"Fred," you whisper gently into the non-existent ear of the blue Solo cup in your hand. "I shall call you Fred. Hello, Fred."
To your genuine surprise, a soft glow begins to emanate from the cup, which grows in intensity until it is almost blinding. With the increased brightness comes warmth, then searing heat, and you drop the cup onto the ground at the first tinge of pain. The cup hits the ground, not with the typical gentle tap of a plastic cup, but with a pronounced bang that borders on an explosion.
You hit the ground because of your extensive explosives training, which is what you call your biannual Die Hard marathons. When you're fairly sure further explosions will not follow, you lift your head and glance quite possibly the most horrifying sight in your life - a blue solo cup with slender, matte-black arms and legs and a set of googley eyes dancing on your kitchen floor.
"Hello!" the solo cup says.
After you are done screaming and peeing your pants, you manage a whimpering query: "W-what are you?"
"I'm Fred, silly!" chuckles the plastic monster, "I'm your friend!"
"Oh god," you cry.
"God has nothing to do with it! I was brought to life by your love and the power of friendsh-"
Fred's explanation is interrupted by your size 12 boot slamming down on his head. You stomp repeatedly until Fred stops moving. Then, you bring him outside and set him on fire.
"No one must ever know," you whisper as the orange firelight flickers across your face. "No one."