You better get that pesky fruit out of there before I say “I do.”
**** me, that looks good.
Yeeeaaaaah. But I’m skipping that whole mashing-the-cake-in-the-face thing because I ain’t wastin’ Stilton.
O promise me that someday you and I,
together keto underneath the sky, . . .
They asked me how I knew
that my cheese was Bleu,
I of course replied,
something here inside
cannot be denied. . . .
Every little Brie
Seems to whisper “Louie” . . .
What a friend we have in cheeses,
Gouda, Brie, and Camembert, . . .
Mama don’t want no peas, no rice,
but she sure loves her some coconut oil . . .
Over hill, Wensleydale,
we will hit the keto trail . . .
Isn’t it romantic, to be young
and dine on such a cheese as this . . .
You Cheddar watch out,
you Cheddar not cry,
you Cheddar not pout,
I’m telling you why . . .
Have yourself a merry little Jarlsberg, . . .
Praise the lard, and pass the Emmenthaler . . .
Mmmmm. Now that is my sort of cake. Add some salami “leaves” and olive “roses” as decoration up the side.
Oh, yeah? Well…
(rolls up sleeves)
Photoshop has gotten strange.
It has a filter called Fromage
That turns all selfies and all landscapes
Into rich cheddar collage.
Rolling hills of golden grass
Now are wheels of butter brie,
The buildings, slabs of pepper jack,
Fondue becomes an oozing sea.
So, Hollywood is different now:
Tourists all look up and stare,
Hoping earthquakes send down tastes of
Buildings carved from Camembert.
They find the mozzarella ocean,
Lay down nude ‘longside and dream.
Who wants towels to protect from
Beaches spread with Philly cream?
They stay all night under the stars;
No one wants to pay for Hilton,
Knowing all the local parks
Have benches made from fusty Stilton.
Some folks think of relocating,
Saving up their checks all year
For cottage cheese-made cottages
Or bungalows of smooth Paneer.
But in those houses scenes have changed,
The pillows stuffed with marscapone
Rest under quilts of squares of Swiss
On beds of Provolone.
And in the den, the Bluray’s gone
Replaced by walls of Shropshire Blue
Because the view is so much sharper,
And the colors far more true.
The kitchen is an afterthought–
Of all the food prepared, the most
Beloved dish is simply plates
Of softened hunks of pure Gejtost.
Garages are all but defunct.
No one needs to park Miatas–
Italian delis will deliver
Parmesan and smooth ricottas.
Turophiles adore this filter.
For food selfie sanity,
Photoshop has more than fostered
The non-cheese-lovers mutter, “Bored.”
But only they would say so.
It’s hard to keep it short when moved
By vats of dripping queso.
A moldy muse has formed my words,
I’m not to blame for every quote.
I’m knee deep in a bowl of curds,
Hopped up on wine and drunken goat…(burp!)…cheese.