 Comedy: September 10, 2025 Issue [#13335] |
This week: Cheesier Edited by: Waltz in the Lonesome October  
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Sweet dreams are made of cheese
Who am I to dis a brie?
—unknown genius
Right now, I'm as single as a slice of American cheese.
—Nick Cannon
The early bird may get the worm, but it's the second mouse that gets the cheese.
—Jeremy Paxman |
Editor's Note: Yes, I've done editorials on cheese before. Yes, I cribbed this one from my own blog. Yes, I'm too lazy to come up with a new topic and/or new material for an editorial. Hard work may pay off in the future, but laziness pays off now.
“Poets have been mysteriously silent on the subject of cheese.”
That's from G.K. Chesterton. Chesterton lived a hundred years ago. Since that time, things have changed. Poets have changed. The nature of mysterious silence has changed. Most importantly, cheese has changed.
Well, okay, not really, unless you count the introduction of industrial chemical "cheese," which as far as I'm concerned is a legitimate counterargument against the usefulness of technology. Oh, sure, it melts more evenly, and it's cheaper, but it's not cheese. It barely even qualifies as food.
But, mostly, there's a good reason for not waxing (pun intended: fake cheese looks and tastes like wax) poetic about fermented dairy products: poets have no sense of humor, and cheese is inherently funny.
"But Waltz, lots of poets write funny poems." No, comedians write funny verses; poets have way too much angst to transcend themselves by writing limericks or senryu.
Which is not to say I don't appreciate poetry. I can do angst. I have a fondness for melodrama, and melodrama verges on comedy. But rare is the poem that transports my psyche the way a good comedy act can.
So, of course, I looked for modern poems concerning cheese, and I found this one, but I can't tell if the poet meant to be funny but missed the mark, or shot for seriousness and landed on humor.
And then there's this, which is firmly and decisively all about cheese, and not even the plastic kind. But the strict rhythm and rhyme make me believe it, too, was meant to be funny. Or maybe not; like I said, cheese is inherently funny.
Another one comes from reddit, though, far from being a loving ode to spoiled milk, it expresses the poet's hatred of one particular cheese style (one which, say what you will about it, but at least it's not Kraft Singles).
So, in short, Chesterton's proclamation (itself a prime example of dry British humour) is outdated, superseded by those who, perhaps to spite Chesterton, have given us the artistic expressions of their souls on the subject of delicious cheese.
But no poem, certainly not the ones I found for this discourse, can ever truly capture the magic of cheese, any more than writing about beer can give us the sublime experience of actually drinking the magic brew. Perhaps that's why it took so long to write any: while love, the traditional subject of a poet's pen, is simple enough to be transcribed, described, and inscribed, the glory of cheese is not. |
Some humor, cheesy or otherwise:
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Last time, in "Morning" , I talked about the worst of times.
FivetricksterTreats  : Alarm clocks are BS. That's the one saving grace of being disabled and 50...I can count on one hand the number of times I've needed to set an alarm each year for the last couple years. I don't make my appointments too early, but not so late that I'm getting home at stupid o'clock. Works for me!
Ah, good, another who is free of the shackles.
That's all for me for now! See you next time. Until then,
LAUGH ON!!!
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