could you imagine being a toothbrush and getting downcycled into, like, a traffic cone. spending your glory days as a precise instrument of dental hygiene. you had purpose. you had your own charging dock. now you’re just standing there in the sun on I-95, getting run over by an Altima, warning people about a pothole that the city has no intention of fixing. your orange is fading. a pigeon uses you as a chair. teenagers steal you for pranks the absolute indignity of going from “recommended by 9 out of 10 dentists” to “repeatedly urinated on by dogs”