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(Warning, pure folly follows. Thank you very much. You read it, you cannot have your time back.)
There is powdered Parmesan cheese upon my french/freedom fries. There is powdered Parmesan cheese upon my catsup. There are two slices of cheese upon my bacon double cheeseburger. While pleasing myself with cheese, I am reminded of Ivan's sole statement at Thanksgiving dinner: "You could melt cheese on a brick and I'd eat it."
So, having detected and delected this specific cheese-delivery vehicle (pig on cow with potato), I settle and reflect upon the fooding. Suddenly, I am agog upon spotting a pair of carousing Schnauzers. Schnauzers are essentially cheeseless beings. Sans Fromage. Ohne Kase. To capture them requires the creation of negative space, a cheese-free region, where, despite all of our senses smashing against such anathema, the Schnauzers will prance comfortably, and thus, become vulnerable. We descend upon them with accordions, kazoos, and other latent hatreds.
"Alas!" they yip and whine, bouncing upon their front feet. "What is become of us! What has caused us to merit such perfidy?"
"You know nothing of cheese", leer we.
"O lament! O despair!" they cry, spinning frantically in place, tags jingling. "What is this 'cheese' of which you speak?"
"Exactly", we hiss, pressing again into their blind spots and breakfast nooks with our throbbing din of death.
Now be gouda little boys, I Roquefort to seeing you again. I camembert to end this...
Reminding me of the French. I like the French, but everyone plays jokes. Food jokes. You will note that "Evian" water is "naive" backwards. "Let them have their fun" I thought, that was, until I encountered steak "tartar".
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