(If you are clicking over from The Cheeseboy’s site, please make yourself at home. I insist in that you sit in that orange chair up there and use my quarters to help yourself to a Coke.)
Hello, my name is Cheeseboy and I am made of 99% real cheese. (The other 1% is a mixture of mouse urine and table scraps. Look, no cheese factory is a germless, urine-free temple of sanctity.)
I am honored that Kelley – a normal human being with no real cheese features – has asked me to be her very first guest poster. We shall forever be slightly insane blog buddies.
Some say being made of cheese is a curse, but I look at as a blessing – if blessings totally sucked and smelt like Rosanne Barr’s running socks.
You don’t think I hear the hateful whispers? In Target while I am looking for a car seat for my little curds; at the Dollar Tree while I am looking for a cheap funnel to catch my moldy tears; playing air hockey at the arcade in the mall. Oh, I hear them and they cut the cheese to the very core.
Words sting. The especially sting on the flesh of a tasty, aged cheddar. But nothing anyone has ever said has stung more than what NBC has done to my fragile, oily heart.
I am ashamed to say that my body fat percentage rate is a whopping 92%. In recent years I have really let myself slide and I now stand before you – a shadow of my former self – ready and willing to make necessary changes to allow myself to age gracefully.
That is precisely why I sent in a Biggest Loser application to NBC’s The Biggest Loser.
At first the Peacocky folks were mildly interested, even going as far as contacting my mother cow for a reference. I was surprised to get a call from the infamous Bob, asking if I could meet him downtown for a face-to-pasteurized-face over lunch. Bob was kind and respectful enough to ask for his bean curd salad on wheat bread and to be served WITHOUT CHEESE! (Bless you Bob! You have always been my favorite.)
I began to feel a butterfly flutter in the core of my Gouda shaped chest. It appeared that the I’s simply had to be crossed and the T’s dotted; I was on my way to being contestant number 9 on NBC’s hit show. (I use the term “hit” very loosely here.)
All things were a go until the unthinkable happened: When NBC President, Jeff Zucker received word of my participation, he quickly nixed the idea, calling it, “silly” and “ridiculous” and “the most stupefyingly stupid thing I have ever heard”.
I hate to make accusations, but Mr. Zucker is a Cheese-ist! He hates cheese. He sits in his anti-cheese mansion with his anti-cheese butter. So what if the other contestants might be tempted to eat me? Wouldn’t that just put an added twist into the show?
Just wait until sweeps week! He’s going to wish he had a giant, human-like block of cheese for Jillian to berate and belittle until she herself has a coronary. Think of the ratings that would bring in!
I offered Mr. Zucker the opportunity to make me a simple gimmick – I told him that I would happily donate my kidneys to their precious Subway restaurant that the contestants are always frequenting. He, of course, declined.
Anyway, I was on board for the show and now I am a lone cheese in a world of sorrow. Cheese can hurt and today, I hurt badly.
Cards of sympathy and notes of well wishes can be made at The Blog O’ Cheese. I thank you for your support.