Hi, folks! I was thinking about what soup I wanted for lunch today when it hit me: CHOWDER!

At first I wasn’t sure if I wanted corn chowder, clam chowder or fish chowder, and then I was hit with a revelation as though by lightning: why not combine them?

Once the doors of perception had opened in this way, I didn’t hesitate to gallop through them with a whinny of delight. My mind raced. If was going to combine clams and corn and fish into a single soup, why would I stop there? How could I refrain from adding leeks? I couldn’t. What would prevent me from inserting bacon? Nothing! Under which threat or proof of law would I be held from including pumpkins, peanuts and oats? None!

I swear, I trembled in excitement at the thought. Freed from convention, from hidebound limitations, I could put carrots in my soup and nobody could say a thing. I could add donair meat and parsnips and hardboiled eggs and no-one could stop me. I could dump peas and pears and pickles in my stew and the only one to stand in judgment of my actions would be myself.

At once I was a new unicorn, and I hastened to the galley to put my wildest chowder imaginings into tangible chowder practice. But then a funny thing happened. It turns out, much to my shock, that no matter how appealing a set of ideas may be as they rattle around in your head, when you dump all that crap into your soup, the result is unthinkably horrible.

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