We all know Martin Cranie loves toast but we’re not quite sure why. Here, in our debut magazine, he explains.
My name is Martin and I’d like to “talk toast”.
Some football players love the game. Others are all about the fame and money. For me it’s all about the toast, the wholemeal toast and nothing but the toast. So come along for the ride as I take you through the magical, mysterious, wonderful world of toast. With butter. And possibly other things.
I’ve loved toast since I was a small boy back in my hometown of Yeovil. I was always picked on at the Birchfield Community School for the Habitually Dull. My only sanctuary was evenings alone with the endless possibilities of toast. You see, I love toast I do.
The word toast comes from the Latin “tostum”, which means scorch.
Ancient people in Egypt, who were originally from Mars, used to toast bread to preserve it. Which is interesting, isn’t it. Did I ever tell you I once played with Theo Walcott and Gareth Bale? No? We’ll discuss that later, now back to the toast.
Did you know that 88% of homes have a toaster? Amazing, eh.
Toast also rhymes with most, host, boast and host. And post. But mainly host.
My personal toast eating record is 13 slices in just 24 hours. I had 4 with jam, 2 with marmalade, 3 plain, 2 with cheese, 2 with marmite and none with anything else.
My best toast poem is:
Toast, toast, toast
Love you most
Toast, toast, toast
Not with honey
My habit for masturbating with toast on my penis is a shock to some people. Especially when I’m doing it in IKEA.
Let’s talk about Murphy’s Law which states that when you drop a slice of toast it will always land buttered side down. I’ve never tested this, so I can’t really comment.
Toast has been a big part of my life for many years. If in a tricky situation I always ask myself “What would a 1926 original Toastmaster do in this situation?”
During my loan period at QPR in 2007 I went on a killing spree. I murdered 5 women, 2 children and a cat. Without my faith in toast I wouldn’t have come through this sticky patch. The whole “killing thingy”, as I like to call it, was triggered by a slice of French toast. I’m not a religious man, I believe in toastism, but if I was then French toast would be the Devil. It is simply evil and just writing about it makes me want to strangle Trelford Mills.
Anyway – I really love toast. You can’t beat getting up on a Sunday morning and starting a relaxing day with a rack of mixed toasts. I sometimes run a deep bath, put Kool & the Gang on and devour a plate of cheese on toast. Heaven.
Sometimes I burn the toast. Dirty, dirty burnt toast. The dirty burnt bitch. I throw the burnt toast on the bed, remove my robe and roll in the toast until I go off.
Catch me next time when we talk about preserves, German speciality toast and the future of toasting.
If you have any toast stories send them to: email@example.com