“Today I ate my manuscript with the very spoon I used to write it with. My book was called “Chicken Noodle Soup for the Stomach.”
I wrote it with alphabet soup, and then edited it with a can of chicken noodle soup.”

“Though my skull is the size of a soup bowl, everything in the universe—and more—can fit inside my imagination. And guess what? My imagination tastes like chicken noodle soup.”

“Everything I learned in school, mixed together with water and chicken broth, isn’t worth the soup served at a soup kitchen. I was a bring-my-own-spoon kind of student.”

“I would eat my soup in silence, but it’s alphabet soup. They’re all capital letters and they are shouting at me. I’m not anorexic or illiterate, so alphabet soup is like a nourishing novel. An anorexic should make a suicide note out of the letters.”

“There are whiskers in my soup, and my spoon smells like my cat’s ass.”

“A brick could be used like a Viking skull holds soup. If you bring a spoon, I can quench your thirst—and your hunger. 
”

“I am the alphabet soup of love. Eat me or read me, but don’t feed me to the cats.”