Sometimes, you know, you're just not in the mood, like when your wife or significant other tells you that intercourse is off for the evening due to an unscheduled headache. I wish I could tell life that I had a headache but life is too demanding sometimes. Life is all about "give me this" and "give me that" and "spank me real hard because I like it rough." Life is dirty like that. And like that one ugly chick you drunkenly picked up at a bar last night -- no doubt through a smooth pick-up line and your debonair linguistic skills -- you sometimes just have to power through it despite the fact that you'd rather be watching Pink Panther re-runs and injecting medical grade heroin directly into your eyeballs.
When given the chance, I like to sit back and attempt to analyze where it all went wrong, where it all went downhill. I'd like to think that it was that one time that I was caught milking a spider in the attic but I'd be wrong. Most people think that it's useless to milk a spider but I wholeheartedly disagree. In fact, many famous people got their starts by milking spiders in a mass-production factory environment. Never underestimate how much a little hard work and some nimble milking hands can push you in life. No, I'm more of the opinion that it's probably my addiction to cheese that really did me under. Whether it's the Mizer from Ireland or the Edam from the Netherlands, I am hooked. Like a fish, except it would have to be a fish that eats cheese because that's really what I am writing about.
Cheese holds a special place in my heart and I'm not simply referring to the special aorta I had constructed out of a half pound of Gorgonzola cheese. No, I'm referring to the fact that the title of "Cheese Slayer" has run in my family for generations. My great uncle Asmir used to travel Europe slaying great amounts of cheese whenever called upon. Be it the Burgos of Spain or the Jarlsberg of Norway, he did it all. He was even responsible for the Great Cheese Liberation of Hungary when the in-place regime was violently overthrown by a formidable army of Trappista. He is revered as a hero in the counties of Eger and Szombathely where they have erected great statues in his honor. But it's not all fun and games for my bloodline. A number of my great anscestors have fallen as well, fighting the Gouda fight. The Limburger from Belgium proved especially difficult during it's one triumphant reign of terror during the late 1800's. Because of this, it is illegal to manufacture this cheese in Wisconsin without a master cheesemaker's certification.
Glorious battles and knighthood aside, cheese is a very real threat, especially to those with addictions; people like me who eat cheese at every available time and dream of cheese whilst sleeping to help curb our desire. Cheese addiction is a relatively new phenomenon and was first noted in a scientific journal by Dr. Elroy Klampf of Germany in the 1940's. Cheese addiction was likely prevalent prior to this time but the 1940's was about the time that the human diet began to vary and cheese was no longer a required food staple. Thus, people who frequently (and unnaturally) desired cheese were easier to annotate and make fun of, prompting numerous write-ups and comic books concerning the cheese addict. To put into perspective for some of the younger readers, cheese was the 1940's version of crack cocaine. For a brief period in 1951, Romania actually passed a law banning any and all cheese consumption in an effort to drive out those who had become afflicted with the cheese addiction. For many years after that, members of organized crime in that part of Europe controlled the entire cheese distribution racket, artificially inflating prices and supplying what was needed to underground storehouses. These became known as "Cheese Factories" which is street slang for "A Cheese Production Facility."
Kicking the habit is difficult at best and torturous at worst. Many addicts have been known to suffer some of the severest withdrawls, often resorting to shaving cats and watching Justin Guarini re-runs of American Idol. The occasional worst case scenario has been known to also not shower and pee in shopping carts during quarter moon phases. Such behavior is both shocking and appalling to all but the most hardened specialists. There is hope, however. A number of cheese recovery clinics have began to spring up all over the United States and in some shadier parts of Mexico. The party line on these things is that they offer a 9 step addiction removal program. A number of these steps include beating you physically about the head but they do seem to be showing good results. A report issued last week said that cheese addiction in America alone has gone down some 33.2% this year.
My addiction to cheese has ruined my life. My work performance has suffered and my social life is in ruins. I don't need friends or family because I've got Colby, American, Swiss, Tillamook, Cotija, Provolone, Asiago, and Parmigiano Reggiano to keep me company. I had a pillow fashioned out of cheese so that I am never far away even in sleep. It's a dangerous game one plays, toying with addiction and trying to balance a normal life, but my lust for cheese grows each day and I am finding myself unable to cope without having a small block of it near me at all times. The simple smell of butter or a glass of milk is enough to drive me up a wall. I don't know what to do, the cheese has me.
When given the chance, I like to sit back and attempt to analyze where it all went wrong, where it all went downhill. I'd like to think that it was that one time that I was caught milking a spider in the attic but I'd be wrong. Most people think that it's useless to milk a spider but I wholeheartedly disagree. In fact, many famous people got their starts by milking spiders in a mass-production factory environment. Never underestimate how much a little hard work and some nimble milking hands can push you in life. No, I'm more of the opinion that it's probably my addiction to cheese that really did me under. Whether it's the Mizer from Ireland or the Edam from the Netherlands, I am hooked. Like a fish, except it would have to be a fish that eats cheese because that's really what I am writing about.
Cheese holds a special place in my heart and I'm not simply referring to the special aorta I had constructed out of a half pound of Gorgonzola cheese. No, I'm referring to the fact that the title of "Cheese Slayer" has run in my family for generations. My great uncle Asmir used to travel Europe slaying great amounts of cheese whenever called upon. Be it the Burgos of Spain or the Jarlsberg of Norway, he did it all. He was even responsible for the Great Cheese Liberation of Hungary when the in-place regime was violently overthrown by a formidable army of Trappista. He is revered as a hero in the counties of Eger and Szombathely where they have erected great statues in his honor. But it's not all fun and games for my bloodline. A number of my great anscestors have fallen as well, fighting the Gouda fight. The Limburger from Belgium proved especially difficult during it's one triumphant reign of terror during the late 1800's. Because of this, it is illegal to manufacture this cheese in Wisconsin without a master cheesemaker's certification.
Glorious battles and knighthood aside, cheese is a very real threat, especially to those with addictions; people like me who eat cheese at every available time and dream of cheese whilst sleeping to help curb our desire. Cheese addiction is a relatively new phenomenon and was first noted in a scientific journal by Dr. Elroy Klampf of Germany in the 1940's. Cheese addiction was likely prevalent prior to this time but the 1940's was about the time that the human diet began to vary and cheese was no longer a required food staple. Thus, people who frequently (and unnaturally) desired cheese were easier to annotate and make fun of, prompting numerous write-ups and comic books concerning the cheese addict. To put into perspective for some of the younger readers, cheese was the 1940's version of crack cocaine. For a brief period in 1951, Romania actually passed a law banning any and all cheese consumption in an effort to drive out those who had become afflicted with the cheese addiction. For many years after that, members of organized crime in that part of Europe controlled the entire cheese distribution racket, artificially inflating prices and supplying what was needed to underground storehouses. These became known as "Cheese Factories" which is street slang for "A Cheese Production Facility."
Kicking the habit is difficult at best and torturous at worst. Many addicts have been known to suffer some of the severest withdrawls, often resorting to shaving cats and watching Justin Guarini re-runs of American Idol. The occasional worst case scenario has been known to also not shower and pee in shopping carts during quarter moon phases. Such behavior is both shocking and appalling to all but the most hardened specialists. There is hope, however. A number of cheese recovery clinics have began to spring up all over the United States and in some shadier parts of Mexico. The party line on these things is that they offer a 9 step addiction removal program. A number of these steps include beating you physically about the head but they do seem to be showing good results. A report issued last week said that cheese addiction in America alone has gone down some 33.2% this year.
My addiction to cheese has ruined my life. My work performance has suffered and my social life is in ruins. I don't need friends or family because I've got Colby, American, Swiss, Tillamook, Cotija, Provolone, Asiago, and Parmigiano Reggiano to keep me company. I had a pillow fashioned out of cheese so that I am never far away even in sleep. It's a dangerous game one plays, toying with addiction and trying to balance a normal life, but my lust for cheese grows each day and I am finding myself unable to cope without having a small block of it near me at all times. The simple smell of butter or a glass of milk is enough to drive me up a wall. I don't know what to do, the cheese has me.
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