Soup High

Rob, his sister Rindy, Goblin Foo Uvula, and I have left Baltimore for Western Maryland, where it is misty and peaceful and the satellite television doesn’t appear to be working. For dinner tonight, we had grilled cheese sandwiches and some instant soup Rob bought two years ago and hid in the back of the cabinet. At first, I was afraid that the instant soup was past its expiration date, but my husband pointed out that, being a toxic chemical powder, it didn’t actually have an expiration date. That made me feel better until I started feeling the toxic chemical powder scouring my veins, tingeing my blood with its yellow poison. Now all I can think about are Hallmark stores and Radio Shacks, two purveyors of the most worthless crap imaginable. If every single Hallmark store and Radio Shack in the universe disappeared into a black hole, no one would suffer except possibly the collectors of those little figurines. If they were all in there buying figurines as the stores disappeared into the black hole, that problem would be solved.

In Western Maryland, with our soup powders and cheeses, we are alive.

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