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Oh, boy!!!  This one might be hard to believe, but is true, never-the-less.  

My last wife....
Scourge of my life,
Taught me thru culinary torture...
It was wise to hide her kitchen knife...

One time, we got,
From her uncle,
Who owned a hot dog truck,
A couple of pounds of
his franks....
It seemed like good luck...

I was sitting in the livingroom,
Not too much long later,
When an explosion I heard,
As if a grenade had been
tossed through the window....
Perhaps some demented
Newlywed hater...
It seems, she'd thrown
those franks,
Into our oven,
Turned on the heat,
Like a roaring fire,
Beneath a huge,
Demonic stew pot...
Of a witches coven...

She failed to notice,
These franks were wrapped
up in plastic...
That exploded when heated,
Yes, her cooking was spastic.

Another time,
She announced she'd
Cook us up some steak,
Went right to the cupboard,
Where I watched as she did take....
A large bottle of vegetable oil,
Poured it into the skillet...
And plopped in the steaks,
Into which she added more oil,
In an attempt to just fill it!
I watched in amazement,
My eyes growing large,
I attempted to think up,
A way for me, of this meal,
A manner to dodge...

Oh, she was quite a pip!!
To her, gourmet food,
Was a Wise Poato Chip!

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