The odor of the icebox criedSome animal had crept to hideBehind the crocks and slowly died.Too long the food had lain inside.In spite of all the rampant gore,Disgusted to her lazy core,Mrs. Squidge began the choreAnd cautiously approached the door.In the peaceful, picture-perfect town of Pickle Ridge, one of its residents, Mrs. Squidge, finally decides to empty her smelly refrigerator.With her hands encased in pink gloves, sh...