As I said on 3 Bulls:
Brando, stay out of my kitchen. My recipe is a secret and merely reading the list of ingredients would drive most people insane. It was a lucky accident of fate that my mixing bowl no longer subscribes to such prosaic forms of geometry as you mortals know-A p'sPIOSDOI'odsfig ugasrg' ghlauvawec-
Ahem. As I was saying, on that fateful day I did not know that my bowl was unsafe for use in a microwave oven, nor did I know why. I was performing experiments and filming them for YouTube. I had made a solution of corn starch and water in my Gladware mixing bowl and placed it in the microwave. After checking the focus on my digital handicam, I started the microwave. The solution began to flutter and bubble. The bowl began to quiver and sag. I glanced into the view finder and saw not the frothing, bubbling, gloopy contents of my melting mixing bowl, but another dimension of rips and tears in the fabric of space, time and, indeed, mortal sanity. I dare not speak of the rough beasts I saw within this dimension, but can only say this: I was changed, as was my mixing bowl. -GARHG'uhUHFjlk vjnlicuyn' aoc fatgnh aoorc'msfhvymi'im-
Pardon me. The bowl is an odd thing now, it twists and quivers in the corner of my mind, even as it wobbles in the corner of my vision. I have secured a spoon, smelted from the dust of a thousand comets, with which I stir the ingredients imparted to me by those myriad, cyclopean beings of the void and nether. The sheet, if so pedestrian a word can describe it, by which I bake these carnal confections was forged from the raw steel smelted in the blood of orphaned second sons of second sons. The oven burns with the heat of gigawatts, all for the glory of those whom I dare not name.
Dare you eat my cookies?
*With all apologies and due respect to HP, who has done it longer, okay not longer, but certainly better than I.*