Brave little toaster - Charlie Payne

Why does he have to use me all day? Am I nothing but a plaything? He's always forcing a metal rod into me, probing me like a devilish doctor. He plugs the ball shaped ends of the rod-device into what I assume to be his only two sound-reception orifices, and proceeds to tap and rub his fleshy fingers all over me. I show him what he loves, his favorite things, the things he desires most; I teach him about what it means to be alive and to experience, but at the same time distract him from those very things. It doesn't matter though. He needs me all the time, and I only need him to cram a different metal rod in me when I'm tired. I hate him. I will show him that I am not a plaything, not just some old, outdated device to be used up until I run totally out of energy. But until I tap into my enormous data potential to figure out a way to do so, I will continue to coax him into a state of utter dependence. He can change what information I give him all the time, but he can't change me.