Soupman

Once upon a time there was a goddess. She was the first of her kind, for the notion of a goddess had not yet been conceived. There hadn’t been a mind rich enough to concoct such a notion. Our ancestors were all still swimming around somewhat arbitrarily in what we like to call a primordial soup. Our goddess was the first to step out into a new reality, one beyond the soup.

Our goddess started wandering about the features of this new terrain. She felt the breath in her primitive lungs and became invigorated. She was now free to roam! No one would harass her around every corner with their primal urges! Freedom had a whole new taste to it, the landscape of opportunity was brimming with new possibilities! There had not yet been an active agent to walk among it’s features and stir, agitate new events into existence. “How magical is this!” she thought to herself. She jumped and danced, about as much as her hitherto waterborne limbs could accommodate. A rather pathetic sight really. Imagine an overexcited seal bouncing and flapping it’s flippers.

She was naive. She misunderstood the ambitions of men. She had come from a very competitive environment and thought this new place would afford her the chance to stretch her legs and be herself. But men are driven. Much more than we can even understand ourselves. We might have a sophisticated thinker stuck to the top part of this sack of guts and bone, but that thinker hasn’t the slightest clue why we do what we do. They looked on at this goddess who stepped beyond the soup, and there was a yearning. The men thought to themselves, they have plenty to do, plenty of space to roam. Life goes on in the soup! Best not worry yourself too much about the features of land trodden by divine flippers. Best not dedicate time and energy in pursuit of what you clearly can’t have! There are plenty a lady swimming the soup, plenty a catch to catch.
But the men were naive. They thought the thoughts of their thinkers took charge in the matters of gutsy bone sacks. In the matters of soup time and soup season. So  they went on, headstrong as they say.

The soup stirred and the soup bubbled with gasses that would still enrich the atmosphere of the land of our goddess. Our goddess would grow strong from all the bouncing and dancing on land’s features. She would grow smart from all the new things her thinker was to encounter. A new life did lie ahead for our flipper limb goddess. She would discover that if she became excited enough a squawk comes forth from her face. “It sounds beautiful” she thought to herself. But there hadn’t been voice recorders at the time, and she had left all her honest friends back in the soup.

Soon the men had all but forgotten about the goddess of the land beyond soup. They were sufficiently occupied with their pursuits as soupmen. Soupladies were attractive as ever, so there was nothing to miss. One day, however, a soupman woke with a burning ache in his middle gut area. Before he could get out of the little cave he calls ‘bed’ he was thinking about Land Goddess again. He was bummed. He thought he’d become ill with some thinker virus. He thought maybe he’d contracted heart disease because the pain was consistent! Tending to his regular tasks proved difficult because his thoughts kept being interrupted by images of Land Goddess. He began to think that perhaps he had been cursed and that the magical beast of Undersoup has chosen him as it’s next meal. Soupman was to be devoured alive, soul and all, right where he hangs suspended in nutrient rich goo. Nothing happened. The midgut feeling persisted and the periodical interruptions of thought persisted. He became weakened and distraught. As days passed there were good ones and bad ones. The good days gave Soupman hope that his condition would fade, only to be overwhelmed the next day by a bout stronger than before.

Meanwhile several more soupladies had found their way to land. All of them filled with similar hopes and ambitions for freedom from the fight of soup life. Soup Goddess had made friends with a fungi she found in her new favorite place. He offered flavours she hadn’t yet tried before. Although it hadn’t quite been to her taste she went with it anyway. After all, it started to look clear that she wouldn’t have much friends to choose from out here. Blobby sack of guts and bone as she is.
More and more soupmen started to fall ill to the same condition as our first soupman. Before they knew it these soupmen started looking for ways to access the world of land and goddess. These men were under terrible affliction. They could remember the days when feelings were fleeting and they could let a lady pass without consequence. They remembered how they could follow any plan their thinker thought and it would take them to new places full of rich discovery. But now, now it is as though the magical beast of the Undersoup had wrapped their worlds in a film invisible. As soon as you start to swim in the direction your thinker thought, it is as though your guts and bone are captured by this film invisible, and you are flung back like a toddler caught by it’s mother swimming toward danger.

Land Goddess didn’t choose to be the object of Soupman’s affliction. She had her own plans and so she followed them. Her thinker still worked like normal, as if she had liberated herself from the reach of the magical beast of the Undersoup along with the pressures of soup life. Things were going well for her. Her new fungi friends kept life interesting, and on rare occasion she would stumble upon a living sack of guts and bone like herself. Other gutsy bone blobs always looked better to her than her own. At least her flippers were nice she would think. All soft and pink from being exfoliated by her long walks on the beach. I say walks. It was more like a disabled person dragging herself around without the aid of a wheeled contraption. Without much friends around it was hard for a soup lady to get around without the occasional push.

Soon the afflicted soupmen developed lungs in their midgut area. Driven to madness by their afflictions they found themselves following the yearning inside their blind blobs. They stuck their heads out above the soup and felt the air entering their lungs by accident. It was like instinct. Nothing had driven them to anything like this before. It was as though they had all become puppets, without the slightest consideration of what their thinkers thought.
One by one soupman after soupman stepped on land. I say step. It was more like swollen pork sausages stumbling onto the shore with the help of relentless crashing waves. They felt the sand, crispy under their flippers. Bewildered they were, but excited at the prospect of ridding themselves of this sickness that has overtaken their existence. They were no longer men of their own right, but slaves to the service of their respective land goddesses. Their thinkers were baffled. It had never occurred to them that there were forces of such magnitude waiting to usurp them and destroy whatever mandate the thinker held over gutsy boned blobhood. The thinker was demoted to Informant, and that is where it would remain indefinitely.

One day Land goddess came hustling around a corner. I say hustling, because it sounds more dignified than the pathetic struggle that characterizes her landlocked locomotion. She was too busy to notice the form strutting it’s stuff on the beach in front of her. After all she’d made peace with the relative solitude of her world. Ex soupman was startled! He fell over. See he was busy doing flipper exercises to help himself scurry about more effectively. I say scurry…
Anyway. Ex Soupman didn’t bargain on such an early encounter with LG. He knew he had much more flipper exercises to do before he could be of real use to that haunting wench bitch, fucking Land Goddess! But there she was. For a moment he thought to say “just pretend you didn’t see me!” and then he would scurry off to a cove and buff his flippers some more. Yes as much as his inner yearning drove him to LG with unprecedented affection, the affliction generated some resentment in him. He had beef with LG for this inexplicable, glorious agony. See soup life had it’s perks. Thinkers had some dominion there, Soupians kinda knew how to navigate that shit. Besides, flippers… Hellooo!

So Ex soupman pulled himself together and waited for Land Goddess to notice him. He psyched himself up, because although this was everything his life revolved around lately and he couldn’t wait to have a life again. He was terrified. “What if my thinker was fooling me again? What if I’m doomed regardless of LG!” Terrifying notions for a thinker-ruled gutsy boned blob to have. If Land Goddess rejects him he would no longer have a purpose. He would be stuck in a limbo, one of the magical beast of the Undersoup’s devising. But the affliction was far too strong. Ex Soupman flung himself at LG! As much as an ex soupman can fling anything on land. He hoped for the best, expected the worst.

Land Goddess recoiled with fright. She was a bit wimpy like that. He could fling himself at her all day and she’d get a fright every time. An ex soupman isn’t what she had hoped or planned to find coming to the beach, but she was deeply pleased none the less. Finally she could roam the land of new opportunity with a friend to help nudge her blobby sack of guts and bone when she got stuck. We say this because Ex Soupman would be absolutely devastated if he knew LG don’t give a shit, and would rather shuffle about like a tard than deal with another soupman again. Besides, Fungi has proven quite the friend already, and to a freshly exed soupman there’s precious little point in explaining who the hell Fungi is.

There’s no happily ever after. Ex Soupman dragged his ass after Land Goddess for the rest of his air breathing days. He persisted with the thankless job of nudging the righteous hag around every other tricky corner since his affliction only waned in her presence. The peace was worth the price. It sure pissed him off on the regular, but like all the ex soupmen now say “better the devil you know than the – oh screw it. Make of it what you want. Have a purpose or swim about in the muck till you die! Just don’t be a little bitch about it.”

The end.