Meeting of the Council of the United States of Americheese

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.

And fullstops.

 

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-“

“MANCHEGO PLEASE!!!!!”

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.

“Forgedaboudid.”

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!”

“¡Si Señor!”

“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?”

“Umm-“

“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?”

“Oroyt chaps?!”

“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!]

 

 

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for arthur…

…nothing yet…..but it’s well in the process of beginning to reach half way; all the images are done – though i do want to add a couple of extras once i’ve thought them up – and put together, i’m just getting hold of the ‘soundtrack’ – where’s that black guy from ‘police academy’ when you need him – i’m now out of action for five days, probably six; so i can see this being another two weeks before it’s done, but when it is, i should have amassed enough of the techniques needed to start the new blog and make it look like something people would actually consider being a part of, rather than viewing it as something that even if their favourite child brought it home, it still wouldn’t make it on to the fridge…

 

the idea is to show the story of how this beautiful creation comes into being in the ‘real’ world; how it disperses, how it is formed; before it even starts to grow into ‘the taking tree’ – please click on it and it will take you to its founding father

being that there’s a little dragon’s head on it, i initially went down the obvious route of having a dragon fly with it and then sneeze, and drop it to the earth below where it would become embedded in the ground and begin to grow…………………………….but then my imagination got involved and became a little carried away…….but i think you’ll like it…when it gets here

……carry on

writing challenge 18 – the one with pouring my art out in it

this is the tag team tale that mr browne (not this one) over at pouring my art out is so kindly co-writing – he’s the guy in green; essentially what makes it look like a proper christmas tree rather than just a box of baubles

for the history of this groundbreaking venture please see here, here and here, but not [blatantly steal sean fallon‘s joke] here

i shall endeavour to add my bit in the next couple of days

enjoy…..

My pulse quickened when I saw her…..it wasn’t her beauty – like the hair upon her head, she didn’t have any – although the limp was pronounced but not eye-catching; her squint was noticeable but not headache-inducing; whilst the teeth that protruded from her cheeks left one a little startled, the drool appeared to have a note of charm to it, as did the mole…….what in fact made the pulse quicken was the fact that she stood over me holding a scalpel and a ball-peen hammer. I was strapped to a wooden chair that was uncomfortable (probably the least of my problems at this stage) and smelt like piss and unanswered questions.

‘What ish your name?’ She slurred at me, spraying my face with spit.

‘Ziggy Stardust,’ I said, sputum dripping down my cheek.

She raised the hammer and I must say, it was in a really rather threatening fashion; I made a mental note to informal the faculty first thing in the morning that I thought this sort of behaviour was in no way in-keeping with that expected of a university lecturer, and that some mention of these unorthodox teaching practises should at least be alluded to in the otherwise faultless prospectus.

But that was for tomorrow…..my present predicament banished all such thoughts from my mind, and I maintained only a minute awareness of the warm fluid collecting in my crotch, and that I had now possibly become a part of the assault on the olfactory system of the next poor victim…..I shall do my best to answer her questions…….

‘Let’sh shee how funny you are with a broken wrisht!’

‘Wait! Pleashe!’ I have a horrible habit of mimicry; say something else, dammit, and she may not notice! ‘I’m sorry; I panicked; the scalpel and hammer combination shat me up proper big styley; when questioned under stress my default answer has always been Ziggy Stardust, ever since I was a boy and discovered that David Bowie was my spirit animal.’

She lowered the hammer to her side and placed the scalpel into the pocket of the leather jacket she was wearing, ‘What?’

‘It was when I was young. I had been bad and my foster father had locked me in the attic and there in the darkness I heard the sound, an amazing sound.’

Someone called from the assembled class who sat below the stage we were stood on, ‘What sound?’

I smiled, ‘At first it was a guitar and then his voice called out like an angel’s.’

‘What did he say?’ Asked a girl on the front row with a side-ponytail.

‘He said, “Wham bam – thank you ma’am!” and there he was, large as life, dressed in a silver space age suit like he had just been beamed down from planet funk.’

‘Did he say anything?’ Asked an old man who was inexplicably sat next to side-ponytail girl and had his gnarled hand on her upper thigh.

‘Of course, he said that I should stop being so bad, then I wouldn’t keep getting locked in the attic; I mean, what was the poor man supposed to do when you wouldn’t say what you were doing……..what are you doing……’

‘What are you doing?’ My eyes flickered open, and I very nearly passed out again; the hammer had been lowered – but the look of threat and violence still shone in the woman’s eyes – and my wrists were still pleasantly rounded; the shape to which I’d become so accustomed.

‘I’m sorry….I fainted…..I went to my safe place and met my spirit animal-’

‘Shhut up!’

‘Sorry’

We were still in the lecture hall; the doors were no doubt locked and I was more than aware of the room’s sound-proof qualities; I wouldn’t be discovered any time soon. My eyes settled on the white board, where the quote from today’s lecture still reminded the world of what we knew and what position we held: “For after all what is man in nature? A nothing in relation to infinity, all in relation to nothing, a central point between nothing and all and infinitely far from understanding either.”

I hoped I was not to be questioned on this…..I had been extremely busy blogging…..

My mind raced with all the reasons I could muster for my being in this place and in this accursed position, powerless against this upstanding member of the local community; I could think of nothing; I hadn’t offended her in any way I knew; I’d never snickered behind her back; I was a very competent student; David Bowie was with me, but was of very little help.

Her next question muddied the waters even further.

‘Have you ever been to Dishneyland?’

I struggled to adjust my thinking to this strange question.

She continued with a cat-like grin on her unusual and captivating features. ‘All the anshwersh are to be found there. You know that don’t you?’

I stammered out the first answer that popped into my mind.

‘I love the Haunted Mansion.’ I said it with all the conviction I could muster.

‘Of coursh you do!’ she screamed, spraying me with spittle.

I struggled, and thought I felt the tape holding me begin to slip; I wasn’t overly pleased at the copious amounts of sweat dripping from my pores, but if it served a purpose such as this I could overlook it.

My mind then began to try to recall all the attractions I knew from Disneyland, and to imagine how they were able to answer all questions; at this moment in time I was praying that all questions consisted of, ‘What’s the thing with the mountain in space called?’ I held out little hope. Oh! ‘Mad Tea Party’! That seemed apt….

‘What are you shmiling at?!’ she shouted.

‘I have an itch.’

She slapped me hard across the face, ‘Better?’

I mumbled incoherently that the itch was on the other side of my face. She was unconcerned and started pacing…..then she said, ‘I shpeak of courshe metaphorically with regardsh to finding all anshwersh in Dishneyland; for it ish jusht the one that will conshern you. I have taken the liberty of injecting under your shkin a minute capshule of shyanide, and shhould you continue to try to free your handsh or do anything elshe that I find unhelpful, then I shhall not heshitate to break it and bury you in a shhallow grave in the deshert with nothing to accompany you to the afterlife but a shenshe of shhame at where I’ve insherted your shevered arm! Do I make myshelf clear?’

I stared into her ferocious eyes and nodded.

She continued; ‘We’re going to take a trip.’

Please Lord, I found myself thinking, I hope that means she is getting ready to dose me with some good, old-fashioned LSD. Or better yet, a class field trip to Disneyland.

But no, there was no easy way out of this strange situation.

She reached into the pocket of her leather coat, the one she had returned the scalpel to, and pulled out a gold pocket watch on a long, slender chain. She began to slowly swing the watch back and forth in front of my face while she told me to relax over and over in what I assume she took to be a smooth, seductive voice. It would have been more relaxing if her voice hadn’t sounded like the scalpel shaving pieces of granite off a cliffside. And truth to tell, it sounded more like she was saying ‘relash, relash’, which combined with the continuous spray of spittle and grating voice made me feel as I was getting a rather mixed message.

“Do you grade on a curve?” I found myself muttering, just as my mind drifted off into

writing challenge 18 – tttt1 – part 6

below in green is the helping of pouring my art out‘s warped mind, then it’ll be over to sean for more stuff from his warped mind, please feel free to include your warped mind whenever you so may wish:

My pulse quickened when I saw her…..it wasn’t her beauty – like the hair upon her head, she didn’t have any – although the limp was pronounced but not eye-catching; her squint was noticeable but not headache-inducing; whilst the teeth that protruded from her cheeks left one a little startled, the drool appeared to have a note of charm to it, as did the mole…….what in fact made the pulse quicken was the fact that she stood over me holding a scalpel and a ball-peen hammer. I was strapped to a wooden chair that was uncomfortable (probably the least of my problems at this stage) and smelt like piss and unanswered questions.

‘What ish your name?’ She slurred at me, spraying my face with spit.

‘Ziggy Stardust,’ I said, sputum dripping down my cheek.

She raised the hammer and I must say, it was in a really rather threatening fashion; I made a mental note to informal the faculty first thing in the morning that I thought this sort of behaviour was in no way in-keeping with that expected of a university lecturer, and that some mention of these unorthodox teaching practises should at least be alluded to in the otherwise faultless prospectus.

But that was for tomorrow…..my present predicament banished all such thoughts from my mind, and I maintained only a minute awareness of the warm fluid collecting in my crotch, and that I had now possibly become a part of the assault on the olfactory system of the next poor victim…..I shall do my best to answer her questions…….

‘Let’sh shee how funny you are with a broken wrisht!’

‘Wait! Pleashe!’ I have a horrible habit of mimicry; say something else, dammit, and she may not notice! ‘I’m sorry; I panicked; the scalpel and hammer combination shat me up proper big styley; when questioned under stress my default answer has always been Ziggy Stardust, ever since I was a boy and discovered that David Bowie was my spirit animal.’

She lowered the hammer to her side and placed the scalpel into the pocket of the leather jacket she was wearing, ‘What?’

‘It was when I was young. I had been bad and my foster father had locked me in the attic and there in the darkness I heard the sound, an amazing sound.’

Someone called from the assembled class who sat below the stage we were stood on, ‘What sound?’

I smiled, ‘At first it was a guitar and then his voice called out like an angel’s.’

‘What did he say?’ Asked a girl on the front row with a side-ponytail.

‘He said, “Wham bam – thank you ma’am!” and there he was, large as life, dressed in a silver space age suit like he had just been beamed down from planet funk.’

‘Did he say anything?’ Asked an old man who was unexplicity sat next to side-ponytail girl and had his gnarled hand on her upper thigh.

‘Of course, he said that I should stop being so bad, then I wouldn’t keep getting locked in the attic; I mean, what was the poor man supposed to do when you wouldn’t say what you were doing……..what are you doing……’

‘What are you doing?’ My eyes flickered open, and I very nearly passed out again; the hammer had been lowered – but the look of threat and violence still shone in the woman’s eyes – and my wrists were still pleasantly rounded; the shape to which I’d become so accustomed.

‘I’m sorry….I fainted…..I went to my safe place and met my spirit animal-’

‘Shhut up!’

‘Sorry’

We were still in the lecture hall; the doors were no doubt locked and I was more than aware of the room’s sound-proof qualities; I wouldn’t be discovered any time soon. My eyes settled on the white board, where the quote from today’s lecture still reminded the world of what we knew and what position we held: “For after all what is man in nature? A nothing in relation to infinity, all in relation to nothing, a central point between nothing and all and infinitely far from understanding either.”

I hoped I was not to be questioned on this…..I had been extremely busy blogging…..

My mind raced with all the reasons I could muster for my being in this place and in this accursed position, powerless against this upstanding member of the local community; I could think of nothing; I hadn’t offended her in any way I knew; I’d never snickered behind her back; I was a very competent student; David Bowie was with me, but was of very little help.

Her next question muddied the waters even further.

‘Have you ever been to Dishneyland?’

I struggled to adjust my thinking to this strange question.

She continued with a cat-like grin on her unusual and captivating features. ‘All the answers are to be found there. You know that don’t you?’

I stammered out the first answer that popped into my mind.

‘I love the Haunted Mansion.’ I said it with all the conviction I could muster.

‘Of coursh you do!’ she screamed, spraying me with spittle.

I struggled, and thought I felt the tape holding me begin to…

writing challenge 18 – tttt1 – part 5

apologies for the delay; you be the judge as to whether it was worth the wait…….please see here, here, here and here…..i think that’s it….for the growth that is this wonderment

and we have a new member who would like to join in the story; pouring my art out; he said he’d post his bit in the comments below so i’ll copy it to the bottom of this one and publish it as a new post – he can’t back out now can he?! not that i would ever think he would

My pulse quickened when I saw her…..it wasn’t her beauty – like the hair upon her head, she didn’t have any – although the limp was pronounced but not eye-catching; her squint was noticeable but not headache-inducing; whilst the teeth that protruded from her cheeks left one a little startled, the drool appeared to have a note of charm to it, as did the mole…….what in fact made the pulse quicken was the fact that she stood over me holding a scalpel and a ball-peen hammer. I was strapped to a wooden chair that was uncomfortable (probably the least of my problems at this stage) and smelt like piss and unanswered questions.

‘What ish your name?’ She slurred at me, spraying my face with spit.

‘Ziggy Stardust,’ I said, sputum dripping down my cheek.

She raised the hammer and I must say, it was in a really rather threatening fashion; I made a mental note to informal the faculty first thing in the morning that I thought this sort of behaviour was in no way in-keeping with that expected of a university lecturer, and that some mention of these unorthodox teaching practises should at least be alluded to in the otherwise faultless prospectus.

But that was for tomorrow…..my present predicament banished all such thoughts from my mind, and I maintained only a minute awareness of the warm fluid collecting in my crotch, and that I had now possibly become a part of the assault on the olfactory system of the next poor victim…..I shall do my best to answer her questions…….

‘Let’sh shee how funny you are with a broken wrisht!’

‘Wait! Pleashe!’ I have a horrible habit of mimicry; say something else, dammit, and she may not notice! ‘I’m sorry; I panicked; the scalpel and hammer combination shat me up proper big styley; when questioned under stress my default answer has always been Ziggy Stardust, ever since I was a boy and discovered that David Bowie was my spirit animal.’

She lowered the hammer to her side and placed the scalpel into the pocket of the leather jacket she was wearing, ‘What?’

‘It was when I was young. I had been bad and my foster father had locked me in the attic and there in the darkness I heard the sound, an amazing sound.’

Someone called from the assembled class who sat below the stage we were stood on, ‘What sound?’

I smiled, ‘At first it was a guitar and then his voice called out like an angel’s.’

‘What did he say?’ Asked a girl on the front row with a side-ponytail.

‘He said, “Wham bam – thank you ma’am!” and there he was, large as life, dressed in a silver space age suit like he had just been beamed down from planet funk.’

‘Did he say anything?’ Asked an old man who was unexplicity sat next to side-ponytail girl and had his gnarled hand on her upper thigh.

‘Of course, he said that I should stop being so bad, then I wouldn’t keep getting locked in the attic; I mean, what was the poor man supposed to do when you wouldn’t say what you were doing……..what are you doing……’

‘What are you doing?’ My eyes flickered open, and I very nearly passed out again; the hammer had been lowered – but the look of threat and violence still shone in the woman’s eyes – and my wrists were still pleasantly rounded; the shape to which I’d become so accustomed.

‘I’m sorry….I fainted…..I went to my safe place and met my spirit animal-‘

‘Shhut up!’

‘Sorry’

We were still in the lecture hall; the doors were no doubt locked and I was more than aware of the room’s sound-proof qualities; I wouldn’t be discovered any time soon. My eyes settled on the white board, where the quote from today’s lecture still reminded the world of what we knew and what position we held: “For after all what is man in nature? A nothing in relation to infinity, all in relation to nothing, a central point between nothing and all and infinitely far from understanding either.”

I hoped I was not to be questioned on this…..I had been extremely busy blogging…..

My mind raced with all the reasons I could muster for my being in this place and in this accursed position, powerless against this upstanding member of the local community; I could think of nothing; I hadn’t offended her in any way I knew; I’d never snickered behind her back; I was a very competent student; David Bowie was with me, but was of very little help.

Her next question muddied the waters even further.