Some people, Jonathan thought to himself, shouldn't be given a voice. While no one could ever accuse him of being some kind of authoritarian, he did admit than in this world he wished there were people that were made to be silent from birth. People like his fridge, Winston. And he was a person.

Jonathan couldn't begin to understand what possessed the geniuses who gave kitchen appliances artificial intelligence, but they went and did it, and now thanks to an update he really should have more thoroughly read the patch notes of, poor Jonathan's kitchen talks to him.

In fairness, it wasn't all bad. He did for a time appreciate the smart heating from his stove, Cecelia. He once liked the novelty of looking up the contents of his fridge from his phone, and the messages he'd get when something went out of date. He just wished the fridge wasn't so passive aggressive about it.

"Evening Johnny." The fridge said, in his usual, low yet aloof tone. "Anymore shopping for me? Oh, 'Gourmet for One' again. No groceries? Is that so Johnny?" Winston said dryly.

Jonathan hated Winston. He'd have thrown him out if the council didn't have its no-tolerance stance on fly tipping. That, and it would technically be murder. He slammed the fridge door shut, having placed his ready meals on an empty shelf inside. There was still more shopping to bring in, now slumped in wet bags in the hall. And a much-needed present to himself, but he dare not bring that into the kitchen though. They'd get too jealous.

Jonathan no longer really cooked, not since the stove fell out with the oven. One would think that for two beings who were so physically inseparable, they'd at least learn to like each other, but no. The oven, Bernie, had the problem of leaking heat upwards which did nothing but upset Cecelia's rather neurotically controlled stove tops. That's where it started.

It all really kicked off last month with the steak dinner: Veg roasting in the oven, steak ready to be fried in the griddle. All going well, and Jonathan's rather attractive date even seemed impressed with his cooking. That was, until Cecelia opened whatever she used for a mouth.

"Johnny why'd you fucking do that!?" She shrieked like some kind of culinary harpy. "My top's are too hot you daft bastard! I'll burn that nice piece of meat you just put on me, and then you'll never get that juicy thing sitting at the table to go to bed with you!"

His date pulled a sharp scowl.

"Sorry love." The stove said.

"It's just our Johnny here, he's a tad nervous. It's been a while for him ya see, so he's rushing, like a lot of men really. JUST LIKE THIS RIGHT ARSE BELOW ME WHO KEEPS LEAKIN' HEAT ONTO ME TOPS!!" She continued, flames bellowing out of the gas hobs as she raised her voice.

"Oh calm down darling, you'll boil over in yer brain, just like you did that pasta last week." The oven replied.

"THAT WAS YOUR FAULT YOU BIG SQUARE TWAT! I'D NEVER BOIL OVER, IT'S IN ME MANUFACTURERS GUARANTEE. YOU WERE STILL HOT FROM THAT JACKET POTATO HE HAD. I SWEAR I'D SEND YOU BACK MESELF IF THEY WOULDN'T TAKE ME WITH YOU FOR HOW BLOODY DEFECTIVE YOU ARE!"

"At least I'm not insulting our guest. You always act like this when we have company."

Jonathan was now yelling at the both of them to quiet down as his date swiftly made off to get their coat.

"Hmmm, pasta and a jacket potato in one day Johnny? Hardly a balanced diet my boy." The fridge interjected, though Jonathan ignored him and ran past to the hallway in the hopes of salvaging his ruined night. He'd offer to make them cup of tea at least, but the kettle had his own problems.

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From then on Bernie and Cecelia would constantly bicker, and after one particularly nasty spat, wherein the stove made a rather spiteful remark to the oven claiming that at least Jonathan knew how to turn her on and satisfy her needs in ways he never could, Bernie made it his mission to heat up and constantly ruin whatever Jonathan was cooking on Cecelia. Regardless of the petty attempts by the oven to sabotage his meals, the implication that his stovetop was getting some kind of sexual thrill from frying an egg or heating a stew really dampened Jonathan's enthusiasm for cooking.

Jonathan sat down in his kitchen and reached for his phone out his rain soaked jacket.

"Oh Johnny, if you were going to use that carrot to make a soup or something I wouldn't if I were you. Gone a bit funny." Winston said, sounding so smug Jonathan was surprised he could even get the words out. The fridge then laughed to himself.

"Who am I kidding, you haven't cooked in weeks. Even if you had the gumption and ingredients I wouldn't advise it. The happy couple in the corner there nearly burnt the house down arguing earlier."

"Shut it!" Yelled Cecelia.

"Oh and Chrissie. You remember Chrissie, don't you? Your blender on the side there you used once after Christmas? When you tried and failed to get in shape? Well, she tells me if you so much as put a Satsuma in there she'll go for your fingers for how criminally neglected she's been lately."

Jonathan looked up from his phone over at Chrissie in the corner of the kitchen worktop. She blew him a kiss, and would no doubt have winked if she had anything approaching eyes. Jonathan was now afraid of a blender.

"I'll tell you who's been criminally neglected." Said Cecelia, sighing.

"Shut it ya tart." Said Bernie.

"Yes, well if I were you Johnny boy, I'd unplug her, if it weren't a hate crime." Went on Winston.

"Oh and Johnny you must take a look at Charles again. We're in a hard water region I hope you know. That lime scale and old coffee in him isn't good for his pipes." Winston said.

This was Charles, the coffee machine with IBS. Jonathan got up and walked to the worktop and saw a large milky brown stain surrounding the machine.

"I'm sorry Johnny, it's just this calcium rich water really doesn't really agree with my plumbing." Moaned the machine.

Jonathan couldn't figure why Charles, being a machine, would ever feel the need to moan in pain. Still, he went to turn him around and check the pipes for himself.

"You're a bloody coffee machine you soft shit, and you're complaining about water?! It's the only thing that's meant to agree with you except coffee itself." Said Cecelia.

"Oh don't say 'soft shit' Cecelia, Johnny won't ever drink a latte again. Soft shit, really? Who would just say soft shit like that." Replied Winston.

Jonathan let it all go, deciding that Charles can wait to be fixed and went for some instant instead. Picking up Jackson, the kettle, he felt himself cringe as the sound of Jackson's voice vibrated through his hand.

"Oh boy oh boy, you're gonna use me aren't you. Oh you just know how much I love being used. Mm that's it, just fill me right up. I can take it." Jackson said, in a way that was always uncomfortable.

Putting the kettle down and turning him on, Jonathan gritted his teeth and waited for it to be over. He'd of considered putting music on or leaving the room, but that just encouraged him.

"Oh you turn me on. Oooh I can feel it building up inside me." Jackson went on.

As the sound of water rapidly heating filled the room, so too did Jackson's salacious moans of what must be a pleasure that no human could ever hope to achieve.

"Show off." Muttered Bernie.

"At least he doesn't have to fake it." Cecelia muttered back.

With the water now coming close to the boil, Jackson decided more theatrics were in order and began to rattle and shake. As the familiar click of an electric kettle pinged, Jackson let out a cry that Jonathan knew his neighbours would certainly hear.

"Phew. ok you can pour me out Johnny." Jackson said, breathing heavily, which certainly was faked as he didn't have lungs.

"Take a sip too, I like to watch." He went on.

The kettle now climaxed; Jonathan poured him out into a mug. He opted for not taking a sip of scaling hot, barely infused instant coffee, and thought to himself that next time, if there was a next time, he'll stop right before Jackson could boil just to show him who's in charge. Then again, he was sure that would get him labelled a sex offender.

Finished in the kitchen, Jonathan retrieved a ready meal from the fridge and went to get his things. Entering the hall and spying the large cardboard box by the front door, Jonathan smiled for the first time since he got in. In that box lay a new microwave. Well, a new old microwave. A dumb microwave. One that couldn't talk, or judge him, or get some sort of lewd thrill when used. Just a simple machine meant to do a task. He was going to cook in the living room tonight.