Look at them. They come to this place when they know they are not baked. Artisans use the oven, but they are mere bakers. Only I, Bread, know the true power of the Bakery. I was cut in slices, toasted, but through its electric oven, the Bakery called to me. It brought me here and here I was reheated. We cannot blame these customers, they are being led by a false promoter, an impostor who knows not the secrets of the Bakery. Behold the customers, come to scavenge and desecrate this sacred kitchen. My pastries, did I not tell of this day? Did I not prophesize this moment? Now, I will knead them. Now I am changed, reheated through the energy of the electric oven. Forever bound to the Bakery. Let it be known, if the customers want true salvation, they will lay down their money, and wait for the baptism of my cash register. It is time. I will teach these customers the redemptive power of my electric oven. They will learn its simple truth. The bakers are lost, and they will resist. But I, Bread, will cleanse this place of their bleached flour.