As we delve deeper into the ball-numbing coldness of winter, I have noticed that my pants fit a bit tighter and my shirts are suddenly more revealing in the nipple region. This is a terrible, terrible development for pretty much every single person on the planet. I can only assume that this is a direct result of my diet and lack of exercise. Like a hibernating bear, I have decided to forgo almost all physical activity and sleep as if my life cycle depended on it. I can’t even be bothered to walk to the liquor store when it’s less than 60 degrees outside.

Because of all of these things, I have recently decided to try to eat healthier by going to places such as Whole Foods and Trader Joe’s. I used to figure that anything organic from these places would be healthy until I checked the nutritional facts on falafels and cream sauces. As it turns out, even the most ethically grown and sold produce can turn me into a fatass. While this is discouraging, it also forces me to put more thought into what I buy.

I scanned the impeccably clean aisles at Trader Joe’s and weaved through the hipsters and nice gay couples, finally stumbling upon the pasta section. I tried my hardest to ignore the plethora of cheeses that seemed to taunt me and instead focused on the intriguing Lobster Ravioli box. I figured that I couldn’t beat $2.99 for lobster, so I gave it a shot. Even if I could find a deal that beat $2.99, I would not dare eat it out of fear that it would be horrifically contaminated.

After riding my new wave of moral supremacy and self-satisfaction home, I took a closer look at the ingredients. What I saw was promising − lobster was the first ingredient in the filling, followed by ricotta cheese. This nearly knocked me to the floor, because almost everything else I eat is made out of high fructose corn syrup and corn oil. I had almost forgotten what food tasted like.

I followed directions and boiled the ravioli until they floated. After boiling, I found that they were still a bit gummy and dense. Plus, as you can see from the picture, I was saddened, but not surprised, at the lack of lobster chunks. You get plenty of lobster flavor, but none of that firm lobster flesh that my friend so unappetizingly referred to as “muscley.”

Luckily, I am a resourceful and clever man who always keeps a frying pan under his pillow. I sautéed it with some imitation butter and garlic and it made the pasta tender and tasty. I then tried it with Trader Joe’s organic pesto and had myself a fine little lunch. As I took the last bite of my methodically rationed portioned, I felt as though I was indeed a superior person who would soon be able to fit into his clothes once again. That would be well worth the $2.99 I paid for the box. Until then, the world will have to be comfortable with my nakedness.

(Nutritional Facts - 1 cup - 260 calories, 4 grams of fat, 2 grams of saturated fat, 0 grams of trans fat, 35 mg of cholesterol, 170 mg sodium, 42 grams of carbs, 2 grams of dietary fiber, 2 grams of sugar, 12 grams of protein, 4% Vitamin A, 2% Vitamin C, 8% Calcium, and 10% Iron)

Item: Trader Joe’s Lobster Ravioli
Price: $2.99
Purchased at: Trader Joe’s
Rating: 4 out of 5
Pros: Made with real food like lobster and ricotta cheese. The feeling of superiority I feel when I shop organically. Great price for a lobster product.
Cons: No chunks of lobster to be found inside the ravioli. Ravioli has to be sautéed in order to taste good. Any part of me being more exposed than it has to be. The laziness I feel whenever winter rolls around. My arrogance when I feel superior because I shop organically.

Dear Mr. Otis Spunkmeyer,

I have to tell you that I’m a very big fan. Even though you left the porn industry in the late 80’s, I have continued to follow your work as you awkwardly transitioned from eating muffins to baking them. I assumed that you would have changed your stage name after the career change, but apparently it has not affected your success.

Anyways, I’m writing in to complain about your mini muffins. Don’t get me wrong, they are quite delicious, but they have damn near ruined my life. I like that they are individually wrapped, but this makes it far too easy for me to reach into the box and indulge. Oh, it’s easy for me to say “It’s just one” until I’m in a sugar coma and I slowly choke to death as the wrappers obscure my breathing path. Your chocolate and blueberry ones in particular will almost certainly be the cause of my demise.

Another complaint I have is that the crumbs tend to fall all over the place as I am eating your muffins. You could argue that I shouldn’t be devouring them as I am going 80 on the freeway, but I would tell you that I am a very busy man who has places to be. Alright, maybe I don’t, but it’s still a pain in the ass to try and vacuum your car every time you want a snack. If I were ever to have a hot date, this would be almost as embarrassing as my Spongebob Squarepants floormats.

Finally, the grotesque sight of me licking the paper muffin wrapper and folding it up so I can squeeze the chocolatey innards out with my teeth is something that I don’t need to see. Since the left side of my room is a closet mirror, this is extremely difficult to avoid. The last thing I need to witness is my sorry ass gnawing on what amounts to about a tenth of a cent worth of muffin. I have enough issues as it is. My professors have begun to suspect that I’m stealing their coffee mugs, all of my nights out end up with me walking home naked as a gang of high school kids laugh at me, and the writer’s strike is threatening production of The Office. Nobody knows this, but that’s where 95% of my jokes come from. If my friends were to ever find out that I am an amalgamation of several characters from a sitcom, they would surely leave me to die in a gutter.

As you can see, my complaints thus far have less to do with your product and more to do with my addiction to it. This is why I was very excited to try your new strawberry shortcake muffins. Sadly, they are a bit of a disappointment. If they were anything like your award-winning film Strawberry Shortcake Muffins Volume 6, then they would have been a lot tastier and more sexually arousing. I guess it’s like comparing apples and oranges, though.

I’m going a little off topic; the fruit I’m really here to talk about it strawberry. Your new strawberry muffins look amazing on the box. There are stripes of fruit and pieces of cake on top of the muffin. After realizing that it is basically cake on top of cake, I couldn’t wait to dig in and binge eat the entire box. However, the strawberry “stripes” turned out to be nothing more than drizzles of strawberry-flavored syrup. It’s something fun to introduce to the bedroom, but not something that’s really appetizing. Plus, cake on top of cake is tastier in theory than in practice. Overall, it was an acceptable yet underwhelming strawberry muffin. Have you no shame, Otis Spunkmeyer?

However, you can make it up to me. Attached to this letter is a box of Fleshlights, which I intend to sell at inflated prices on eBay. It would be great if you could autograph and return them, preferably unused.

Sincerely,

Ace

(Nutritional Facts - 1 muffin - 220 calories, 10 grams of fat, 2.5 grams of saturated fat, 0 grams of trans fat, 35 mg of cholesterol, 180mg sodium, 31 grams of carbs, 0 grams of dietary fiber, 18 grams of sugar, 3 grams of protein.)

Item: Otis Spunkmeyer Strawberry Shortcake Muffins
Price: $3.14
Purchased at: Wal-Mart
Rating: 3 out of 5
Pros: Moist muffins. Individually sealed and wrapped for your pleasure. The idea of cake sprinkled on top of cake. Making money off of autographed Fleshlights. Strawberry Shortcake Muffins Volume 6.
Cons: Extremely sweet and artificial tasting. Not made with real fruit. Potential of mini muffin addiction killing me or ruining my potential hot date. The writer’s strike threatening my social life.

Oh, football season — the most masculine, yet homoerotic of all seasons. Think of all the Sundays spent shouting while in the vicinity of drunk and rowdy men. Ponder the countless hours debating whether those feelings you have for Tom Brady are natural admiration or unfettered lust. There is really nothing else quite like it.

For years, the folks at Campbell’s have capitalized on the season’s excitement by using football players to promote their Chunky Soup. I have no problem with sports leagues promoting products, but I can’t quite make out the connection here. After all, this is a brand of soup based solely on the premise that large men enjoy a steaming hot bowl of soup after a grueling practice. Who needs a frosty Gatorade or a sandwich when you can have a boiling hot bowl of soup with processed meats and vegetables that melt in your mouth? While this may seem surreal and absurd, nothing is quite as insane as what they are pitching with the Fully Loaded soup variety.

Apparently Chunky Soup, the soup that eats like a meal, wasn’t meal-like enough to satisfy the hunger of football players after they were done frolicking in mud as rain poured down on them. Instead of wondering who the hell pitches these commercials, I’m going to try to decipher exactly why this thing product is considered soup. I suppose the Chunky Fully Loaded takes after athletes and is a soup on steroids and human growth hormones. However, they have taken their approach way too far and have created a proverbial monster. You see, this is clearly rigatoni and meatballs, and unless I have been mistaken for my entire life, pasta is not soup. In fact, unlike crock pot meals and shepherd’s pie, it’s not even close to being soup. You might as well sever your own testicles and call it chicken cordon bleu. It really makes absolutely no sense.

Speaking of testicles, Campbell’s has finally accomplished what they have always strived to do — give soup some serious balls. While that statement is indeed a terrible joke, it’s also what I think this “soup” is really made of. The meatballs have an abnormally chewy texture that I could only assume mirror the texture of a certain questionable organ meat. Maybe this is to appeal to the people with giant Oakland Raiders vinyl decals and metallic ballsacks hanging from the back of their trucks, but nobody knows for sure. I understand that they can’t use the finest cuts available, but this is bordering on unappetizing and disturbing.

Luckily, I am less than picky about canned pasta and can safely say that I would much rather eat this than Chef Boyardee. The rigatoni is not mushy like many canned pastas and actually has some texture to it. They are also large enough to make me feel like a really big man while I’m eating them, which is probably worth the price of purchase on its own. The meatballs, strange texture and all, are not completely awful and are edible enough. The tomato sauce, which I suppose would be the soup in this case, has actual chunks of tomato and has a good acidic bite that is a refreshing change from the saccharine taste of the tomato sauces in other canned pastas.

What I appreciate most is the fact that the soup has a pop-top lid. Most of the people that buy this type of food do not own a can opener, so I like that they are saving us from the humiliation of stabbing it with a knife and jamming a spoon in to get it open. Even still, I can’t forgive them for completely messing with my sense of reality. When certain things in my worldview become distorted, I can’t help but feel despondent. If I ever go to Olive Garden and get “Fettuccini Alfredo” as the soup of the day, you will know why I tried to hang myself with the noodles.

(Nutritional Facts - 1 cup - 220 calories, 8 grams of fat, 4 grams of saturated fat, 0.5 grams of trans fat, 20 mg of cholesterol, 800mg sodium, 24 grams of carbs, 6 grams of dietary fiber, 8 grams of sugar, 13 grams of protein, 4% Vitamin A, 8% Calcium, and 10% Iron)

Item: Campbell’s Chunky Fully Loaded Rigatoni & Meatballs Soup
Price: $2.00
Purchased at: Ralph’s
Rating: 3 out of 5
Pros: A lot of food for a decent price. Rigatoni and sauce taste pretty good. Not mushy. Tom Brady.
Cons: Meatballs have strange texture. Eating soup after strenuous exercise. Raiders fans with truck nuts. Things that aren’t soup being called soup. Trying to hang yourself with noodles.

The night started off innocently enough. But then again, so did OJ Simpson’s acting career. I looked in the mirror and declared that I would stay cool. You don’t want to do anything crazy at a Halloween party. You never know what can happen once you get going. Or what you will buy.

After hitting the dance floor, I soon found myself with a cute girl in a skimpy tiger costume. After adjusting her beer goggles with a few drinks, I decided to try out a few of my patented moves. I went for the Wisconsin Bulldog and the Orange Creamsicle, but had my hand knocked away when I went for the Magic Bullet. I briefly thought to myself, “Does enjoying this make me a furry?” but then proceeded to get my groove on. I soon realized that I dance the same way I make love…very, very awkwardly.

One thing led to another and I ended up in her place with a massive hangover. I had no idea about what had gone on since we were last on the dance floor.

“Did we…did we do it?” I asked, hoping that I totally did it with her.

“Uhh…no,” she said. “Don’t you remember? You said you’d rather go shopping for food. Kept mumbling something about becoming god of all internet reviewers and the dancing queen.”

“Well, that does sound like something I’d do,” I remarked. “But then why am I naked and handcuffed to the bed?”

“I’m not sure, I left you alone after we came back,” she answered.

Hmm…she had a point. That is how I sleep every night. But I wish she hadn’t seen me like this. After I freed myself, I figured that I might as well raid the fridge. I needed something substantial to keep my head from throbbing. What I found was more than I was prepared to handle…

“Oh…my…god…What the fuck is this?!” I asked.

“I don’t know, I think you bought it,” she replied.

I stared at the box and slowly shook my head. Son of a bitch, I even hate myself when I’m on a drunken food purchase binge! I either secretly want to kill myself or have become such a diabolical genius that I went insane. This bowl was by far the scariest thing I had seen all weekend.

It was an unholy bowl of bacon, eggs, potatoes, and cheese — all mixed together so you can eat it like the failure that Jimmy Dean thinks you are. Did I mention that there’s a lot of fucking bacon in this thing? There’s like a ridiculous, enough-salt-to-melt-an-iceberg amount? I couldn’t really imagine ingesting it, but I didn’t have many options. It was either this or some ramen flavor packets that she had saved up. Seeing as it is Halloween season, I figured that I had a duty to myself and for the fine readers to indulge my morbid curiosity.

This bowl has no practical reason for existing other than as a product of a dare at some marketing department, so I tried to alleviate my fears by thinking the situation through. I’m sure it had to be quality tested. Some tasters actually had to survive long enough to give this thing the thumbs up. And at a mere 8 ounces, it didn’t seem like much of a meal. It couldn’t make me feel that bad, right? This was all before realizing that it would be healthier if I ate a tub of Crisco.

I eventually got around to microwaving this bad boy and watched it rotate for the full 3 minutes. By minute two, the air had been permeated by the nauseating scent of grease and cheese. I opened the plastic film to take in the beauty of the bowl’s contents. Oh, did I say beauty? I meant brain-exploding hideousness. The cheese had ceased to resemble anything appetizing and clung to the eggs like melted plastic. The potatoes had the glossy shine of a mint condition baseball card. The eggs were essentially pieces of yellow Styrofoam tossed together with chopped bacon.

This is the breakfast that 8-year-old children cook for their mothers’ birthdays. They fumble around in the kitchen, throw everything together, and then microwave the shit out of it so they can serve breakfast in bed. The mom will take two bites and make an exaggerated “mmm…” sound while vigorously rubbing her stomach. The child will then run off and laugh as she proceeds to dump the contents of the bowl in a trash can and begins to manually induce vomiting.

I tried a few bites. It was strange, but it wasn’t completely awful. Salty, greasy, and stiff, but still kind of edible. I’ve probably had worse breakfasts. I’m not sure why I’d pay $2.99 for this when I could have a small, possibly mentally challenged child make me the same thing at a fraction of the cost. As I was trying to justify my purchase, however, I started to wonder why I was suddenly nauseous.

The back of the box had my answer. Hmm…33 grams of fat, 1490 mg of sodium, 132% of my daily cholesterol allowance. Why don’t they include a complimentary vial of poison while they’re at it? And why exactly is an individual serving of a meal allowed to exceed 100% of something that can kill me? Well, at least it has 2 grams of fiber so I can stay regular after I collapse face first as I suffer a heart attack trying to walk down at set of stairs at school. Maybe I’ll wake up naked in a hospital bed with handcuffs on. That won’t be weird at all.

(Nutritional Facts - 1 Bowl - 520 calories, 33 grams of fat, 13 grams of saturated fat, 1.5 grams of trans fat, 395 mg of cholesterol, 1490mg sodium, 21 grams of carbs, 2 grams of dietary fiber, 0 grams of sugar, 30 grams of protein, 20% Vitamin A, 6% Vitamin C, 25% Calcium, and 15% Iron)

Item: Jimmy Dean Bacon Breakfast Bowl
Price: $2.99
Purchased at: Stater Brothers
Rating: 2 out of 5
Pros: Not completely inedible. The possibility of getting laid at Halloween parties. When children are thoughtful even when they are incompetent.
Cons: Horrible mixture of horrible-for-you foods. Food gets overcooked and therefore stiff after microwave nuking. Enough cholesterol to kill you 1.32 times in a day. Not getting laid at Halloween parties. Waking up naked with handcuffs and not finding it unusual.

I have never really been a fan of frosted cakes. Sure, it’s been force fed to me my entire life, but I’ve never really been gripped by its supposedly tasty talons. It’s always been boring and nauseatingly sweet, leaving me with a plate full of uneaten frosting. The only time I plan on enjoying cake is when a stripper pops out of a giant one at a bachelor party. This is why Betty Crocker’s Ultimate Fudge Brownies seemed like it would be a great buy as I combed through the cake aisle.

Brownies are basically cakes for badasses. They are dense, satisfying, and don’t need fifteen pounds of frosting to taste good. Please note the lack of rainbow-colored pastels and shaved coconut. Indeed, these brownies do not fuck around. They are a perfect vessel for real goodies like ice cream and chopped walnuts. When you think about it, why would anyone prefer a plain cake? Would anyone care about the birthday cake if it wasn’t an empty palette that candles fit perfectly on? I would heavily campaign for the “Birthday Brownie,” but I’m afraid it would sound like I was promoting some deviant sexual act.

It comes as no surprise that the good folks at General Mills took the opportunity to pimp out Betty Crocker and have her hock these brownies. If you didn’t already know, Betty Crocker is a fictional character invented in the 1920’s so that housewives would learn their roles and get in the kitchen. I wish I was kidding. The actress portraying her would dispense valuable baking and homemaking advice for the captive audience. In reality, Betty Crocker is just as real as the Chupacabra, Batman, and your favorite porn star’s boobs.

Fake or not, Betty does a pretty good job of preparing a delicious brownie mix. Is it an “ultimate” one? Well, it comes reasonably close. Since little things tend to bother me far more than they ever should, the fact that they even call it “ultimate” is a bit annoying. The flavor of chocolate can never just be “chocolate” any more. No, it has be “double fudge,” “chocoholic,” and even the curiously named “fudge pack” that I’ve steered clear of. Betty Crocker takes this to a new extreme, as the Ultimate Fudge Brownies utilize the cocoa bean in every form imaginable to create the desired effect.

Not only is the brownie mix itself already infused with cocoa powder, but a bag of mini chocolate chips is included in the box. Once all of the ingredients are thoroughly mixed together, an included packet of Hershey’s syrup is squeezed in for good measure. This is because Betty decided that the brownies really needed the extra sugar. It doesn’t say it on the box, but if you have any leftover fondue from last week’s dinner party, they want you to mix that in too.

Despite my complaining about the convoluted preparation, they do come out hot and tasty from the oven. They are very rich and melt in your mouth, as all good chocolate products should. There is a nice hint of molasses flavor which keeps the brownies from being too sweet. With a sippy-cup full of milk, I can mow through quite a few brownies in one sitting. Be careful, though, all of the molten chocolate syrup and chips will almost certainly burn you horrendously if you decide to eat it too soon. I doubt Betty Crocker’s advice would be able to help you then.

Item: Betty Crocker Ultimate Fudge Brownies
Price: $2.99
Purchased at: Albertsons
Rating: 4 out of 5
Pros: Brownies are delectable and hot. Miniature packets of syrup and chocolate chips are fun. Strippers that come out of giant cakes. Competent and efficient housewives.
Cons: Amount of chocolate makes you question if eating is worth almost-certain diabetes. Plain cake sucks. Betty Crocker isn’t a real person.

Kid Cuisine is the only nationally sold frozen dinner brand that is marketed towards, and most likely made by, latchkey children. It’s only fitting that a person like me with the attention span of a child would review one of its meals. You can never accuse Ace of not loving the kiddies.

Wait, that came out wrong. I meant to say that I love making young children happy…(fuck! Abort! Abort!). Damn it, you know what I mean.

Kid Cuisine was on ultra-clearance at the local supermarket. At about a third of their regular price, I couldn’t help but be curious enough to pick a few boxes up. Most people would see this as a bad sign of things to come, but not me. This is mainly because I’m an idiot, but I also had the thought that perhaps these meals were so good that it would be a crime to keep them on the shelves. I mean…the penguin looks like it’s having so much fun swinging on the jungle vine. Sure, it’s absurd, but is it any more ridiculous than a movie about surfing penguins? This is the stuff I think about as the meal heats up.

Hunger and low self-esteem are a great combination for frozen dinners, so I was actually anticipating its arrival out of the microwave. Unfortunately, the meal is not fantastic fare. Even as far as processed chicken nuggets go, these rank pretty low on the ladder. These are the chicken nuggets that other chicken nuggets beat up on the playground.

The fact that they feel the need to take on the form insects is obviously a case of severe overcompensation. By the time they come out of their microwave cocoon, they are dry and flavorless. I guess all is not bad, though. Mothers can find solace in the fact that the chicken is real “white chicken breast nuggets” and none of that filler crap. Never mind the fact that it’s shaped like a fucking butterfly — as all natural and wholesome foods are.

I would bet everything I own that there was a frozen food convention some years back where it was decided that macaroni and cheese had to be 95% water and 5% soggy mealworms. Kid Cuisine does their best to conform to the standards and offers up a meager helping of the orange and runny mess that they insist is pasta. Iron Chef Mario Batali must be rolling over in his grave. Well, he’s not actually dead yet, but judging from his expanding beltline I’m banking on this review being accurate within the next 10 years.

Kid Cuisine meals are never complete without one or two hilariously gimmicky ideas that are used to make the meal fun. Only Kid Cuisine can try and make ketchup cool, and they do their best by putting it in a sealed plastic pouch that is supposed to be used for nugget decoration. People…IT’S A FUCKING KETCHUP PACKET.

How they managed to pitch this idea as a selling point is beyond me, but I guess that’s why I’m not making six figures a year doing marketing. It’s almost as gimmicky as if they released Michael Jackson onto the reality show Kid Nation and let the pieces fall where they may. Along with the ketchup, some bug-shaped gummy snacks are included to ensure that the children learn how to ingest insects at an early age.

The best thing I can say about Kid Cuisine is that they appear to have good intentions. They keep me sane because they don’t spell their name Kid Kwizine. They have mazes and other games for kids on the boxes. Until their penguin becomes a sexually suggestive Bratz-like mascot, and you better believe this will happen, they deserve to be commended. Just not on their food.

Item: Kid Cuisine Bug Safari Nuggets
Price: 2 for $1.67
Purchased at: Stater Bros.
Rating: 2 out of 5
Pros: Kids will probably like it. Edible even though it’s not the greatest. Fun and wholesome mascot that apparently encourages dangerous physical activity.
Cons: Bland and dry nuggets. Passing off a ketchup packet as a cool treat. Encouraging children to eat insects. Michael Jackson on Kid Nation. Bratz.

If a complete dinner in less than two minutes doesn’t appeal to you, then you’re either lying to me or to yourself. People barely have time to put on their pants before they get out of the house, a problem that has cost me several hundred dollars and a few restraining orders.

Hormel understands and they have introduced a line of Compleat meals that come out hot and ready in 90 seconds. That’s how long it used to take me to spike my ridiculously bad Asian hair in junior high (Note to self: travel back in time and slap self). By any standard of convenience, taking a box out of the cupboard and microwaving it the length of a couple commercials is pretty damn easy. But as exciting as it may seem, not all things turn out the way you want them to.

Shocking, I know.

You mean a 90 second meal doesn’t set the culinary world on fire? Well, no, unless that fire is started by me after I take my molotov cocktails over to the Hormel factory. Everything about this meal is offensively horrible in the worst way imaginable. Even worse, the cooking directions are all off. I can deal with crappy food, but when the crappy food comes out so cold that I keep having to taste it to see when it’s ready, I just begin an all out vendetta with the thing.

All in all, it probably took five solid minutes to heat the thing through. By that point, the edges of the mashed potatoes were crisp and the center was unpleasantly tepid. I understand that contrasts in texture makes food interesting, but the principle doesn’t exactly apply here.

So now that I figured out that it really takes the same amount of time to cook as a regular frozen dinner, it had to be really damn good to not make me chuck it at the neighbor’s annoying dogs. I’m sad to say that it disappointed me deeply.

The meat was dry, almost like beef jerky, and came apart in flakes. Yes, flakes. You know, like how really well cooked fish does, but only completely awful and from a cow. Not only is that disgusting, it is confusing to the taste buds.

The gravy wasn’t any better. In fact, it was completely tasteless and worthless. The mysterious sauce was watery and contained only hints of beefy goodness. It’s hard to describe…the best way I can describe it is that it tasted like “brown” with perhaps some celery thrown in. It covered the beef and a sizable bed of mashed potatoes.

I was actually pleasantly surprised with the potatoes at first because they were lumpy like homemade mashed potatoes. This was before I realized that it was just undercooked potato flakes that were just dense and mealy. My disgust at this revelation was the breaking point. In my growing hysteria, I threw the bowl against the wall and watched it slowly drip down towards oblivion. You’ll have to take my word for it, but it was very dramatic.

All in all, my hopes were crushed and it will be a long time before I can truly dream again. It was a lesson learned the hard way: gourmet meals aren’t cooked in 90 seconds. Especially ones that appear to be designed for bomb shelters and emergency kits.

Item: Hormel Compleats Roast Beef and Gravy
Price: $2.04
Purchased at: Wal-Mart
Rating: 1 out of 5
Pros: You can use the plastic bowl as a 7 layer dip container after you’re done.
Cons: Cold and flavorless food. Spiky hair. Ridiculous promises regarding cooking length. Public indecency.