So my interest was instantly piqued when I spotted this so-called “soulful” soup. Yes, Louisiana voodoo isn’t perhaps up there with the big hitters like Christianity, Islam and The Beatles but I could tell this soup had more to say about the vast mists of the soul, so I was eager to try it out.
As the soup warmed in the mysterious fireless warming box, I wondered how the soup would reveal The Answers. In a burst of sensory overload in the bite of a sausage? A cryptic message in a pool of spilt soup? Mystical overwhelming indigestion? As I removed the bowl from the ungodly heat cube, the steam rising off the swampy soup’s surface revealed the face of a voodoo queen. I screamed a short, sharp, but quite-manly-under-the-
I sat down to my soup, showing it the reverence it deserved. I took my first taste. It struck me square in the soul like Louis Armstrong hitting a high C. My mouth was filled with memories of events yet to happen. I was swept up by the fiery paprika and sent on a whirlwind journey. The voodoo queen rose again, this time taking the form of yellow pepper, and told me everything I needed to know. As quickly as it had started, it was over. I knew I had found a new God: Soup. It was soup! It was soup all along!
“All hail King Soup!” I wailed, flailing at a newly installed multi-function printer/scanner.
“Get back to work” said Barbara, so I did.
by Chris The Office Adventurer