Stuff I've written since turning 30
The Man Who Ate 40 Tonnes of Cheese
Written in 2024
I love shaggy dog stories and this was basically my attempt to write one. I have absolutely no idea what, if anything, I'm going to do with it. Perhaps I'll fix it up and turn it into a kids book? Or perhaps I'll just dump it on my website and forget about it forever. We'll see.
Once upon a time, there was a man named Wilfred.
Wilfred had absolutely nothing to do with the events of this story, so I won’t be mentioning him again. To be honest, I’m not sure why I brought him up.
Anyway, far far away on the other side of the world, there lived a man called Burt and Burt loved cheese.
Every morning for breakfast, Burt would have cheese on toast. For lunch, he would have cheese sandwiches. And for dinner he would have three cheese pizza, with extra mozzarella, covered in cheese sauce and with a side of macaroni cheese.
“It’s not healthy to eat cheese all the time, Burt,” said his wife, but Burt refused to listen to her.
One morning, Burt awoke with a start.
“Do you know what I’m craving today, dear?” he said, turning to his wife.
“Intimacy and self-actualisation?”
“No!” said Burt, leaping to his feet. “I’m craving cheese! Do you know what I plan to do today? I’m going to eat more cheese than I’ve ever eaten in my life!”
“No you’re not, you stupid goose!” his wife said, slapping him hard in the back of the head. “Mr. Simpkin called last night and said that he’s going to fire you if you spend one more day at home eating cheese instead of going to work.”
“Oh... right,” Burt said, dejected. “Well... after work I’m going to eat more cheese than I’ve ever eaten in my life!”
With that, Burt finished his cheese on toast, got in the car and drove to work.
It was a gruelling day.
First, he got a shovel and dug the deepest hole he’d ever dug before.
Then, he spent several hours pulling on the big lever that made smoke come out of the chimneys.
Finally, he sat at the computer, making the biggest spreadsheet he could.
“Wow, Burt, you sure have worked hard today! You’ve definitely earned this,” said Mr. Simpkin, his boss, as he handed Burt his pay cheque.
“Hurrah!” Burt cried, holding the cheque with both hands. “I know what I’m going to spend this on!”
Without a moment’s hesitation, Burt hopped in his car and with a mighty screech, he sped all the way to the cheese shop.
“Good to see you again! You’re my favourite customer!” said a voice as Burt stepped inside.
Burt looked around, but saw no one.
“Good to see you again! You’re my favourite customer!” repeated the voice as someone entered the store behind him, and Burt soon realised that it was nothing more than a recording that played whenever someone walked inside.
“Oh god. It’s you again. What the hell do you want?” grunted the clerk as he spotted Burt, while the recording repeated itself once again as another customer entered.
Burt slapped his pay cheque onto the counter. “I want to buy as much cheese as you’re willing to sell me!”
The clerk rolled his eyes and grunted again, disappearing into the back room behind the counter.
He returned several minutes later with a wheelbarrow full of various cheeses.
“Wow! That sure is a lot of cheese!” said Burt excitedly.
“Shut up,” said the store clerk.
“I love this store! I’ll be back again soon!” Burt said cheerily, as he waddled out the door with his wheelbarrow full of cheese.
“Don’t come back. I really don’t like you,” said the clerk but he was drowned out by the recording saying “Good to see you again! You’re my favourite customer!” as Burt left the store.
When Burt got home, he opened the doors to his pantry and started filling it with all the cheese he’d bought that day.
First he dragged in a chest full of cheddar. Then came a crate full of Camembert, a swathe of Swiss cheese, a pile of parmesan and a bucket of Brie.
“Did you not think to also buy some bread or vegetables while you were out?” said his wife, but Burt was so exhausted from his day at work that he fell asleep before he could answer her.
The next morning, Burt woke up excited to eat his giant haul of cheese.
“Today’s the day!” he said to his wife. “Today’s the day that I will eat more cheese than I’ve ever eaten in my life!”
“No it isn’t!” his wife said, slapping him on the forehead with a rolled up newspaper. “It’s Thursday. You have to go to work today, too.”
Burt groaned but he knew she was right, so he hopped in the car and off he went.
It was another hard day, that day.
First he had to get in the company van and drive it round and round in circles for most of the morning.
Then he had to flip burgers and operate the deep fryer for the afternoon.
Finally, just before it was time to go home, he had to perform open heart surgery on some guy.
“Whew, what a day!” Burt said, peeling off his rubber gloves and surgical mask and throwing them in the bin.
Mr. Simpkin handed Burt another pay cheque. It was barely out of the boss’s hands before Burt immediately sped away for the cheese shop.
“Oh for goodness sake, what the hell do you want this time?” he heard as he stepped inside.
“You know, I think the recording you played yesterday was more welcoming,” he said to the clerk, as another customer entered the store and was greeted with the same.
“Bite me,” said the clerk.
“Actually, if you don’t mind, I’d rather take a bite out of your delicious cheese!” said Burt, handing his pay cheque over once again.
The clerk grumbled and walked to the back room, returning shortly with another wheelbarrow full of cheeses.
“Much obliged!” Burt said, exiting the store as “Oh for goodness sake, what the hell do you want this time?” played behind him.
Burt eagerly swerved into the drive-way of his home and loaded his pantry with the new cheeses he’d bought that day.
He carried in a gurney full of Gouda, a fill of Feta and magnum of Mozzarella.
“Please tell me you plan to pay the rent this week...” said his wife, but Burt was out like a light as soon as he was done stocking his pantry.
The next morning, Burt’s craving for cheese was stronger than ever. He could barely sleep, so was his excitement over all the cheese he had stored in his pantry, cheese that he was going to eat all by himself!
“Today’s the day, dear!” he said.
“If by ‘today’ you mean ‘Friday’ then yes, today is the day!” his wife agreed. “The day you go to work again, that is!”
I can’t repeat here exactly what Burt said but after a lot of huffing and scrambling, and a brief crisis involving the disappearance of his trousers, Burt was soon in his car on his way to work.
It was the last day of the week, which always meant Mr. Simpkin forced Burt to work even harder than usual.
First, Burt had to polish every window in the factory using only his spit and an old toothbrush.
Then he had to write and submit a foolproof plan on how to achieve lasting peace in the Middle East before lunchtime.
Finally, he had to build and programme a robot whose purpose was to take away jobs from people who desperately needed them.
“Nice work today, Burt!” said Mr. Simpkin as he handed Burt an envelope full of cash, having recently discovered that the use of cheques is rather anachronistic. “I look forward to seeing you back here bright and early on Monday morning to clean the elephant’s cage and then sell insurance while digging for coal!”
But Burt had no time for pleasantries. He rushed straight to the cheese shop like his life depended on it, speeding through several red lights on the way.
“We’re closed, go away!” said the recording, as Burt barged his way through a locked door and into the cheese shop.
“You know what I want and I want it now!” said Burt, throwing large handfuls of coins and banknotes in the general direction of the clerk.
“Okay, okay, just stop throwing coins, jeez!” said the clerk, shielding his face with his arms before walking into the back room and returning with several large crates of the stinkiest cheese Burt had ever encountered.
“You’ve already bought all our good cheese,” said the clerk, gesturing around at all the empty shelves and kicking away a tumbleweed which was blowing down one of the aisles, “so I’m afraid this is all you’re getting.”
“That’s fine by me,” said Burt, loading the crates into the back of his car and speeding off home.
“Burt, did you remember to wear deodorant today?” said his wife, pinching her nose as Burt carried the stinky cheeses into the pantry.
There wasn’t much room left and the doors of the pantry could no longer close on their own.
All the same, Burt tossed in an armful of American cheese (with extra plastic), a box of blue vein cheese (with extra mould) and a carton of Casu Marzu (with extra maggots).
“My god, that cheese stinks!” said Burt’s wife, shortly before fainting just in front of the pantry.
Burt picked her up and carried her to bed, but eventually gave up halfway up the stairs and decided that was as good a place as any to spend the night.
The next morning, Burt woke up and rubbed his hands together with glee.
“It’s Saturday!” he said, peeling himself up off the stairs. “No work on Saturday! That leaves me free to spend the whole day eating cheese! At long last!”
He rolled down the stairs and bounded towards the pantry, which was now overflowing with cheese.
He reached his hand slowly, longingly for his giant cheese supply when—
“Burt! Get your jacket! We need to go!”
Burt spun around to see his wife, dressed in black, her face covered by a veil.
“What’s going on?” he asked.
“We’re going to Jim’s funeral today,” said his wife. “You remember Jim? Our next door neighbour?”
Burt’s mouth went dry. “Of course I remember Jim! But I didn’t know he was dead... what on earth happened?”
His wife wiped away a tear.
“Oh, Burt, it’s a terrible tragedy!” she said, her voice faltering as she choked back tears.
“What is it? What happened to Jim?” Burt asked.
His wife sniffed. “Well apparently, he ate 40 tonnes of cheese and then dropped dead.”
THE END