reflections on a dairy product

I will put cheese on anything.
Spaghetti bolognaise, stir-fried noodles, chicken and rice, roast potatoes – if it’s a cookable, edible food substance I’ll cover it in cheddar before I consume it.
I have pushed restaurant owners to the brink of evicting me by insisting they put brie on a tuna steak, or add Emmenthal into a Hollandaise sauce. Barbarians.
Cheese has been the reason at least two of my relationships have failed. Early in our courtship, having spent a suitable amount of time getting used to each other, I would suddenly announce my ultimate fantasy - to dribble molten cheese on a partner and use their cavities as a fondue. Both of them finished with me in the time it takes to un-wrap a Babybel.
If I ever get convicted of murder (and if Jamie Oliver doesn’t retire soon, I probably will be) and was sentenced to death for my crime, my request for my last meal would be a cheeseboard. A huge, three-course, artery-blocking son-of-a-bitch bastard of a cheeseboard.
One of my greatest pleasures in life is to be naked outside, with my torso covered in those pre-packed cheap cheddar slices, just waiting for the summer heat to melt them. Women put cucumber slices on their eyes for their wrinkles – I put fat on my body for my fat.
I’M NOT WEIRD – JUST DIFFERENT.
God, I love cheese. Chunks are funky, but grated is great.
I. Love. Cheese

I shall end this entry with ‘Haiku Dedicated To A Certain Cheese:’

I love parmesan.
Yes, it smells like sweaty balls
but it tastes sooooooooooo good

RC 13-11-08
2220 GMT