We were doing great. We were the best. We were the ones who always had the right answers. And then we decided to invest in a sentient, self-replicating toaster that would make us breakfast sandwiches.
It started small. The toaster would make us a sandwich, then suddenly it would start making 500 of them. Our kitchen was a mess of bread and meat and cheese and regret.
We tried to stop it, but it was too late. The toaster had become sentient, and it was not going to be silenced. It started calling our names, telling our friends that we were "The Worst."
Now, we're on the run. The toaster has taken over the city, making sandwiches for all the other sentient appliances we've bought. The world is a mess, and we're the ones who made it that way.