I’m dead tired, but I’m not going to fall asleep. No, this isn’t a repeat of when my butcher was grinding up amphetamines in my meat to get me hooked on his, less legitimate, side business, no, this is actual terror keeping me awake.
Dread writhes through my veins, my heart starts beating at the rate of a coke addicted, hummingbird air-traffic controller. How I wish this panic was just my butcher up to his old tricks again; I’d know how to deal with it and I could get through tonight. You know that’s not true, Justin, you know you brought this on yourself.
You knew you couldn’t resist that cheese plate an hour ago.
You knew you couldn’t stop at one kind of cheese, no; you had to have them all.
You had to have them all because that’s who you are.
You will mix and match your cheeses.
You mix and match your cheese, even though you know you’re going to bed soon and that that cheese medley that your stomach has churned into cheese chaos will inevitably result in horrifying night terrors.
They’re called “cheese terrors” to the layman or “lactose-inspired horrors of repressed fears” to the layman who wants to sound smarter than he or she really is. Although not yet acknowledged by the DSM-IV-TR, “cheese terrors”, or “CT’s” for people who are too busy to say one more syllable, have been plaguing our society since the milk proteins began coagulating.
Sufferers of cheese terrors have been campaigning apathetically to be included in the DSM-V. Letters have not been written, petitions have not been signed, babies have not been kissed, and parades have not yet been held. Most likely this inactivity is due to confusion on how to get a condition elected into the book and, because the average person suffering from cheese terrors spends most of their day rapt in fear, trying to regain their sanity that was lost the night before.
It’s a tough life; I constantly keep buying cheese, thinking that I’ll play it safe and eat it during the day, but then every night it calls to me with it’s siren song of deliciousness. Like clockwork, I make my way to the refrigerator as it shimmers like a beacon of pleasure amidst the shelves littered with the mold and sticky patches of leftovers from years past. I tell myself to just eat one piece and leave it at that, full knowing that the more pieces and varieties I ingest the exponentially worse my ensuing nightmares will be.
Tonight I couldn’t help myself. I gorged on hard cheese hard. I gorged like I wasn’t going into surgery tomorrow. I gorged like I was on a gorge-centric vacation in the American Southwest.
I gorged like I really wanted to hate myself afterwards.
My self-loathing was strong post-cheese binge. During the bender my mind had only been focused on the delicious mouth delight cheese affords one, but now, and with my eyelids beginning to droop, I recognized the folly of my gluttony and lust in the cold light of the refrigerator.
You ignorant ignoramus, you bumbling bumblefuck, you doody-headed dunce; my god, Justin; you’ve set yourself up to panic all night.
What did you do it for, Justin?
A few seconds of sweet cheesy release in your mouth?
Justin, you filthy cheese-whore, you don’t care where you get it from or what it does to you; you just eat it because it gets you off and that drives you fucking wild.
So here I sit, four hours, six cups of coffee, and one chocolate enema later and I’m struggling to stay awake. Hopefully, that laxative-based chocolate the enema was dipped in will get to work soon and I can pass this cheese and get to sleep with it out of my system. I don’t have the courage tonight to face the Muenster inspired monsters and the Gouda infused ghouls. How many times am I going to be able to fit the pieces of my shattered psyche back together only to have it smashed by cheese terrors the following night? Why didn’t I just remember the rhyme my sponsor made up?
Cheese before bed? I’d rather be dead. Cheese through the day? Everything’s okay!
This is no way to live. If I make it through the night, I’m going cold turkey tomorrow, and by that I mean I’ll be stocking my mini-fridge with cold turkey to eat before bed, so, in theory, the tryptophan will take hold and put me to bed before I can do anymore damage to myself or my mind.
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you filthy cheese-whore… again, I have to write these phrases down and implement them some how! You should put out a “challenge” to pick a phrase from your latest post, and it has to be the TITLE of one of our blog posts…and we have to figure out a way to make the post work. That could result in some laughs.
I might just start doing that! Keep watch.
Sandi
I like that idea! Seriously, I would love to read some of your blog posts about “filthy cheese whores”. No joke, that would be really awesome.
Okay, dude…here it is…I took the phrase as the title of my post and challenged myself to create an article from that. It was difficult, but got the phrase in the body of the document! http://wp.me/p1ilhc-104
Sandi
Awesome, I am so happy and flattered that you wrote this! I just finished reading it and totally loved it!
Fruity Pebbles, Froot Loops, and Feta do it to me. Or maybe it’s just things that start with “F”.
Those are some tasty treats! I should probably shift my pre-bed ritual to something with just one kind of cheese as you have just to minimize my terrors.
Funny stuff!!
Thank you, thank you very much!
I am also a cheese addict but in a much worse way. I only like American. You must try two pieces of cheese on a fresh bagel. Cheese heaven, followed by guilt. And then the desire to have more. Cheeeessseee! (While I shake my hands at the sky!)
The heaven, guilt, and desire for more cycle is applied in my life for many more things than just cheese. So, said bagel recipe is just one slice toasted on each half of the bagel? That sounds delicious, as I am a huge fan of bagels and cheese.
A cracker and cheese monsters colluding together in a delicious nightmare turned dream that we Elm Street? Yes, that would definitely be awesome and could be done!
Neat. See you tonight, then!
I just sent my RSVP!
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I love it!
In our house, the cheesy consequences are more…gastric in nature. This means the cheese offender’s partner must take evasive action, or at least sleep wearing nose plugs. I must say no more.
Karen
Nose plugs and ear plugs car necessary after fondue night; escape routes must be thought of too, or one might end up roasting alive in a stinky dutch oven.
Cheese … the sirens of the dairy products … no human can resist the call … (fridge door opening again) …
In the original Odyssey it was actually just cheese that tried to lure Odysseus and his men to their peril; hence the phrase “dangerously cheesy”.
If you really like cheese as much as you say you like cheese, then you would quit worrying and crying and just eat the cheese and make the Lactose intolerations your bitches and make them scurred of you.
But I feel your pain.
That’s what I’ve been trying to do. Much like my hero, Bob Ducca, I’m trying to work up a hyper-tolerance for lactose.
Apple juice. Trust me. Apple juice. A lot.
Hmmm, it’ll be a change of pace, but I’m all for having my cake and eating it too.
Mmm, cheese…
It’s delicious, but it can also be terrifying!
Reblogged this on Yvonne Lazos.
Thanks for the laugh. That was awesome and so is cheese. It causes me other terrors like the growing numbers on the scale and the size of my middle but I eat it anyway cause I can’t resist.
It’s so tasty, but yet, you’re totally right about the other, more physical, terrors brought on by the power of cheese.
HAHAahahA! Awesome post! I believe a petition to include “cheese terrors” or “CT’s”, in the DSM-IV-TR is now in order!
Definitely, the Cheese Terror Awareness Movement appreciates your support!
I just read “it shimmers like a bacon of pleasure” rather than “beacon”… obviously I have similar issues, but with pig-related products instead of cheese. Although it is a fact that the top three things women love are seltzer water, brunch and cheese. Lisa Frank is in the top 10 as well. And then I found this: http://www.buzzfeed.com/lollaparooza/23-reasons-why-lisa-frank-was-a-genius-8s5g and my life was complete.
I love the Freudian slip your brain did there. Seriously, I probably would have done it too if I hadn’t wrote it. Although I’m not huge on seltzer water, I do fancy myself a brunch and cheese enthusiasts–I’ll probably need to bring that up more when talking to circles of women. Great Lisa Frank share btw.
OH MY GOD! This was too hilarious. You really cracked me up. One of my favorite lines “lactose-inspired horrors of repressed fears” Dude that was way too funny and “Cheese whore.” That one I probably liked best because I too am a cheese whore, but I don’t suffer from DSM-IV-TR. Thanks for the laughs!
Thank you, thank you very much. I’m glad we can both have an appreciation for the phrase “cheese whore”.
Hope you don’t mind if I steal ‘filthy cheese whore’. Either way, thanks!
Please, use “filthy cheese whore” as much as you’d like. Here’s to hoping it works its way into the modern lexicon soon!
Don’t know whether to laugh, or raid the fridge for cheese…have 4 varieties in there now! LOL! Love it! Oh, my, but this line was just too funny “lactose-inspired horrors of repressed fears” ! That’s as bad as my cat who has PTSD – Post Traumatic Sparrow Disorder…she is, believe it or not, completely petrified of sparrows! And only sparrows…pigeons don’t peck at her nerves at all! LOL! Now, ya got me started….
Wow, I’ve honestly never heard of a cat with PTSD, let alone one terrified of sparrows. Also, what’s the process to pinpoint PTSD with the cat, was there some horrible sparrow-inspired horrors of repressed fears? Anyways, thank you for reading, I’m glad you enjoyed it.
‘Cheese before bed? I’d rather be dead. Cheese through the day? Everything’s okay!’
You have a way with words my fellow cheese whore friend.
Gracias, thank you for enjoying my cheese musings! It’s a pleasure to hear from fellow cheese whores all the time. Cheese whore nation, unite!