THE CHEESE OF DOOM PART 1 The cheese of doom.

THE CHEESE OF DOOM PART 1 The cheese of doom. It never sleeps. It just watches you from the fridge. Wanting to be eaten. It's the cheese of doom.

It's yellow and sloppy, like an old fish, and all it ever wants to do is eat your feet. It was a particularly warm day when Mr McBrie left the fridge door ever-so-slightly ajar

the 4 month-old Activia slid past the crisper and onto the kitchen linoleum. The active bacteria had achieved self-awareness and longed to nibble on Mr McBrie's feet.

Thankfully, McBrie's feet were composed of titanium. "I anticipated this moment." He sighed and took a heavy seat. "Thing is, I anticipate every moment. It's tedious. Can't you see

how the lobster in the tank had caught the other one in the eye?" I shifted in my heavy seat, the lobster comment disturbed me because I knew what was happening later. McBrie

poked me in the eye a few minutes later; somehow I hadn't seem it coming. As I wiped away tears, McBrie's grin appeared through the haze. "You had it coming, don't you think?"

"No," I said to McBrie, "I saw you and McCracker singing 'Putting on the Ritz,' while the lobsters danced and snapped their pincers at me." That had really made my blood boil.

"I won't tolerate waltzing lobsters under any circumstances." McBrie & McCracker looked shamefaced. Even though this event hadn't been their idea, I felt justified in blaming them

nonetheless. McCracker had a brittle personality and snapped easily under pressure, so I took it upon myself to end this travesty. I stripped the lobsters from their dance clothes

and sent them back on stage together with naked chorus lining goldfish, the delicious whole wheat biscuits boys, and the Dorito girls. McCrackers crumbled.