This ‘fictitious’ meeting of the Council of the United States of Americheese was inspired by this post by Tracy Fulks, whom I stumbled upon thanks to Le Clown’s post extolling her virtues while still managing to write about himself – a skill shared by this man. Whilst the ‘personalities’ below are a little further away from the cheeses themselves and lean more towards the stereotypes of their nations of origin, I’m confident I’ll be forgiven…and by ‘forgiven’, of course I mean ‘not read’.
And it does contain SCENES OF A SEXUAL NATURE, so beware.
And capital letters.
Cheddar calls the meeting to order, “Please gentlecheeses, can we get back to the next item on the agenda……………thank you. As you well know, we as the ruling body of Americheese have very little to do, but today we will face our greatest challenge, one that will put us at the very forefront of influential decision making….Manchego will you please stop fucking the Danish Blue!”
“Hey! Whadaya mean stop! Who’s gonna notice one more vein in this cute little-“
He stopped……. “Ok gringo, chill out. Adiós amore.”
“Come,” says Gorgonzola. “Let us come together around this table, let us break bread like brudders, share sandwiches, tell a few jokes yes, but don’t show disrespect.”
“Thank you, Gorgonzola,” says Cheddar.
Gouda pipes up, “Is it true Mr. Cheddar sir, that someone wants to become a cheese?”
“Thank you Gouda, for slapping us back to the point. Yes, the reason we are here today is because a non-cheese foodstuff has expressed a wish to become a cheese. Regardless of whether or not the procedure would be possible, let it never be said that we were not a progressive dairy product and open to new ideas. That and the fact we’re getting a lot of pressure from above to come up with something groundbreaking after yogurt’s highly successful ‘We Cure Thrush’ campaign. The boss however, doesn’t want anything even remotely vaginal, so we’ve decided to open ourselves up to having foreign objects penetrate our inner circle. Gentlecheeses, please welcome, the Chicken Nugget.”
“Thank you ever so much for seeing me like this,” said the Chicken Nugget. “I usually get shunned wherever I go now, no-one invites me to parties anymore, and do you know why? Because that fucking Jamie Oliver asked his stupid Food Revolution Community on Facebook what the worst processed food was, and I fucking won! I am the worst apparently, and not even of just the meats! No-one in the Food Revolution Community on Facebook appears to have come across the shit that is bear-shaped processed meat! And I’m not even classed as junk food any longer, and I’ve undergone a major change in a number of outlets who have dared to make me actually resemble actual chicken.
“But the damage is done, the facts are wrong but image is everything, there’s no going back, all the others have banded together – third place on the poll was ‘Fake Cheese’ for fuck’s sake. Third! If that doesn’t stink of conspiracy then I’m a Dutchman!”
“I remember seeing sat poll,” said Swiss. “I sought it was extremely badly done. Very biased. Sey had pictures of se sree sey wanted people to vote for as examples of what to vote for. Disgraceful…..But please don’t mistake what I just said for an admission of anysing partisan…in fact I shall put in for an abstention of my vote right now. And I’m late for my hot pastrami with mustard on rye-tial.”
“Mr. Cheddar sir!” squeaks Gouda. “Umm, Manchego…”
“Manchego, please stop fucking the Västerbottensost!”
“Well I say no!” exclaims American. “We don’t want no Chicken Nugget dirtying up our board – no offence there, buddy – there must be a better way to compete with yogurt…….you got any skills, Chicken Nugget?”
“Umm…..I can be the sole food item in your diet for 15 years and not kill you?”
“Buddabing!” Hiccupped Provolone. “I’m just a sandwich guy. Italian cold cut is my specialty. I melt up real nice on a steak sandwich or meatball sub. I ain’t nothin’ special, but for what my open onion is worth, I likes the guy and I would welcome him into the family.”
Brie fluttered her eyelashes, uncrossed…re-crossed her legs, “Mais oui, I like ‘is ‘I don’t know what’. I like se way he shares my colourings after I have been baked. Do you sink sat you can match up in all departments, Monsieur…….Nugget?”
“Quiet Monsieur Nugget….and let your ‘ips do se talking.”
“Thank you Brie,” says Cheddar. “Toe, do you have an open oni- I mean opinion on the matter?”
“Oh fuck, who let Somerset Brie in?”
“Couldn’t ‘elp oover ‘earin’ some soorta mee’in’. I remember back in 1915 whens I wrote ‘Of Human Cheesemaking’, we ‘ad a loda mee’in’s-“
“Oh shut up, Brie!” pleaded Cheddar. “Toe, please, your thoughts.”
The blue, pasty, often damp, pedicular bi-product gazed at the Chicken Nugget for nigh on a minute. Silence filled the room (although it was punctuated by the soft ‘tap-tap’ of Manchego’s cheesicles slapping up against Monterey Jack’s arse. Cheddar had given up trying to moderate the errant Spaniard’s singular ways). Toe regarded the slovenly figure sat opposite him; he saw a broken food; a worn skin covering a frail body harbouring a wet soul; the lines on his face betraying the high levels of chicken foot he contained; the excess fat, that would usually now be swilling around some poor unfortunate’s stomach was pooling at the base of Chicken Nugget’s chair; his very essence sweating out of him.
Toe thought about image; on the face of it, it seemed a herculean challenge to turn this sorry excuse for sustenance into something worthy of the title ‘Cheese’; but look at some of the examples that existed; Toe himself was an abomination but had done nothing to hinder cheese’s popularity, and one of the most quoted lines about the very nature of cheese’s existence had not damaged the creed either. No, it would not be a problem integrating Chicken Nugget’s public persona.
The naming of the new cheese would be more troublesome; ‘Chicken Cheese’ was most definitely out, as was ‘Cheese Nugget’, more detail would need to be gleaned about the Chicken Nugget’s place of origin; a nice sounding town name could quite easily be used…..let us pray he’s not from Shitterton.
His texture and flavour could pretty much be anything, as could his appearance; after all, the existence of Easy Cheese – whose presence was alerted to everybody due to the deepthroating she was currently receiving from Manchego – meant that there was really nothing that wouldn’t sell.
The silence – save the gagging – was abruptly interrupted by Feta, who threw some plates against the wall for no apparent purpose, and then went back to writing his list of reasons why there was no need for a salad to include lettuce.
“I think,” intoned Toe, “that there is no reason not to embrace this Chicken Nugget into our fold. For should we not be honoured that he has chosen to be a part of us, rather than sell his soul to those pompous, egotistical twats the Vegetables, or simply give up all self-worth and become a Grain?”
“Oh ma fuckin-a gord!” shrieked Mozzarella. “I look-a like-a da bollock! Why-a nobody-a say? Dis-a no sexy, dis-a no sexy at all. Some-a-one hand me da knife, I slice-a maself up.”
“Ooo yummy!” said all the Council at once. Basil and tomato were brought in, hacked up and served with Mozzarella on the few remaining plates to escape the traditions of Feta. Chicken Nugget was welcomed wholeheartedly, and should be on the supermarket shelves next to the other cheeses very soon……………………….I would tell you his new name, but [remember to insert funny/original/any reason as to why you couldn’t think up a good name for him…before publishing!]