The blender had been a Christmas gift from Pete’s mother. It was July before he got around to it. The flashy packaging presented the blender in a proud light, and advertised its superiority. Bar graphs demonstrated its power, and pictures of smiling people brooked no argument. FEED ME ANYTHING! the blender was saying, in a speech bubble. “Okay,” Pete said in answer. He set out the mighty blender, then consulted the leftovers drawer in his refrigerator. Yams, hardened to stone. A steak with the bone in it. Peas aged into little green BB’s. These filled the blender’s spacious chamber. Pete…

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