Tuesday, June 29, 2010

My rules for following blogs and commenting on them.

One thing I have learned about professional blogging (and I do consider myself a "professional", as I have made $31 in the profession to date) is that if you want people to read your substandard garbage, you are going to have to read their standard garbage and comment on it; it's just the way the game is played.  It's kinda like that whole, "You scratch my back, I'll scratch your back while you read my blog" thing.

So I follow blogs - over 200 as a matter of fact - and they follow me back.  We all follow each other.  With all this following and no real leading, we bloggers tend to wonder in circles and follow each other's trails like Bear Grills looking for a dead camel to hide inside of during a sandstorm.

I have no idea what I was thinking when I wrote that last sentence.  It makes no sense, but I am leaving it.

Therefore, I've laid some personal ground rules for following blogs.  I've been following these rules for some time now and I recommend you consider following them as well:


1. If you do not update your blog for more than 5 weeks, I will no longer follow you.  I realize stuff comes up; why just yesterday I couldn't blog on account of my bag of mustache hair had been set on fire by one of my sons. (There is no worse scent than burnt plastic and mustache hair.) Nevertheless, if you do not update for five weeks, you are not a professional blogger and, like the mafia, I only deal with professionals.  You've been warned: 5 weeks and I'm gone.

2. I don't mind reading girly blogs too much, but I will not comment on your blog if your post is about girly bodily functions.  Actually, I will occasionally comment on these, but I never know if what I comment actually made sense.

3. If you have a "giveaway" on your blog that involves doing something other than commenting once, count me out.  If it involves copying, pasting, posting, or linking back - that is work and your giveaway is no longer "free" if it involves work.

4. If you give me an "award", I will thankfully take it, but I never give awards to anyone else.  Actually, I take it back; I hereby give anyone that is reading this an award.  I have entitled it: "The Taking Names and Kicking Butt Award".  You are all deserving.  Let it be done.

Congratulations!  I expect to see it on your mantel when I come over to your house to claim my blogging award(s).

5. I do not participate in "memes" or "Friday Follows".   Memes are like shackles on my creativity and the folks you pick up in Friday Follows are unworthy of following me.  These followers might as well be the dead camel carcass we regular followers are looking for to crawl inside for safety.

6. I try and leave as many comments as possible, but commenting on every post every time is impossible.  This was a harsh blogging reality that I learned after hours of trying to comment on every post.  Now, I doubt that most people are sitting in their kitchen, dressed in their under-drawers and socks, waiting for Cheeseboy to comment on their post about their trip to the lake.  But if they are, they should be rest assured that I do care about their trip to the lake, I just may not get around to looking at your pictures.

So, there you have it: a bundle of new rules that will help you understand my blog following priorities.  I hope you'll understand.

Monday, June 28, 2010

Television questions I need answered.

I don't watch a ton of television, but when I do, I always seem to have questions about the program I am watching.  Here is a few that I would like to see answered:

1. The Biggest Loser - Why do they go to Subway so often?
2. Chuck - Why isn't anyone watching this show?
3. The Marriage Ref - Why is anyone watching this show?
4. The Office -Why haven't they realized that no one cares about Pam and her baby?  Why is Pam so annoying?

1. The Bachelor/The Bachelorette - Who do they hire to clean those hot tubs?
2. Dancing with the Stars - Where are all the "stars"?
3. LOST - Huh?
4. Modern Family - Who's watching the gay couple's baby most the time?
5. Wipeout - Why is this crap so stinkin' awesome and funny?

1. Big Brother - This show is still on?
2. How I Met Your Mother - This is the longest story ever!  Don' t the kids just want him to get to the point already?
3. Let's Make a Deal - Will Wayne Brady ever go away?
4. Numb3rs - If you know math real well, can you really get into any FBI office to help them, even if you are not an FBI agent?

1. Glee - How does the band just automatically know the songs they are going to sing?  Why are 25 year olds still in high school... and only Juniors? Why did it take 8 months for that girl to start showing that she was pregnant?
2. Hell's Kitchen - Is there a word in this show that is not "BEEP"? 
3. So You Think You Can Dance - Why are dancers such wussies? Why are all the judges always crying?  And most importantly: WHAT THE HECK IS THAT DUDE WEARING?!
4. The Wanda Sykes Show - Who? What?  How? Why?

1. iCarly - Where are this girl's parents?  And why do they trust this clearly insane brother to take care of her?  How is it that her friend is over at her house ALL THE TIME? 
2. Spongebob - They are supposed to be under the sea, so how is it that he can cook crabby patties on a grill?
3. Any HGTV show - Does Vern Kip own this channel? Is he on every show? Do carpenters exist that are not sexy? 
4. Any Food Network show - Is there anything you can't make out of chocolate?

I NEED ANSWERS! Anyone have any?

Friday, June 25, 2010

A Question and Answer session with Cheeseboy, Part III

As the Blog O' Cheese has become more popular, I have been getting more email than I can answer.  However, there does seem to be some questions with some common themes.  I will attempt to answer a few of the more pressing queries.

This one comes to us from Gretta Ironclad from Eavesspires, CN:

What does your wife think of all this blogging you are doing?

My wife thinks I am spending all this time online playing  BUNCO with my guy pals.  She is okay with it as long as she gets a residual check at the end of each month.  So far, I have told her that I have had horrible luck and I just can't buy a hand.

I think she is onto me because yesterday she asked me what BUNCO stood for and I said, "Brave Unicorns Never Charge Ostriches".  Which is actually a true statement because the ostrich is actually a mythical animal full of truth and love.  Everyone knows a unicorn would never hurt an ostrich.

I think she bought it.

We have here an email from Elantra Meterton of Ralph Rapids, MI:

If you could eat dinner with any 5 living people, who would it be?

This one is easy and I have actually given it a lot of thought.  I'd definitely say I'd have the best conversation with: Kate Gosselin, Dustin Diamond, Abe Vigoda, 50Cent, Barbara Walters and that guy that sent his son up in a hot air balloon.

If I were asked which five dead people I would most likely have dinner with, I'd probably pick people that have died really recently so I wouldn't have to look at their decaying bodies while eating dinner.  That would just be gross.

Email from Cale Alderpants of Sandy Hollow, WV:

Any word on when production of "Blog O' Cheese, the Movie" begins?

We've dotted the I's and crossed the T's, but we still have some lower case J's to dot and some of my F's need tops of them. (A horrible handwriting habit I developed in the third grade.)

The movie is coming along fine. Keanu Reeves has actually agreed to play me and... I think I smell Oscar!  After all, Sandra Bullock won last year and it opened up new doors to crappy actors.  The only problem is the budget.  We have approximately $79, and that is BEFORE I give my wife $25 in fake BUNCO winnings.

Fortunately, Keanu has agreed to work for free because he thinks we are actually making a fourth Matrix movie.

Wednesday, June 23, 2010

The Tears of a Sasquatch

I wrote this today while sitting, completely bored in a teacher's class.  It took me about 20 minutes to write.  I thought about saving it for a children's book, but I thought I would try it on the Blog O' Cheese first - to get the pulse of the masses.

Tears of a Sasquatch

What’s even more rare than a Bigfoot print
is finding a Bigfoot's bellybutton lint

Even more rare than the bellybutton lint
is finding a used Bigfoot breath mint

BUT the rarest find of all, I hear
is finding a trickling Bigfoot tear

For a Bigfoot’s life is long and bitter
They’re not on Facebook and they don’t have Twitter

Most of their days are spent wandering alone
They can only get one bar on their Bigfoot cell phones

Bigfoots are dubious and always just missed
The folks that DO see them need good Psychologists

The loneliness and solitude seep in like the fog
They’ll often just sit and weep on a log

They cry and they cry about their droll, forlorn life
They cry over Oprah, global warming, no wife

They cry about fur balls and nasty ticks that are mean
They cry about how their butt looks big in these jeans

They cry about the photos that are clearly all fibs
They cry and they wail over the death of McRibbs

Their tears, they fall freely and splash on the wood
and freeze into place like bird poop on hoods

They hunch over and howl, a miraculous scene
The tears then harden and turn a soft green

So when your Bigfoot search turns up in a loss
Just look at the logs and look at the moss

It’s spread through the woods, a green carpet of light
Bigfoot’s symbol of sadness, his gloom and his plight

But no worries, all hope is not lost in the end
Just follow the moss and make Bigfoot your friend

He’ll invite you over for cooked squirrel and some tea
You’ll love watching Oprah on his woolly, big knee

You’ll swing in his hammock, his droppings you’ll rake
That will finally be proof that Bigfoot ISN’T A FAKE!

Tuesday, June 22, 2010

My email to the Professiona Mini Golf Association

An actual email I just sent to the Professional Mini Golf Association at: info@thePMGA.com.  I promise to post any reply I receive.

Dearest Professional Mini Golf Association (PMGA),

I have a mini golf query of the utmost importance that needs an immediate answer:

If a ball lands in the path of a windmill and is subsequently jolted into the forest by a swinging arm, can the player return the ball to the original spot or do they have to rehit?  

My brother (who is new to the sport and also gets his b's and d's mixed up, even though he is nearly 30) says that you get to rehit, but then I say NO BROTHER - THAT IS NOT THE RULES!

Then, we argue for a long time and there are all these people on the course waiting for us to hit.  We had to ask the ranger for the rules, but she was busy handing out those colorful balls and getting soda for this dopey, mop haired kid.  Finally, she's all like, "I don't know, I am only 16. Will you leave me alone?"

That brings me to another question, who are these courses hiring?  I thought you had to have a pro on staff.

So my brother's all like, "Bube, you HAVE to rehit.  I know the rules from that dig tournament I playeb last Septemder."

Here's the kicker - he didn't play in no stinkin tournament!  We live in Saskatuan (it's in Canada) and the only tournaments we have here is bird calling and Rick wins every year. (On account of his mustache makes a wheezing sound like a pelican when he squeals.)

So, we would be much obliged if you would help us settle this little bet of ours. (This is not a real bet. Betting is illegal in Saskatuan, unless it is on the pelican call contest, in which case, I would put my money on Rick, on account of the mustache.) 

My brother's all, "I'll kick your bamned dutt if I am right!"  I really hope he is wrong, because he weighs 362 pounds and is Tongan.

Much appreciated,


Monday, June 21, 2010

If... (Celebrity Edition)


A tree had fallen on Tyra Bank's talk show, would anyone have seen it?

A twig fell on Tyra Banks, would we be able to tell which one is the Tyra?

Tyra Banks fell from a tree in the forest, would anyone care?


Kevin Bacon had a temperature of 102, would he play the game "102 degrees of Kevin Bacon"?

Brittney Spears had really gone barefoot in a gas station bathroom, is there really a disease she could have contracted that she didn't already have?

Jenny McCarthy's kids had not received their immunizations, would her 15 minutes be already up?


Tori Spelling actually had to spell, would she survive it?

Richard Simmons was not gay or greasy would he just be another Subway mascot?

Sinead O' Connor had not been bald, would she have been my waitress at Denny's or my dry cleaning lady?


Miley Cyrus had sung "Achy Breaky Heart", instead of her dad, would they BOTH be laughing stocks now?

Jillian from "The Biggest Loser" would just come out and admit she was a man, wouldn't the ratings skyrocket?

Jewel, Uncle Cracker, Hootie from the Blowfish, Kid Rock, Nickelback and Jessica Simpson had not sucked so bad at singing regular music, would they have also ruined country music too?

Sunday, June 20, 2010

Run. Eat. Sleep? Repeat.

Have you ever run 7 miles down a mountain road at 3:30 AM behind a man wearing only a jockstrap?

Welcome to my weekend.

If you have been wondering where I have been - as I am sure so many of you are - I have been in the back mountains of Utah, running for 28 straight hours and 188 miles.

Well, technically I only ran 3 hours and 15 miles... my teammates ran the rest.

It's called the "Ragnar Relay", the longest and largest relay race in the entire world.  My buddy asked me to run on his "team". He is still my "buddy", but only barely.  Let me briefly explain how this works.

1. Wake up at 4:00 AM and pile two vans full of 6 people.  (Hopefully you like the people in your van.)

2. Drop off the first runner, drive two miles and provide that runner with water.  Repeat until it is the next runner's turn.

3. Repeat step number two 36 times.

I payed only $85 to put myself through road hell; to live in a Suburban with 6 other people drenched in sweat and run up mountain after mountain while eating Red Vines and granola bars.  Only $85!  Really, when you think about it, it's quite a deal because most people wouldn't even do it for free.

I ran three legs of the race, the first one being 3 straight brutal miles of mountainous incline in the heat of the day.  After the fourth dead body I graciously stepped over, I knew that this would not be an easy portion. 

My second leg was completed at 3:30 in the morning.  It was relatively flat and I felt like I was flying through it. Fortunately, the dude wearing the jock strap was so far ahead of me I didn't have to stare at his buttocks for an hour.

It was also quite surreal to run at that hour in the middle of nowhere.  There were times that I could not see another runner in the thick of night and suddenly there would be two people that would seemingly appear out of nowhere at a table, handing me water.

We began the race at 7:30 on Friday morning and finished it at 1:30 PM on Saturday afternoon.  I got approximately 1.5 hours of sleep during that time. 

My wife picked me up at the finish line in beautiful Park City, Utah and I collapsed, exclaiming that I never wanted to put myself through this torturous nightmare again. 

I woke up this morning after sleeping for almost 16 straight hours, ready for Ragnar 2011. 

Thursday, June 17, 2010

Utah Man, sir, Utah Man am I!

We interrupt our normal Blog O' Cheese nonsense and shenanigans to bring you this breaking news:

The University of Utah has accepted the invitation to join the PAC 10!

The press conference is on my television right now and I have never been prouder to be a Ute!

As a lifelong Ute fan, season ticket holder and alum, I never thought I'd see this day. Nevertheless, at one point or another I never thought I'd see these things happen:

1. Beating the hated and previously dominant rival BYU in football 3 straight times when beating them once was previously deemed daunting. (1993-1995). 

2. The basketball team making the final four and nearly winning the national championship. (Lost to Kentucky in the 1998 final.)

3. Having two #1 draft picks in the same year. (2004 - Alex Smith & Andew Bogut)

4. Undefeated football seasons in 2004 & 2008.

5. Fiesta Bowl & Sugar Bowl Champions!!!

It will sure be nice to add "Rose Bowl Champions" to that list.

Now I am giving up a road trip to Laramie, Wyoming for a road trip to Phoenix, Arizona; Albuquerque, New Mexico for Los Angeles and San Fransisco, California. 

Instead of Air Force and San Diego State entering our stadium, we will have USC and Oregon.

It's been a long trip as a fan of a small dog school, but now we are a big dog.  It will be so strange to no longer be considered an underdog.

I am so excited!  IT'S A GREAT DAY TO BE A UTE!

Not such a good day to be a BYU Cougar.

Wednesday, June 16, 2010

My sixth grade teacher was Mr. Rogers.

I wrote this while on vacation. I finished it and showed my wife and she thought it was much more morbid than funny. I debated for a long time if I should post it anyway and finally decided on posting. So, I hope you find it at least interesting.

My 6th grade teacher’s name was Mr. Rogers.

No, not THAT Mr. Rogers; not even close.

My Mr. Rogers was bald, bearded and jiggled like a bowl full of marmalade. (I’d say jelly, but that would imply that he was jolly, which he certainly was not.) My Mr. Rogers did not wear button-up sweaters and he did not have a hand puppet named "Henrietta Pussycat". (That we knew of.)

He may or may not have had a best friend named “Mr. McFeely” but that is no longer relevant to this story.

In 1987 my Mr. Rogers could have been fired for a variety of things: teaching that Adam and Eve were actually black (made sense to me); giving us money and asking us to walk to the drug store four blocks away to buy him a cup of coffee; and of course, giving my buddy Craig a “dunce rock” and making him carry it throughout the day because of a semi-moronic statement he had made in class.

One cold day in February, Mr. Rogers didn’t show up. Instead, we were greeted by our principal at the door. He looked morose and beaten.

Mr. Rogers had a heart attack and passed away that night.

Now, the folks in Montrose, PA hold a crying contest every year and the 6th grade girls are the champions 8 years running. This year, they were fortunate as they barely beat out the Laker fans and the former Biggest Loser contestants for the grand prize.

However, no one could hold a candle to our group of sixth grade crying girls that day. Nobody. (And if you were to try and hold a candle to these girls, it would have likely been put out in seconds flat… on account of all the tears.)

We went through 27 boxes of Kleenex in 3 hours.

I glanced at Craig a few times through the cloud of snotty tissues and the fog of humidified tears. He did not seem too torn up about the whole thing.

He may have carried his undisclosed chagrin a bit too far when, two weeks later, he would be caught humming, “Heart attack! Heart attack! Mr. Rogers had a heart attack!” at recess. (The band "Faker" was very popular at the time.)

The sixth grade gals could not have been more offended. I am pretty sure one of them slapped Craig, right in the face. One girl called him an "ass".

The truth is, Mr. Rogers was at best, a below average teacher. He spent most of his day sitting behind his desk and reading Time and Newsweek magazines. He was really a “read the chapter and answer the questions at the end” kind of dude. Occasionally he would playfully chide a student for a boneheaded comment. Sometimes, if we were lucky, he would have us read a chapter aloud, one student at a time, until the dutiful task fell upon your head.

I once read the word, “catastrophe” - cat-ass-trofe in front of the entire class. He was kind enough to repeat what I said four times: “Cat ass trofe? Did you say cat ass trofe, Abe? Really, please tell us what a cat ass trofe is.” The class roared as I lay my face in my folded arms.

Of course, he made Craig carry that dunce rock around three or four times.

Mr. Rogers was the kind of guy that you would meet at a dinner party, laugh incessantly at his clever jokes, and then gasp in horror when you found out he was teaching eleven year olds about puberty.

Our class decided that to honor Mr. Rogers, we would all run in a 5K race for heart disease. It seemed a fitting tribute. Perhaps we could raise some money so that some other 6th grade class would not have to go through the same horror we had.

We trained. We ran. We all felt better about things. We were even featured on the evening news; something about a class that cared for their fallen teacher. They did not interview Craig, nor did he carry his rock in the race.

The hysteria had hit a record high. There was only one problem: Mr. Rogers hadn’t actually had a heart attack at all. He had committed suicide in his home.

I found out when I was in 8th grade. It seemed like I was the last one in the world to know. I was not shocked or angry. It kinda just felt like someone had given me a painless wedgie.

Craig didn’t take the news as well.  However, I am sure the dunce rock now sits on his mantel in the Hamptons as a reminder.

Tuesday, June 15, 2010

A Reminder from the Dentist. (If I were the dentist.)

A reminder from the dentist. (If I were the dentist.)

Our records show that it has been 6 months and it is time for a checkup.* 

Please call our secretary to set up an appointment.** 

We have recently added televisions in our ceilings for your enjoyment.*** 

We have also updated our dental equipment with the most high-tech technology on the market.**** 

We look forward to seeing you!***** 

And remember… brush up. We’d hate for you to have any cavities! ******

* It has actually been 14 months since your last check up, but who’s counting?
** Scheduled appointments will actually start on average 47 minutes after they are scheduled to begin. At least we are telling you that up front.
*** This will, in no way, stop the dentist from trying to chit-chat with you while you have a suction hose in the back of your throat.
**** It’s all much too complicated for you to understand, so don’t even ask.
***** Could you please try flossing at least more than the hour before you come in? Your breath burnt through our dental hygienist’s mask the last time you were in.
****** We look forward to finding cavities and taking your money. 

Monday, June 14, 2010

Some lists

If you follow the Blog O' Cheese at all, you will notice that on occasion, I enjoy making lists of one type or another.  Here are a few lists that I have come up with recently:

Neil Diamond songs that may or may not be about Cannibalism:

1. Sweet Caroline
2. Cracklin’ Rosie
3. You Don’t Bring Me Flowers Anymore
4. He Ain’t Heavy… He’s Was My Brother

Places that I have not gone shirtless since I was 22:

1. 7-11
2. Inside a church
3. Pets Smart
4. Strings N’ Things

*I went with my wife once to a “Strings N’ Things” store and I noticed a sign on the door that said, “No shoes, no shirt, no service.” The no shoes thing I understand, but what if I had been an NBA basketball player, assigned to go to Strings N’ Things after practice and pick out some new material for our new uniforms. I am sure that would be a big order of the finest materials. I don’t think Strings N’ Things fully thought through their policy.

Tattoos I want:

1. A unicorn stabbing a dragon in the heart on my left buttocks.
2. A watch where my watch would be, in case I forget to wear my watch.
3. A picture of Philisha Rashad on my belly (My curly chest hair would be her hair.)
4. A chrysalis on my lower back.

*If I were a woman, I would get a tattoo of a chrysalis on my lower back, instead of a butterfly. When people would ask me why I chose a chrysalis, I would say, “Well, it will turn into a butterfly as soon as I get my boob job done.”

Names of people I have talked to in India recently:

1. Kevin
2. Sarah
3. Pete
4. Maneesh

*I spoke to a guy named “Maneesh” recently and it freaked me out because he didn’t have a clearly made up, American sounding name. Turns out, he was just mispronouncing the name “Manny”.

Things I use, but not properly:

1. Semicolons;
2. Q tips
3. My Fran Drescher, “The Nanny” laughing wind-up toy.
4. The settings on my camera.

The two types of people that said, “Whatchu talkin’ bout Willis?!”

1. Gary Coleman
2. People that try and say it and sound like idiots.

Saturday, June 12, 2010

The Very First Lazy Susan (I'm back from hiatus!)

Well folks, I am back!  I was in Island Park, Idaho (near Yellowstone) at my Grandmother's cabin, with no internet access and no way to check the Blog O' Cheese.  I look forward to getting caught up and visiting all of your remarkable blogs.  In the mean time, enjoy this post; I came up with it after my wife asked me to get something off the "lazy susan" at the cabin and I had no idea what she was talking about.


Susan: Will you pass the butter?

Dianne: Uh, it’s like a foot away from you, Susan.

Susan: Yeah, but I just can’t seem to reach it. It’s not like I’m Stretch Armstrong or Long-armed McGee.

Dianne: Who?

Susan: I don’t know, I was too lazy to think of a real person.

Dianne: Can’t you see I’ve got my hands full? I’m changing your kid’s diaper WHILE I match your socks.

Susan: That reminds me, can you use the Huggies please? The Walmart brand always leaks and you know I’m just going to have to call you when little Mazy craps herself.

Dianne: Susan, you might just be the laziest person I have ever met in my life! It’s so ironic that your last name is “Lazy”.

Susan: I know, but you see, this bread ain’t going to butter itself.

Dianne: It’s RIGHT THERE Susan! Just stand up! Good heck, you are LAZIEST S.O.B. I have EVER MET IN MY LIFE!

Susan: They don’t call me “Susan Lazy” for nothing. Now, will you hand me the salt while you’re up?

Dianne: No! For heaven’s sake, just stand up and get the friggen’ salt yourself. IT’S RIGHT THERE!

Susan: Still too far. If only I had a contraption… something I could just turn and the food would come right in front of me.

Dianne: You know what, Susan Lazy? You might just be on to something!

Susan: I’d never have to leave the table again. It could be like a enormous upside down frisbee on the table – on a swivel.

Dianne: Perfect and I bet Chinese restaurants would kill for something like that!

Susan: But Chinese people aren’t lazy.

Dianne: You’re Chinese, Susan.

Susan: That’s right. Does this mean I will never have to pass the soy sauce across the table?

Dianne: That is exactly what this means. Why Susan Lazy, you may be lazy, but you’re a doggoned genius!

Susan: You know Dianne, I was thinking: I also hate it when I have to reach to the back of my cupboards to get a can of Cream of Twinkee soup for little Mazy.

Dianne: I still can’t believe you named her Mazy - how cruel. And you know that I already reach back in the cupboards for you, right?

Susan: Well, I am 537 pounds. It is hard to bend like that. You are such an enabler Dianne.

Dianne: I know it. Now where did I put my wood carving tools? Let’s do this!

Thursday, June 10, 2010

LOL, featuring yours truly.

I am here today with one of my all time best posts.  Please, please check it out.

Wednesday, June 9, 2010

Chuck-A-Rama: A Tribute.

The much beloved and esteemed Cheeseboy is on hiatus until June 11.  Please enjoy this post from his "Greatest Hits" vault from May 11, 2009.

FYI: Chuck-A-Rama is an all you can eat buffet in Utah.

I have not been to Chuck-A-Rama, commonly referred to as "Up" Chuck-A-Rama, or "Puke Your Guts Out" A-Rama, for at least three years and my bowels thank me. Chuck-A-Rama is a Utah tradition, an establishment so to speak. When the pioneers crossed the plains, their dream included a place where they could settle peacefully and practice their religion. Their secondary dream was to establish a place in which they could gather and gorge themselves with mediocre (at best) chicken wings and giant, soggy french fries. Thank goodness, Brother Chuck A. Rama made it through across the treacherous plains with his oxen. He may have lost a toe or two in the bitter cold, but his legacy has endured.

During my visits to the Chuck Wagon, I have come to realize that there are four different types of people that eat there: Rednecks, Polynesians, Redneck Polynesians and people that have been dragged there by Rednecks, Polynesians or Redneck Polynesians. Most of my visits of the Crusty Crabcakes have come because my extended family members are in a white trash sort of mood.

I've never been to Samoa or Tonga, but I imagine there must be a Chuck Town on every corner there. I bet they just build them into the back of their Mormon churches and that is why they like to go there so much on Sundays.

The thing about the Chuck Fest that I find very irritating is that the owners have a strong belief that food is best served under ultra hot heat lamps. In fact, it seems that they believe that the longer the food is under the heat lamps, the tastier it must get. I am of the personal belief that the only good thing that ever comes from heat lamps are baby chicks. And even then, when the adorable chicks hatch from their sharpened shell, they are flabbergasted to find that their mother is actually really hot - and even though their mother is smoking hot, the babes soon learn that she is no chick.

The heat lamps at The Chuck are turned up so high, I am fairly sure that if science allowed it, you would find a hole in the ozone above the building the exact size of every one. I hate wandering around, trying to find the least shriveled up food item to plop on my plate. The worst are the rubber band hamburger patties. Who are these people that spend all that money to eat at Chuck-E-Vomits and they waste their tummy space on a dried, crusted hamburger patty that has been sitting under the egg hatchery for over an hour?

Rama-Of-Chuck is one of the few places that I will actually load up on the salad. Of course, their salad is fresh from the garden. I know this because there are ice chips surrounding the lettuce. Anything that has ice chips around something HAS to be just picked at the farm hours ago. If not, why even bother surrounding it with ice? That would be such a waste of ice! Think of all the African orphans you could feed with that ice! I also know the salad is fresh because when the salad guy dumps new salad in the bowl, the bag it is in is clearly has only been used once.

When I am going through a salad bar at any place, I am always surprised to see the chocolate pudding and gummy bears at the end of the line. I find myself thinking, "Ah, perfect, some Ranch Dressing (not fat free of course - why would I want to ruin a perfectly good salad?), some croutons, bacon bits, and what's this? Chocolate pudding? Gummy Bears? Who exactly is eating at this joint? Oprah? Kristie Alley? Susan Boyle?"

I don't know what is more disgusting, the thought of gummy bears on a salad or topping it with those red, slimy, syrupy beets that clearly came straight from the can. I do, however, always grab one of the miniature corn on the cobs so I can reenact that scene from Big. One of these days, I will need to wear a white tux when I go there.

Kids love Vomitville. Where else can they mix 30 different kinds of soda, hot chocolate and icees?
"What is that black drink you're drinking, junior?"
"Oh, it's my own special concoction. I call it "SpriDewsi Beer... It's delicious!"

I think that over the years I have had at least two, maybe three siblings vomit in the restroom of a Chuckville, Utah resort. On several occasions, I have been there with friends that have also had to visit the porcelain goddess of chunks. Food that utterly distasteful and dried up should never be consumed in such mass quantities. In fact, so often have people thrown up at the Chuckwagon, I believe they should install a specially designed vomiting bidet in every restroom. This bidet would be specifically designed so that you may throw up into it, relax for a second and then have it squirt your mouth out with fresh water. Actually, now that I think of it, it wouldn't need to be specially designed at all! A regular bidet would work just fine!

There is one item that does stand out amongst all items at the Chumbawomba. One item so intensely pure, so immensely delicious, that it almost, almost, ALMOST makes your trip there worth it. I am sure that you, my buffet loving readers, know exactly of which I speak. I am talking, of course, about the much beloved, much ballyhooed, fantastically delicious SCONE!!!

The Chuckle Huckle has the best scones in the world. Not only are the scones delectable, but they allow you to top it off with a couple scoops of toothsome, dripping, honey butter. I was once invited to a bachelor party at the Stonechuck. (I have some very strange friends) I promised myself that in order to keep myself from getting sick, I would only eat scones the entire night. And that's exactly what I did. I must have eaten fifteen scones that dreadful night. I ate so many scones, I went and sat down in the corner, rolled around like a dying seacow that had been washed ashore and moaned loudly "Too many scones! TOO MANY SCONES!" (I also might have done this to get a few laughs, but that is beside the point) I had the eyes of every Polynesian man, woman and child in the place on me.

I have not visited the Chuck-A-Rama for many years now. It seems that my relatives have de-white-trashed themselves, all of my friends are now married and my Polynesian mafia contacts refuse to take me out. Nevertheless, I am sure that I will one day again set foot in the quintessential, gruesome gorgefest, Zion buffet. And when I do, Brother Chuck A. Rama will look down from the great buffet in the sky and cry. The tear will fall through the gaping hole in the ozone and spread a golden layer of love on the rooftop. It will be a beautiful moment.

Monday, June 7, 2010

A Conversation I had with Paula Abdul

Cheeseboy is on hiatus until June 10.  In the meantime, enjoy this "best of" post from July 21, 2009.

What is this I hear? Paula Abdul - you are not returning to American Idol? You've been reduced to blowing kissing in the wind.

I'm a morose wreck.

Paula, really, I save my loudest laughs and groans for you. Week in and week out, you would never disappoint. Your moronic and sometimes asinine statements were both bold and unabashedly idiotic. And to think, some people thought you were saying those things on accident! Deep down, I know you couldn't really be that stupid, could you?

Your logic would often confound even I, your biggest supporter. Hey Baby - you've gotta remember, I'm forever your girl... or boy in this case.

I'm hoping you still have enough painkillers to get you through this tough time.

I saw that that Seacrest mini-brute just got 45 mil to stay on that grotty piece of garbage show. Seacrest doesn't bring a damned thing to the table! He's not even a judge. He's a cold hearted snake, albeit, a very tiny one.

What the producers don't realize, is the show is nothing without you. Straight up now tell me - you are the best thing they've got going. You were a Laker girl!!! You were a Laker girl...

It's not like Kara is suddenly going to have all your silky neck scarves in her closet, that little hussy. Has she even have a single hit single? Did she ever dance in a video with a cartoon cat? No. Kara's got nothing. NOTHING!

Paula, you know I love you. We've come together, cause opposites attract, ya know?!

You know what time it is - It's the promise of a new day. So rush, rush out there and find a new gig. Perhaps the 4th hour of the Today show needs a third co-host? Imagine the sparks that would fly between you, Hoda Huda and Kathy Lee. I know they would pay you what you are worth. (But I am not sure what that number is yet)

You were a Laker girl...

Saturday, June 5, 2010

Facebook status - Cheeseboy is writing about stupid facebook statuses.

Cheeseboy is in hiatus until June 11.  In the mean time, enjoy this post from November 16, 2009.

Ever since I joined Facebook, I have been astutely fascinated by it's every whim. There is so much going on on a single page: so much human emotion, so much arrogant hooey, so much inside sarcasm - it's hard not to be captivated by it all.

One thing that I have learned as a dimwitted human being reading facebook is this: Just because you are thinking it, does not mean you need to announce it to the masses. Honestly, many of the posts on facebook are just random thoughts that you would never say out loud. Are people too stupid to make this distinction?

I mean, what would you think of me if I just wandered up to you on the street and said something like:

"I hate the snow, but I looooove the holidays!"

-- "Abe, what the heck are you talking about?!"

"Maize or maze... that is the question"

-- Abe, seriously... are you okay? Why are you saying stuff about maze?

"Are people serious with having 40 items in the 10 item or less line?"

-- Who are you talking to Abe? Your not even AT THE GROCERY STORE!

"My back hurts. Love me some Motrin"

-- Dude, you are such a whiner. Do you WANT people to feel sorry for you?

"Anyone have any Farmville plants they are willing to trade?"

-- I'm worried about you Abe. Really. What the %#!* are you talking about?

"Stupid #!@* tin foil! Never tears right."

-- Why are you talking in symbols? Have you hit rock bottom?

-- Also, you are really passionate about tin foil.

"Passion is a right of passage and we all have that right. - H. Terrance Emerson"

-- You are just making crap up now, aren't you?

"Anyone have a good recipe that incorporates rhubarb?"

-- What... the...

I believe the most commonly used facebook tool is the "like" button. The problem is that I like just about everything.

"Kevin Smithson became a fan of the Crossroads Community Food Donation Co-Op"

Here you go Kevin... a "like" from me. Becoming a fan of giving food to the poor... you are a good person, regardless if you actually give food to the poor or not. If you are a fan, that is good enough for me.

"David Larson and Tommy Yougun are now friends via the friend finder"

Thumbs up from me. Nice to see people go out of their way to make new friends.

Vicky Mixon: Rescued a puppy today from a man with a rifle.

LIKE FOR YOU. Wish I could give you 3 likes Vicky... puppy diva of sainthood.

Another problem I have is that I get so liberal with my giving of "like" I accidentally like things that should without a doubt not be liked. This is always embarrassing.

Thomas Stonehouse: Grammy died today. She lived a good life.


Jerry Submarington: So sick! Feels like my limbs have fallen off.


I always realize my mistake like 3 hours too late. Then I have to explain my like in the comments:

"Oh crud... sorry Thomas. I didn't mean that I like that your Grammy died today. I meant I am happy she lived a good life. I'm sure she was a good Grammy. Are we still "friends"?"

"Uh Jerry. Sorry, didn't mean to like your limb problem. I just thought the way you phrased it was a bit funny since you have such small arms and all. Like a dinosaur. Are you made at me?"

Finally, I always get a kick out of the people that invite me to join the anti-facebook causes:

You have been invited to join "1,000,000 strong to get facebook to go back to the old format."

Screw the poor in Cottonwood! Now THIS is a cause I can sink my teeth into! What do I need to do? Put a lawn sign in my yard? Go door to door? Write letters to facebook? This is important and life changing! HOW DARE THEY?! HOW DARE THEY CHANGE THE FORMAT OF THEIR OWN WEBSITE!? WHO DO THEY THINK THEY ARE?! WHAT IS THIS... COMMUNIST CHINA?!

You know who else changed the format of their website? Hitler. Facebook is soooo socialist. It's just another sign our country is rotting... rotting like a rotten, rotting dead hamster, decaying in a basket of rotting apples.

Actually, I didn't really realize that they had switched formats, but I really feel I need to start getting more passionate about stuff and this is a good place to start.

Another big one I have been getting lately is: "Join the cause - Keep Facebook free!"

Are people really concerned about this? Sorry, can't join this cause. If they charged money to use Facebook, the cause "Keep Facebook free!" would die and I would never be asked to join it again.

Thursday, June 3, 2010

Things we lerned from the awesomely bad music in the 80's.

Steps to Building a City

1. First of all, you're going to need a man named Maconi.  He must play the mamba.  This is an absolute must have.

2. Listen to the radio.

3. Remember. ('member) ('member)

4. Build it on Rock and Roll.

What Friends are for.

1. To keep smiling.

2. To keep shining.

3. Knowing you can all ways count on me.  For sure.

4. In good times and bad times, friends will be on your side forever more.

Love is...
1.  I want to know what love is! (I want you to show me.)

2. A battlefield.

3.  Endless.

4. Something I would do anything for.  (Except that.)

***Dearest readers: Cheeseboy is saddened to announce that he will be on hiatus for the next week and the Blog O' Cheese will be in reruns.  Enjoy the best of Cheeseboy.  Unfortunately, I will be unable to visit your delightful blogs or reply to comments.  Please, I beg of you, do not drop me as a follower.  That McDonald's playland is calling. 

Wednesday, June 2, 2010

Blogging about what I think about when I am thinking about blogging: A history.

"Blogging was something that was cool like 8 years ago." - Liz Lemon in the season finale of 30 Rock.

Well apparently, I am the pudgy, drunken cousin that showed up late to the blogging party.  (Or to the "Casual Bloggers Conference" which many of you beloved readers attended, but most of you were not drunk.)

Dateline: March 2008:  I give birth to The Blog O' Cheese.

I had an blog epidural, so the pain was minimized and I could talk freely with my wife about my new little one.  (FYI: a blog epidural is injected directly into the "Settings" tab.  It hurts at first, but within minutes, you're numb.)

The first post was just some goofy pictures I took of the boys.  I received exactly two comments - one from my brother and one from my sister.  I think they felt sorry for me. (I was worthy of their pity.)

Looking back, I am not sure exactly what caused me to start blogging.  At the outset, I envisioned writing for thousands of humor-loving souls, eager for a daily laugh. (Not thousands really.  10 would have been sufficient.)

Boy did I have it wrong. I blogged for two full years in relative anonymity.  With only my family and friends as regular readers, I thrived on hearing them talk about something I wrote and telling me that it was had made them laugh. 

Apparently, this was enough to keep me writing for two years. (I went on a month long, self-imposed hiatus once.  It was about the same time Lindsay Lohan went into rehab and we know how both those stories turned out.)

Occasionally, someone would tell me, "Everyone in my mom's office reads your blog."  Or, "My cousin in Alberta loves your blog!"

Uh, okay.

I kept writing, patiently waiting for someone to read.  I became resigned to the fact that blogs seemed to be primarily about complaining about politicians or complaining about kids, or posting cute pictures of them.  (Kids, not politicians.)

Nevertheless, I loved the creative outlet blogging gave me.  I loved writing.  I loved making the people around me laugh.  I loved Neil Diamond, but that is irrelevant to this post.

I began to come to the conclusion that the only people that would read my blog would be my family, friends and some dude's mom's office staff in Scranton. (Hopefully I make Andy Bernard chuckle.)

Dateline: March 2010: I make a comment, an innocent comment, on a blog I ran across called "Time Flies." I don't know what led me to that blog or why I was even surfing around that night, but it was like fate.  Within a few days, Tammy, the author of this beloved blog, had featured something I wrote in one of her posts.

Suddenly, I had comments - lots of them - and they started flowing fast and furious.  (Much like the movie, but without the guys with blond highlight tips and Vin Diesel's greasy head.)

I had never blogged for comments, the most I had ever received was about ten, but I will not deny that it felt good to have complete strangers actually commenting on something I wrote.

It was sort of like when a stranger approaches you and tells you look like someone famous.  (Unless you look like Andy Dick, in which case, they are just telling you that you like Andy Dick.  I'm just saying, it's probably not a compliment, especially if you actually are Andy Dick.)

That was four months ago.  I haven't looked back since. It only took 2 1/2 years and 878 posts, but people actually read and enjoy the daffy crud I write on a daily basis.  I only hope you are all here to stay.  I know I am.

(Unless I die, in which case I hereby leave this blog in the capable hands of Andy Dick.)

**Photo is of my 4-year-old son at age 2. BEST... PHOTO... EVER!

Tuesday, June 1, 2010

Think your day has been strange? It can't beat mine today. Just take a gander...

What a whimsical, ridiculous day I've had.  From start to finish, there was not a dull moment.  I give you my four highlights, or low-lights, or just lights.

1. "Meet Your New Teacher Day" at school.  

We first grade teachers dropped our first graders off at the second grade to meet their new teachers.  We then traveled down to the kindergarten to meet the new first graders that were coming into our classes. The kindergarten teacher had each group of kids sitting on the floor, lined up in a straight line, according to which teacher they had next year.

I walked over to my line of three and stood in front of them.  A chubby Asian kid sat first in line and was smiling at me with this big, toothless grin.  I looked down and smiled back.  That's when it happened.  He was excited and had something to tell me:

"YOU A F***!"

I thought I misunderstood him.

"Excuse me. What's that?"

"YOU A F***!"  (There was no "er" added to the end.  Just, "You a f***!")

At this point, the three other first grade teachers are in stitches.  They are hiding their faces behind notebooks, near tears of laughter streaming down their face.

I pretend he didn't say anything and we started addressing the whole group about first grade next year.

Five minutes later, he had to tell me one more time.

"YOU A F***!"

"Alright, that's enough.  That is not a nice thing to say."

He just looks up at me with this goofy grin on his face, like he had just told me I was an awesome superstar.  Meanwhile, the other first grader teachers are hiding in the corner, rolling in laughter.

*It turns out, he will be moving and although he was supposed to be in my class, he actually won't.  I told kindergarten teacher and she was embarrassed.  She said he and his parents have been learning English and they probably don't know what it even means.

2. 6th Grade v. Teachers softball game.

My first time up, I pulled up to the bag, ready to launch a rocket across the left field fence.  You should never swing at the first pitch, but I decide, why wait?  I launch the hit of the game, a clean shot that whizzes through the air like an 80's lawn dart.

I begin my triumphant jaunt around the bases, my elbow pumping in World Series style; "A Moment Like This" blaring on the loudspeakers.  Fireworks began pouring onto the field.

(Okay, I may have exaggerated a bit.)

I look up from my jog of fame to see a 4 foot 3 inch sixth grader reach out and snag the ball over his head in mid stride like he was friggen Willie Mays.  T'was the catch of the century.

Some sloppy, scrawny sixth grader stole MY moment of joy. How dare he?! What a little snot-nosed punk.   I knew a kindergartner that could give him a word or two.  Alas, next year, revenge will be mine.

The teachers lost to the 6th graders 9-3.  Apparently, the annals of history show that we have never been thumped so badly.  (Not coincedentally, this score is also now listed in the anals of history.)

My strange day continued....

3.  Nasty stuff stuck in noses.

I am sometimes an after school tutor at Sylvan Learning Center.  I arrive today, exhausted from all the swearing, the losing and my awesomeness mojo being stolen by some punk kid.  I sit down at my table and I have two girls there: a 3rd grader and a fifth grader.  We proceed to have this odd and surreal conversation:

Me: Wow, what a day, I've had.

5th Grade Girl: Me too.

Me: Oh yeah, what happened to you?

5th Grade Girl: I sneezed when I was eating a gummy bear and it went up my mouth and is stuck behind my nose.  I've had bright blue snot all day.

Me: [Just dying, trying my darnedest not to laugh.] Oh wow, your day was definitely worse than mine. Has it come out yet?

5th Grade Girl: No, it is just coming out slowly, I think - in runny blue snot.

3rd Grade Girl: Oh yeah, well my cousin used to stick cigarette butts up her nose and now she has asthma!!

Me: This is the strangest day ever.  How was your day?

Finally, my wacky day was complete when I learned that my ludicrously kooky blog had actually received an award from Mrs. Jeannie at Jeannie's Happy World.  Thank you, Jeannie.  You are the best Jeannie I know and that includes the Jeannie that runs the zoo's merry-go-round.  (That Jeannie always calls me "Sport" and I hate that.