Doc Bushwell's Chimpanzee Refuge

Friday, October 21, 2005

The Big Cheese Speaks to You

Yes. Yes, I am. I am a Cheesian. I believe in the power of Cheese to change people’s lives. Not just any cheese. I’m talking about the Big Cheese. The One-And-Only Original Cheese. No False Cheeses here. No solidified dairy product substitutes of any kind. This is the real deal; The Cheese To Believe In.

I wasn’t always a Cheesian. As a child I knew nothing of Cheese. My parents, strict vegans, forbade even a mention of it in our house. I couldn’t put my finger on it at the time, but I knew something was missing in my life. Some of my childhood chums came from lactose-friendly families, but I found their devotion to the Almighty Aged Curd somewhat foreign, and perhaps a tad mysterious. It was this mystery that was to dog me as I grew. As a teenager, like all teenagers, I had a rebellious streak. I’d go to parties and inevitably, someone would start talking about Cheese. OK, I was curious. I’ll admit that. I figured, nothing serious: a little discussion on Cheddar, perhaps some Brie-talk. But soon my daydreams were filled with thoughts of good, aged Stilton while my intellect was racked by the social and political ramifications of an extra creamy Havarti versus a summer sausage, and beyond. The years passed and the questions deepened. Far into the wee hours I would ponder “Bleu or caviar? Jarlsberg or a hot pretzel?” Finally, one night, filled with an ever deepening sense of desperation, I looked into the bathroom mirror and asked “Straight up or on crackers?” My body shook under the strain, but my heart would shout back “We don’t need no steeenking crackers!” I came to understand that crackers are anathema to the true Cheesian.

And that’s how I was saved. After a decade of wandering aimlessly in the barren aisles of the grocery store of life, past shelves of shiny packages delivering little more than the broken promises leading to a gnawing personal emptiness, I had, at last, accepted the power of the Big Cheese in my life. I was “re-curded”. I had found The Whey. I wasn’t alone. There were others, Cheesians just like me, each of whom had their own conversion experience, and who welcomed me into their community. I joined a study group and began to immerse myself in “the good book of Cheesianity”: The Cheesle. It answered many of my questions about life, the history of mankind and Cheese, and my place in the grand scheme of things. I was filled with a sense of belonging, and a strange, almost overwhelming knowledge of my own knowledge of the overwhelming knowledge and goodness of The Cheese. And, of course, I was filled with the desire to share my overwhelming knowledge of the overwhelming goodness and knowledge of The Cheese with everyone, so that they might also feel this overwhelming overwhelmingness. I met, courted, and married a young woman from my study group. We have three children and we’re home-schooling them in Cheesianity. I figure if it’s Gouda ‘nuff for the old man, it’s Gouda ‘nuff for them! (And some people say Cheesians don’t have a sense of humor!)

This brings me to our present situation. Cheesians are under attack in this country by the lactose-intolerant media giants who control our airwaves and newspapers! Every day, I hear another story regarding anti-Cheesian activist judges or see yet another Hollywood movie promoting anti-Cheesian lifestyles. This country was founded by men who were Cheesians of the highest order! Men who raised dairy cattle on their very own farms! The rich heritage of Cheesianity runs through the history of our country like veins of mold through Roquefort, and it cannot be removed, no matter how hard the revisionists may try.

A case in point is the recent controversy regarding certain theories of the origin of the moon, and the way it is being taught in our schools. All good Cheesians know, even a child of six or seven years knows, that the moon is made of Cheese. It says so right in The Cheesle: “And The Big Cheese placed above the Earth the full Moon, heavy and full of curd, so that man would not have to walk alone in the darkness of early morning, and thus trippeth over yonder milking stool.” (Cheesesis 1:12).

Modern so-called “scientific theories” postulate that the moon is made of rock. This is an absurd idea on its very face as everyone knows rocks sink in virtually any liquid while cheese can float, thus begging the question “Why hasn’t this big rock sunk down to the Earth?” Some may argue that the Apollo program brought back “moon rocks”, but many believe that the “moon walks” themselves were faked. Numerous Internet sites attest to this fact. Further, we must not forget that “Rock-Moon” is just a theory. As such, it would be entirely inappropriate, and certainly unscientific, to proclaim to impressionable youth in our public schools that it is a fact. Cheesians are not asking that the Rock-Moon theory be removed from the classroom. That would be just as bad as leaving it in. All we are asking is that schools “teach the controversy”. In the spirit of honest, open, scientific debate, both sides should be presented to the students. Students should not be fed a theory as a fact by government entities with their own agenda. To do so would be intellectually dishonest. We are willing to include both explanations so why are the Rock-Mooners afraid to? What do they have to hide or fear? Is their position so weak that they can’t afford to offer equal time to other, highly valid, explanations?

Teach the controversy. Not only is it the right thing to do, it’s the American thing to do!


At 5:32 PM, Blogger DocBushwell said...

Although this is a fine treatment of the historical context of Cheesianity in the United States, for completeness, you might have included the Rennetformation, that is, the schism among the Pecorino Romanos, the Bierkases, and the Stiltons.

Also, I offer a raucous Pan paniscular hoot of welcome to Jim and kemibe.

At 9:31 PM, Blogger kemibe said...

A moving account, but disingenuous. You might have mentioned that the Cheesle was cobbled together from older legends swapped around the campfire by Yogurtians, Eggiweggers and Creamites. Each had its one true god and its own account of the moon's hexose-sugar-heavy constitution and origins. Cheesians seem rather loath to acknowledge the lack of originality in their "revealed knowledge," though I can't for the life of me imagine why.

My favorite part of the Cheesle is the story involving several young farm boys from Vermont, a lasso, a number of goats, a tube of K-Y jelly, a shoehorn, a fog machine, and several dozen roses. Again, that this is somehow upheld as a work of moral teachings boggles the mind. Maybe I'm just thinking too much -- I'm told that questioning any of this critically leads to the moldering of one's faith and enternal immersion in boiling fondue...


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