The cheeze store was not a busy place. It was in fact, quite an empty place. If it were not for the person who worked behind the counter, the store would have been empty. Except for the cheeze. The cheeze was ever-present. The aroma which filled this place was heavenly, a mix of all the types of cheeze which called the store their home. Blue, Cheddar, Swiss, Havana, Jack. And many other types. It was a cheeze lovers paradise. Not that there were many cheeze lovers around, but for those which found cheeze to be enticing and exciting, it was Utopia. It so happened that the man who worked behind the counter was one of these people. He found cheeze to be the most beautiful thing on earth. He was so deeply in love with cheeze, he even found it sexually exciting. But that really has no relevance to this story. This is family entertainment after all. Where was I? Oh yes, he was in love with cheeze. He worked in a cheeze shop. He was in heaven. This was his Utopia. But there was something about him that just did not fit the old cheeze shop cashier mold. No one could really pick it out. The truth was, he did not love all cheeze impartially. Oh no, he happened to despise a certain form of cheeze. And that was the dreaded GOAT CHEEZE! Yes, he hated this more than anything else ever to exist. He felt that this cheeze was not cheeze at all, but more of a cheese, and therefore not fit to reside in his store. But he did not own the store, he only worked there, and occasionally had to handle this loathed substance. But he did so with all the grace and dignity he could muster (which wasn't much). This he may be commended for.
There was one other thing about The Cheeze Man which wasn't quite 'cool'. He had a very strange habit. Every couple of minutes, he would look down at his shoe, lift up his leg, polish his shoe with the sleeve of his shirt, and set his foot back down on the floor. People looked at him strangely for doing this, but he was totally unaware of this ever occuring. It was a totally unconscious act. One person had asked him about it. The person had said, "Why did you do that?" "Do what?", The Cheeze Man replied, puzzled. The person regarded him strangely, shook his head, and walked out of the store. Ever since then, The Cheeze Man was extremely paranoid. He would eye everyone suspiciously and questioned their every action. The cheeze shop he worked in became infamous around the town. No one would go in the cheeze shop any more. So The Cheeze Man was fired. Canned just like that. He was sad.
After about 3 months of sitting at home and feeling sorry for himself, The Cheeze Man came to the realization that the loss of his job was not his fault, but society's, and more specifically, the fault of the goat cheese. So his twisted mind began to work. The impulses started to fly. The chemicals were a'movin'. It was the first time he had really used his brain in years. He decided that he must destroy the goat cheeze, the evil owner of the cheeze shop who allowed this filth to be sold, and all the goats in the world. So what he would do first was destroy the cheeze shop. He would make a bomb. There was just one small problem with this. He had no idea of how to built a bomb. He went to the library, and took about a book entitled BOMBS. It seemed logical enough. So he learnt how to make a small gasoline bomb with a bottle and a rag. He went down to the cheeze shop, lit the bomb and threw it in. The shop caught on fire. The Cheeze Man fled.
The next morning, The Cheeze Man opened his door, and picked up the newspaper. On the front page was a pictured of the almost destroyed cheeze shop. All that was left of it was a wall, and a display. In front of the display stood the owner of the cheeze shop, who looked thoroughly angry, and not very dead. Inside the display was a chunk of cheeze. Or rather cheese. That is correct, it was the goat cheeze. The Cheeze Man went insane then. He went out and bought all the goat cheeze he could find. He ate it all.
The next day, when the police came to The Cheeze Man's house to question him about the arson of the cheeze shop, they found The Cheeze Man lying dead on his couch. He had eaten his last peice of cheeze. Or rather, cheese.