The Story of the Cast Iron Toasters
Once, as Dave A. Baker ("A" to be changed to "The" after training is completed)was asleep, destiny, now owned by Opportunity because of a hostile takeover, knocked.
"Dave," the voice called, waking him from dreams of Llamas and other exotic pets. "You shall start a band, and it shall be called Cast Iron Toasters, for they shall deliver the people from their monotony." And throughout the house and surrounding neighborhood, people fell to their knees, singing praises to their household appliances and the Maytag Man.
And at that exact same moment (once you factor in time-zone differentialities) as Chris D. Lamb (Yet to have gone from "D" to A") was tending to his flocks of broken down Gremlins, a Heavenly Murmur began. Light poured from the shattered remains of the Gremlins' headlights as the Hum cresendoed into Heavenly Polite Conversation. Suddenly the Heavenly chorus burst into song (which, for some unknown reason, appeared to be "Singing in the Rain" to the tune of "Stairway to Heaven") and Chris looked to the skies. And so it was in that moment that he whispered, with the stars and lightning bugs reflecting and crawling in his eyes, "It shall be Cast Iron Toasters."
And a voice from the wilderness cried "Toasters for all!"

A TV Guide Interview on the Creation of the Band (sorta)
And so, having recieved their heavenly marching orders, Dave and Chris set out from two intirely different corners of the world to find the sign promised them: a clear trombone wrapped in swaddling clothes. Each was given righteous guides and signs to follow. To Dave was assigned dancing KFC silverware by day and Bob, the Questionably Angelic Alien that had previously dwelled in his light fixture. Chris was given a flock of winged meat biproducts to follow during the day and the voices of ressurected 60's cartoon characters by night.
Lucky for Dave, the location of the clear trombone was just down the street from where he lived. Sadly for Chris, meat biproducts, especially the winged variety, aren't as reliable as one would think, and a day's journey took two years. Thankfully, Dave was patient and didn't mind waiting outside the store where the trumpet lay for two years. Finally, our eager and unshaven pair entered the store. And there it lay: A clear, glass trombone rapped in polish rags. After a brief intermission for Victory Jigs, Happy Dances, and a chorus of hymns to Llamas, Dave and Chris sought out the owner of the store. At first the owner ignored them, but after repeated threats to call the cops if they didn't stop asking if he was a virgin, the unknowing owner said to buy the the trombone or leave.
Now, having reached the moment of truth, our heroes pooled their reasources and came up with the just short of impressive sum of $1.35. Attempts to talk the owner down from the $356 price tag were valiant, but failed. Not to be disheartened, our intrepid duo opted to find a Coke machine instead.
The quest was again taken up months later when, suffering from severe sleep deprevation, Dave and Chris turned to each other and said "Let's start a band!"
And it was Good.


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