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I toss the Hot Pocket in the microwave and turn it on, then go to feed my dog. With horror I see the tiny frozen pastry sitting next to the food bowl on the floor, and I hear a desperate tipping coming from the microwave, just before a soft, wet pop.

She couldn't even remember the last time she had been fed so well. If only her meal would stop screaming.

The label on the shredder warned 'Keep Hands And All Loose Clothing Away From Feed Slot', and I always meticulously did so. But that warning didn't prepare me at all for the moment when the shredder's maw gasped wide and lunges at me, hundreds of tiny whirling metal teeth writhing grinding towards my flesh.

He woke up in an all white room, and tried to sit up. But as he bended upwards, he realized his arms were where his legs were supposed to be, with stitch marks connecting them to his hip.

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