Angels wept, choirs sang.
Angels wept, choirs sang.
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In heaven, at a long golden table, a table made of pure gold, not just gold paint, a dozen angels sat around like grumps. I realize in heaven Jesus has wiped away all tears and there is pretty much just joy floating around all the time, 24/7 so this was most unusual.
Big Mike the Arc was at the head of the table. God was doing something else so Mikey Mikington was heading this posse up. He had on his white robes of course. And his shiny golden bib. Cuz you wanna look your best when you’re representing the Most High God and the last thing he needed was a soup stain on his tunic.
Now, I don’t want to say there was a lot of grumbling around the table but most of the guys were not smiling. For this being heaven it was like someone slipped a salted anchovy in their ice cream or something. And most of em were wearing dark, dark glasses. That table of pure gold was really shiny. So, these powerful ministering spirits to the heirs of salvation were sitting at the table and Mikey begins, “Ok, you birds listen up. We got a special assignment today.
Some of them sat up straighter and tried to look more attentive.
“This one is directly from The Master himself.
Now everyone was sitting up and took off their shades.
“Frankie Chocolate is making soup again.”
Groans all around. Someone blurted out, “What’s wrong with Cambell’s sir? They make a decent soup.”
“Sure, they do. And for anyone not as tightly wound as Frankie C. that would be a find cup of soup. But Frankie is an anal retentive. Too much is not enough. When he gets a taste or whiff of something he’s like a heat seeking missile. He locks in and paints his target and will not rest till he sees it through.”
“Come on sir. What chance does this Jamoke have of making a decent bean broth or hearty minestrone?”
“Stranger things have happened Johnson. Anyway, here’s what’s going on. Frankie remembers one time he made a really good ham bean soup. Soup so good angels wept and choirs sang each time someone took a spoonful.”
“In a pig’s eye. Sir!”
“As if Sir!”
“That’s a laugh sir. Ha, ha, ha.”
“I tend to agree with you Simpson but that’s what’s in his mind.”
“So, where do we come in sir?”
“We gotta taste his latest creation. And if it’s as good as he remembers…”
“How am I gonna cry on demand sir?”
“You want me to join a choir to sing the praises of this hack’s chicken gumbo sir? I can’t even carry a note in bucket.”
“Yeah, well each of ya are gonna get a slice of onion in a hanky and voice lessons.
I just gave you this heads up as a courtesy, that’s all. Now, Rodriquez, I need you to go down and check his grocery list. Make sure there is bay leaves and kosher sea salt on the list. And none of that coarse cracked black pepper. It’s way too sharp and last time I nearly gacked up a lung. Ok, He’s praying now. So, everybody take your places. Operation Chicken Yumbo is about to begin. The End.