this Toast returned to my life, and now that I was somewhat nearer in age to him, we became very good friends. Our friendship was complex, trusting and frankly incredible. Best friends despite having lived different lives in different times—this was truly remarkable to me. It remains that way in my eyes to this day. He is one of the ones I dedicate this book to1.
    His love of science remained avid, and though I was partial to the English language, myself, science did intrigue me. I helped him in some of his projects, only vaguely understanding my role on such occasions.
    BrightToast found my friend an intriguing person, and they got along well enough. Both found it thrilling to talk to someone similarly intelligent about such scientific matters as time travel. I left them to it. It surprised me, then, that BenevolentToast was better friends with me than my intellectually gifted brother.
    One day, when I had been teaching for a while and had gotten settled into the routine of students—always smart, but never quite what I was hoping for—a new student (who I mentioned a while ago) named BetterToast enrolled in my class. I’ve got to admit, he was unruly, uninhibited and sometimes arrogant; and he undermined my authority much of the time, especially when we debated about which literary works were more smashing. Yet, I’ve also got to admit, he was probably the most brilliant student I ever had the pleasure of teaching. I secretly enjoyed every second of our arguments. He was a real gem, the kind of student that makes a teacher’s career worthwhile.
    And then something happened that changed my life yet again. Act IV was nigh.
1See last page of this manuscript.

soupoftomato wrote:

cheddargirl wrote:

BitterToast wrote:

I am a bit dubious about the moving of a topic entitled 'My friend's /autobiography/' to 'Things / am Making and Creating'

What can I say, the Toast phenomenon here falls more on the role-playing side so this autobiography is clearly a piece of creative writing and belongs better in MaC. Although, if it falls more closer to the role playing side, the topic will end up closed and redirected to the TBG forums.

*closer
no more

My bad grammar habit. But the message is still understandable and should be taken to heart despite of the error.

Aw, this is a wonderful autobiography, Bitter.

BeautifulToast wrote:

Aw, this is a wonderful autobiography, Bitter.

you know ive always wondered
why dont you ever act like youre trying to be beautiful?