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Hard Cheeses Prohibited: Comedy Flash Fiction by cam

Are All Cheeses Created Equal

Craig opened the door to his apartment and held a cold beer out at arm’s length. Ralph entered, grabbed the bottle and went to the kitchen counter where he perched himself on top of one of the stools. This was choreography, practiced daily and perfected.

“Got any cheese?” Ralph took a long draw from the bottle and belched.

“Aren’t you even going to say hello? Or excuse me?”

Another draw from the bottle. “Hello, excuse me, got any cheese?”

The two, along with another named Jonesy, lived in the same apartment building and were best friends, although Craig had to wonder why from time to time.

“Would you like to see the cheese menu?” For Craig, this was one of those times.

“No thanks, just run through what you’ve got, and I’ll choose.”

“Brie, Buchette, Bleu––”

“Something that doesn’t begin with B, please.”

“Camembert.”

“How about cheddar? It’s still in alphabetical order, and I don’t have to use a fake French accent to pronounce the name.”

Brie Cheese and Crackers

Craig set out a plate of brie and crackers. Ralph pinched his nose and ran off to the living room with his beer.

“Cheddar is a hard cheese and therefore, in my book, not cheese at all. In fact, I call it, cheddar-not-cheese,” said Craig.

“Colby.”

“Not-cheese.”

“Monter––”

“Not-cheese. Hard cheeses have been dehydrated during processing, and are therefore, hard. If you want cheese jerky, you’ll have to go elsewhere.

“This…” Ralph raised his arm and pointed his index finger at the ceiling, a gesture he often used when he was about to make a point. “This is cheese discrimination.”

“Yes, it is.” Craig raised his own arm and index finger.

“Are you mocking me?” Ralph’s hands went to his hips.

“Absolutely.” Craig’s hands followed suit. “And I’m on a roll, so keep going.”

The Cheese Shop Sketch, Monty Python

The apartment door burst open, and Jonesy entered. His arms were loaded, and he deposited his burden on the counter. He stepped back and motioned toward half a dozen, foot-long, brown cardboard boxes. “Cheese.” He smiled and crossed his arms. “I just came from the government building downtown. Can you believe it? They’re giving away surplus cheese.” Jonesy was giddy with delight. “I got some for all of us. Ten pounds each.”

“Awesome.” Ralph grabbed a box and started opening it.

“Not-cheese and you can’t open it here. Take it across to your apartment, Jonesy, and serve it there.” Craig grabbed the box from Ralph and put the top back on.

“Have you ever had this stuff on a grilled cheese sandwich? It’s to die for.” Jonesy started picking up the boxes, his excitement smothered under a blanket of Craig’s unenthusiastic response.

“Yes, to die for,” said Craig. “Which is what you’ll do if you eat it, because it’s quite literally, not cheese.”

Ralph opened the door for Jonesy, and they walked across the hall.

“Come on in Ralph,” said Jonesy, giving Craig a sideways glance. “I’m gonna make you a cheese sandwich you will not soon forget.”

“Yeah,” said Craig, closing his door. “That’s because you’ll be reminded of it irregularly for about two days.”

Processed Cheese Food, AKA, Government Cheese