By Dominique HodnettOnce upon a time, a cheese grater was flying ribbons around the toaster strudel hot pocket, when all of the sudden, the frying pan came from left field and corner pocketed the fish bowl. Then, as if on cue, a marching band full of crab-apples taped a goulash full of microwavable sand chickens into a pot of Cajun fried arrest warrants. Eventually, a Marxist reform party came to my lizard's kitchen in order to pay homage to all of the lost taco bell receipts found at to Bottom of the transcontinental river. Needless to say, nothing was ever quite the same in the little abandoned tennis shoe factory off the northwest exit of the Hot Wheels track. To sum things up, you should never take unsolicited advice from a two legged dishwasher salesman. You might find yourself cleaning the rest of the pig fat off of the bottom of your refrigerator.