The Soup of Emotional Damage

So I go to this fancy restaurant, right? I order soup. Simple.

Safe. Or so I thought. The waiter brings it out like it’s the Holy Grail—

sets it down gently, bows, walks away. I take one sip and immediately realize:

this soup tastes like someone boiled a shoe. So I call the waiter back and say,

“Hey, I think something’s wrong with this soup.” He looks at me,

offended, like I just insulted his ancestors. He says, “What do you mean

something’s wrong?” I say, “Well… for starters, it tastes like FEAR.” He says,

“Sir, that’s our signature flavor.” I’m confused—“Signature flavor??”