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November 14, 2006 / TildeWill

Will vs. Soup

“Ah just enough time to heat up some soup and have a nice hot meal.” Or so I thought. I coyly reached into my cupboard and selected a can of Campbell’s as I had done many times before. What I did not realize was that this was the soup of destiny and that an epic battle was about to ensue.

The soup was emptied into a bowl and tasted a new freedom. I then placed said soup in the microwave, and then foolishly armed the soup with a battle shield (aka a plate handed down to me from the 1960’s). My intention was that the plate would protect the interior of the microwave from the soup’s explosive powers. The soup however, had other plans…

Instead of the usual offensive strategy employed by soups, that is to escape by force, this soup assumed a defenciveposition. The cooling air between the soup and the plate, combined with the smoothness of the plastic plate meeting with the plastic lip of the bowl formed a seal that suction cup designers only dream of. When I went to remove the plat I found it firmly attached to the bowl, my soup safe inside.

At first I wasn’t certain of the suction’s strength so I carefully held both plate and bowl as I removed them from the microwave. I then conducted a more thorough investigation in which I determined tools would be required to gain access to my food. I attempted to slip a knife between the battle bowl and mighty shield, but the combination proved to be too strong. I then attempted to shock the suction apart by stringing at the soup’s shield with a kitchen mallet to no avail.

Next I would try science. I quickly placed the bowl into the freezer, hoping the temperature change would aid my fight. After a few moments of thought I realized that cooling air was the reason this battle had begun, and since I had no quick way to heat the bowl without melting it, I was down to one last option if I were to get my food. Something mut be destroyed.

It was either going to be the plate or the bowl, but it wasn’t going to be me. My drill was at RCF so that wasn’t an option, and so that only left breaking. The bowl was like rubber maid, but the plate was made brittle from decades of use. I knew that several of the plate’s bretheren had perished in the line of duty, so with my mighty fencing arm I bent the edges of the plate upward in hopes of preserving the soup inside. I pulled and wrenched with all of my might and at last when I thought I was at my limit, as if by some divine power, the mighty soup shield gave way. I then inserted my spoon deep into the belly of the beast. Weary from battle, I ate.

Let it be known that the taste of victory is Mmm mmm good!


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