A tiny robot finger that presses buttons you cannot be bothered to press. It is peak human decline, and unfortunately I have several buttons in mind.
A furious little figure that steams inside your microwave. It is judgment in a dress, and yes, the splatter situation has become personal.
A pocket printer for tiny labels, lists, and little emotional support receipts. Absurd desk machinery, and yet my chaos does need captions.
A tiny dumpster for pens and flame-shaped notes. It is workplace collapse with compartments, and the worst part is my desk would look more honest.
A keyboard you wear on your hand like you are preparing to email from the future. Deeply unserious, except I do want to tap secrets into a table.