This is not just soup. Soup is a very dangerous substance. For instance, some soup is very hot. Alphabet soup can spell ANTIFA.
Every soup, in fact, has something threatening about it. Vichyssoise collaborated. Chowder is menacing because in Boston it ends in “AH!,” the sound you make when surprised or terrified. Avgolemono? Avgolem — OH, NO! If you are Donald Trump, you love your base; you are against anyone who would try to bouillabaisse. (If you are Donald Trump, you also definitely did not suffer a series of minestrones.) This opposition to soup is just the logical consommé-shun that follows from everything that has gone before.
Imagine this. You are walking down the street, minding your own business. Behind you, you hear the unmistakable sound of a noodle sloshing against a chunk of chicken. You are being pursued by a bag of soup. The anarchists are upon you. Could any sound possibly fill you with more terror? Or an adversary announces he is making stone soup, and suddenly reinforcements arrive with carrots where there were not carrots before.
Or think of French onion soup, covered in a layer of suppurating cheese, squelching as you prod your spoon into it. Think of cream of mushroom. Cream of mushroom held America in terror for the entire decade of the 1950s, forcing people to transform it into casseroles. Such was the whim of soup. Such was its awesome power. Chicken soup — it will heal you, but at what cost?
Soup is a liquid. Why is it wearing armor? Is this the Middle Ages? What does the soup know? In fallout shelters around the world, soup lurks in a can, ready to survive any apocalyptic event. The soup will endure long after we have expired, long after it has expired.
It is the perfect weapon. It shows no mercy, not even a ladle bit.
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