Disaster
I have sad news to report. On Wednesday, my entire soup collection was destroyed by a fire that ate every soup the way that Donkey Kong destroys Mario. One touch and they were gone forever.
“Surely you must have had backup copies of your soups?” you might ask.
“I did not, and stop calling me Surely. My soups were stored in what should have been a fireproof and gorillaproof safe. Unfortunately, when that fire shows up riding on the back of a pony who just happens to be an expert safecracker, it suddenly becomes a completely different ballgame. In this case that ballgame was kickball, where the fire-wielding pony was the kicker and my precious soup collection was the ball.
“So, who cares, just go to the grocery store and buy some new soups,” you might say.
Apparently you have mistaken me for a common soupmonger of the lowest class. Nothing could be further from the truth. Well, unless you mistook me for something that had nothing to do with soup, I guess that would be even further from the truth. But no, these soups were irreplaceable. Each one was carefully crafted by hand and the blossoming recipe meticulously documented as I made it. My soup collection represented hundreds of hours of back-breaking work, and can never be replaced.
Sure, I can shrug it off and get back to making new soups. But they will never be the same as the hundreds that were lost. I had mind-altering soups, depression-lifting soups, transmogrification soups, fuzzy soups. You name it, and I had it, assuming that you named something that I had. Those soups are all lost forever. No matter how much time and effort I spend making new soups, the lost ones will stay lost.
“Can I have a cookie?”
I don’t think you fully understand the magnitude of this disaster, and stop calling me Cookie. Imagine if Beethoven had hundreds of unpublished symphonies of unimagined brilliance hidden under his mattress. Now imagine that they were all eaten by a goat. Maybe a punk goat with a vendetta against classical music. Maybe just a hungry goat who knew not what he was doing. Either way, that’s what this is like. Except replace the goat with a pony, replace the goat’s teeth and digestive system with fire, replace Beethoven’s symphonies with my soup, and replace Beethoven’s mattress with my fireproof safe. While you’re at it, if you can replace the charred remnants of my life with some tasty chili or a nice stew, I’d greatly appreciate it.
“What was that about Donkey Kong again?”
You’re not even listening! I curse you and your loaves of bread to be always stale! May your faucets run freely with the blood of the innocents! May your garden gnome come to life and steal the credit card applications out of your mailbox and retire in Mexico after
totally destroying your credit rating!
Oops, sorry, typo. I meant to say, “please pay more attention next time.”. The keys are like right next to each other.