As was all but inevitable, entropy won and the previous One Sentence Story Game lost all narrative cohesion and devolved into unsalvageable chaos.
I’d like to try it again. Fresh start. Hopefully this time we’ll last a little longer. Maybe even reach a reasonable ending? Something to shoot for, anyway.
Here’s how it works:
The time of the Golden One’s prophecy of Earth Vs. Soup was nigh, and soon the call would go out for the heroes who would face the ultimate battle of soup or man.
The soup was a vegetable cornucopia jubilee, a hearty soup that would be hard to defeat.
The man was George, a public accountant with a peculiar set of skills, whose only weapon was a Swiss Army knife complete with spoon.
Each side, determined to emerge victorious, engaged in a series of minor skirmishes.
At first, much like the ancient Peloponnesian Wars, there were few outright battles because it’s hard for a bowl of soup and a man to fight on a level playing field.
However, this battle would be different for the bowl in which the soup resided would gain sentience!
The soup began a slow boil, rumbling with thought within its hellish cauldron, thoughts bubbling up to release their pungent fragrance upon an unexpecting world, a brain of vegetable evil within a tomato stock.
George stumbled, shocked by what he was smelling.
Okay, so mine’s not very original, since I had a random thought about Japanese folktales lately. It’s called:
Every Japanese Folktales Starting with Old Couple Ever.
clears throat
Once upon a time, there lived old couple; old man weed, and old lady laundry.
THE END
Such words were spoken softly by a pre-teen girl in the audience, clearly disinterested in the soup battle of wits.
George stumbled toward a nearby window, but was overcome by the powerful stench of the now rapidly boiling soup, and crashed into the kitchen table.
Meanwhile, across town, an evil laugh was heard from a soup kitchen suspiciously located inside an active volcano.
Chocolate Jones was down on his luck, waiting in line at the soup kitchen, when he smelled a smell he had not smelled since his ill fated expedition to The Temple of Funk.
Sensing the imminent danger facing the world, Chocolate sprang into action, hailing the first cab he could find, pleading with the driver, “Won’t you take me down to Funkytown?”.
The driver raised an eyebrow.
Then he put the eyebrow back in the glove compartment where it belonged.
The driver then spent five excruciating minutes attempting to merge into the light-for-a-Thursday midday traffic.
“Mr. Taxi Driver sir,” explained Chocolate, “I’ve invented a special kind of ultra-absorbent bread, and left it back in my modest Funky-Town flat…”
“But do you really want to deal with soggy bread?” the driver asked.
A passing bread truck driver overheard and sighed wistfully, remembering a chance encounter he had once with an angelic reporter.