I woke up this morning filled with regret.

I woke up this morning filled with regret. "If only I hadn't

had all those burgers, hot dogs and nachos last night. I mean i knew I am terribly constipated, now I feel bloated and will have to take the laxative and hope it will work."

crack another beer and check the score on the ballgame. I did that, with Mildred's incessant yammering just rolling along. I said "Mmm hmmm" and called up Bob. I'd heard that goat

cheese season was coming to a close, so I stocked up. I prefer SwissCheese, but damn, those Sweeds are hard 2 catch, & try getting the curds out, way 2 difficult. GoatCheese was

always getting caught in my goatee. I have some cheese stories that would curdle your blood. But the hardest, craziest tale of cheese was the night of the Danish Blue

Invasion. The then semi-soft wedges marched through the streets, seeking revenge on the Roquefort Crumbles, who had claimed their superiority, especially with fruit. Danish Blue

peered through the curtains of the brothel's bay window at the messy cheese revolt below, cursing the day that dairy products had become sentient. Patronage had ground to a halt.

"Cheeses Christ!" I cursed. I had to turn away. The sight of fromage scattered all over the cobblestones below was just too too much. Everyone in the brothel ran outside to

catch us. They succeeded, flaunting their arms. Let me tell you, the brothel is not to be messed with. In present day, I'm missing ten toes, simply because of my foolish mistake.