He regretted it almost constantly, since later she’d dared to cross the Los Angeles Mafia, and he’d forgotten to get her number.
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Meanwhile, Chocolate Jones arrived at Funkytown University, and rushed to the office of Professor George Clinton, head of the Funkadelic Department.
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“The soup is on the move!” he shouted frantically.
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“Our only hope is to absorb the soup - with my soup-er absorbent bread I’ve invented Patent pending!!!”
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“I can offer peculiar talents when it comes to dividing up the dough,” said George, skulking in the shadows, quietly spinning a butter knife over the fingers of one hand.
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“This Earth vs. Soup sequel is so wild!” thinks someone watching in a movie house.
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“No fourth wall-breaking,” declared the usher, breaking his own rule.
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“Now hurry,” the usher continued, “we can all take refuge in my house – it will never fall!”
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…just before the now-gigantic bowl of vegetable cornucopia jubilee sat down on his house and crushed it.
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Adding things up, George declared, “We must cut the heart out of this beast — somebody check if there are artichokes in the recipe!”
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“No artichokes, but it does have kidney beans,” Chocolate replied.
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“I’ll chase the soup 'round the Moons of Nibia,” George snarled, “and 'round the Antares Maelstrom, and 'round Perdition’s Flames before I eat a spoonful of cornucopia jubilee!”
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“Don’t look now,” exclaimed Chocolate Jones, “but there’s a fly in that soup – a . . . a . . . Souper Fly!”
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“By the way,” he continued, “my brother Basketball is a great dribbler – dribbles soup down his chin all the time.”
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The soup approached them, growling thunderously.
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Oblivious, Chocolate Jones prattled on: “My second cousin twice removed Indiana really knows how to whip vegetables — he especially likes to whip potatoes.”
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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. 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. He regretted it almost constantly, since later she’d dared to cross the Los Angeles Mafia, and he’d forgotten to get her number.
Meanwhile, Chocolate Jones arrived at Funkytown University, and rushed to the office of Professor George Clinton, head of the Funkadelic Department. “The soup is on the move!” he shouted frantically. “Our only hope is to absorb the soup - with my soup-er absorbent bread I’ve invented Patent pending!!!”
“I can offer peculiar talents when it comes to dividing up the dough,” said George, skulking in the shadows, quietly spinning a butter knife over the fingers of one hand.
“This Earth vs. Soup sequel is so wild!” thinks someone watching in a movie house. “No fourth wall-breaking,” declared the usher, breaking his own rule. “Now hurry,” the usher continued, “we can all take refuge in my house – it will never fall!”
…just before the now-gigantic bowl of vegetable cornucopia jubilee sat down on his house and crushed it.
Adding things up, George declared, “We must cut the heart out of this beast — somebody check if there are artichokes in the recipe!”
“No artichokes, but it does have kidney beans,” Chocolate replied.
“I’ll chase the soup 'round the Moons of Nibia,” George snarled, “and 'round the Antares Maelstrom, and 'round Perdition’s Flames before I eat a spoonful of cornucopia jubilee!”
“Don’t look now,” exclaimed Chocolate Jones, “but there’s a fly in that soup – a . . . a . . . Souper Fly!” “By the way,” he continued, “my brother Basketball is a great dribbler – dribbles soup down his chin all the time.”
The soup approached them, growling thunderously.
Oblivious, Chocolate Jones prattled on: “My second cousin twice removed Indiana really knows how to whip vegetables — he especially likes to whip potatoes.”
Unfortunately for Chocolate Jones, it was not potatoes he needed to be concerned about, but rather an attack of the killer tomatoes.
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Desperate, Chocolate reached for the first thing he could find, a shaker of sodium, and flung it at one of the killer tomatoes.
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But salt is nothing to a tomato- it thrives on salt, which makes it tastier.
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Fortunately, Jimmy Buffett happened by to retrieve his lost shaker of salt.
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