Over the past year you have learned to love, respect, honor, and worship the Executive members of Infinite Cheese....

Well.... perhaps you've just learned to loathe and detest the Executive members, just like they have learned to detest each other....

The good news is that all of those wacky, wiggy, narcissistic, self-centered bastards are going to try and save the world from Bokstar, the evil sentient energy being....

....the better news????

Not everyone will survive.....

                       Jeff Turner
                           Aaron Wells
                                Steve Gomez
                                     The Grand Wazoo
                                           The Fifth Jew
                                                  Mr. NiceGuy
                                                         Jannis
                                                               Bryan, the Rent-A-Cop
                                                                      The Escaped Mac
                                                                             and, the Afrosnake....

Who will live?
Who will die?
Who will make asses out of themselves?

This is.....

#12; The Collector's Anniversary Edition

In this newsletter...

....the destruction of Bokstar and/or the Executive members of Infinite Cheese!!!!

That's coming up next.... now, relax and submit your mind to Infinite Cheese...

Vol.                                                                Issue #12

Infinite Cheese

"We don’t have AIDS!"

--A Lost Grand Wazoo Moment--
written by the Grand Wazoo, Tim Pö

The phone in the conference room rang. Tim Powe answered it.
"Hello?.... Yes, this is he.... he what?..... again?..... yes, right away."

"What is it?" whined Jeff.
Tim whispered in Jeff's ear.
"Oooh...that...that bastard..." replied Jeff.
"I suppose I'll go get him," stated Tim.

Tim Powe entered the classroom and saw Aaron Wells lying on the ground, unconscious. Tim looked around the room and saw that it was filled with 15 year-old girls, sitting at desks, staring at him. Tim smiled. Tim picked up the bottle of booze and placed it in his felt cape, and then picked up Aaron. He grumbled as the Grand Wazoo lift him off the floor.
"Thanks for contacting me," Tim said to the teacher and walked out of the room, dragging Aaron behind him.
"Sherble gerble boo...," muttered Aaron.
"Aaron, you need to stop going to those all-girl schools like that... Next time I may not come get you..."
Aaron whined. Tim shoved him into the car.
"Take him back to headquarters, Buxley. I have some... business... to take care of here."
"Yes sir...," replied Buxley.
Tim walked back towards the school, giggling.

--MegaStory; part 7--
An Infinite Cheese Story

Immediately, the plane began accelerating forward with increasing force. “...in case of a water landing....you...AAAAAHHHHH!!!!” screamed the stewardess as she began to slide toward the back of the plane in the growing G-force of the Freshmaker’s jets, eventually losing purchase on the floor and flying, bullet-like to the rear of the plane, where she landed with a THUD.
“I...sure...hope...it’s...padded...back...there,” said Aaron as face was pushed back against his skull by the plane’s speed.
When he got no response, he used all the strength of his neck to turn his head to the side and look at Jeff. Jeff was giggling wildly, the face-mask pressed deeply into his cheeks, and one hand forced down hard against the gas canister.
Then, Aaron blacked out. The Freshmaker zoomed onward at over twenty times the Earth’s gravity, toward the Atlantic Ocean cheese accelerator, and towards inevitable wackiness.

AND NOW... THE CONTINUATION OF THE MEGASTORY...

Twenty minutes later...
Atlantic Ocean

The USS Missouri steadily swayed on the many waves of the Atlantic Ocean. Standing on the deck of the giant battleship was General Robert Peterson of the Infinite Cheese-United States unified secret military operations. He steadily swayed in the wind.
Suddenly a deep rumbling sound could be heard. It sounded a bit like a dual washer and dryer unit being swung precariously above your head while you were half-asleep in bed...
General Peterson looked up into the sky, trying to find the location of the incoming noise.
“I suppose that would be the Freshmaker,” said the general to himself.
Then... the proverbial dual washer and dryer unit dropped.
Before General Peterson could comprehend anything further, the Freshmaker whooshed (for whooshed is the only verb used to describe something landing on a battleship while going several times the speed of light) onto the USS Missouri and immediately came to a stop at the edge of the battleship.
If anything was more impressive then the speed of the Freshmaker, it was its brake job.

Inside the now-stopped Freshmaker, sat the Executive members of Infinite Cheese. In the front throne-like seats of the airplane, Jeff and Aaron sat.
The mask which lead to Jeff’s tank of ‘Nifty’ Oxygen slipped off his face. For the entire twenty minute flight on the Freshmaker, it had been plastered to his nose and mouth area.
Jeff was quietly singing/mumbling to himself, having fallen unconscious several minutes ago.
“23 wheel of cheese on the wall; 23 bottles of cheese.. you take one... give it to a mouse.... squeak.. wheels of cheese on the wall....” spoke Jeff quietly in his dreams.”
Next to him, Aaron unbuckled his seat belt and jumped up from his throne. Just as he did, the Fifth Jew walked past, headed towards the exit.
“You’re sitting up front with Jeff on the way back,” demanded Aaron Wells. “In the throne chair!?” asked the Fifth Jew excitedly.

“Whatever. I ain’t sitting next to some naked freak wrapped in a blanket mumbling things to himself for another twenty minutes.
“Oh, I just wanted to sit up front. I didn’t know it would have to be next to Jeff,” said the Fifth Jew, a bit disappointed.
“I’m not sitting next to him,” pouted Aaron.
“Well, I don’t want to,” spouted back the Fifth Jew.
As the argument continued, the bathroom door in the back of the Freshmaker opened, and Jannis and Mr. NiceGuy flopped out.
“That was the most enjoyable twenty minutes of my life,” said Steve Gomez, commenting on the torrid beauty of an airplane flight at several times the speed of light.
“I agree,” said Jannis, commenting on the torrid beauty that took place in the Freshmaker bathroom during the airplane flight.
Ty Andrews walked on down the aisle, exiting the plane right behind the Fifth Jew.
Jannis lingered around Steve Gomez. Steve stared out the window in a dream-like state.
“Hey, Stevie. I’ve been watching you lately,” said Jannis seductively.
“Yeho?” asked Steve, only semi-aware of his surroundings.
“Yes, and I like what I see....”
Further up the aisle Aaron was trying to wake up Jeff. After several mild punches to the face Jeff awoke.
“Are we there?” asked Jeff.
“Yes, keep your blanket on and follow me,” said Aaron, as motherly as he could.
“Okay... I don’t feel good,” said Jeff quietly. Jeff got up, wobbling a bit, then started to follow Aaron out the airplane.
Just as they were about to exit, Aaron turned and saw Jannis and Steve talking at the back of the airplane.
“Aw... he deserves it,” said Aaron, helping Jeff out of the Freshmaker.

On the deck of the USS Missouri General Peterson shook hands with Aaron Wells. “Hello, Mr. Wells,” said the General. “It’s a pleasure for my ship to be of use to Infinite Cheese.”
“I know; also this is Jeff Turner, co-founder and co-CEO of Infinite Cheese,” said Aaron pointing at the WWF blanket-covered lump lying on the USS Missouri deck.
“Of course. I have spoken with your president of Research and Development, Steve Something-or-other,” said General Peterson. “What exactly is his name?”
“Doesn’t matter-- it’s not really important,” answered Aaron.
“Oh, well, in that case, Whatever-His-Name-Is said that you guys needed to go to the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean to your secret Cheese Base. Correct?”
“Yes.”
“Good, well, docked on the bottom of this ship is the Y2K submarine, capable of plunging you all to the depths of this ocean.”
“The Y2K submarine? Why does that sound familiar?” asked Aaron to anyone that would answer.
“Jeff named it,” said Steve exiting the Freshmaker as he rebuttoned his shirt. Jannis quickly followed. “He named it after our ultimate weapon.”
“We have an ultimate weapon?” asked Aaron, rubbing his eyes. The Co-founder of Infinite Cheese had been having a trying time lately with the loss of his hair and all, and not to happy with having to be drug out into the middle of the ocean to dive and try to intercept a giant energy being.
“Yes. Jeff and I devised an ultimate weapon. We came up with it awhile ago. It will bring about the end of the world and thrust Infinite Cheese into power faster then a two-cent whore thrusting herself upon you, Aaron.”
“Oh?” said Aaron with a bit of disbelief and suspicion, “I know some two-cent whores which can thrust pretty good.”
“Hey, what about me?” groaned the Fifth Jew. “I’ve been workin’ at this place for a year now and I never knew nothing about no ultimate weapon.
Steve glared at each of the Executive members of Infinite Cheese at once. “That is because we have done nothing in the past year except bitch to and about each other, fight and bicker, capture various defectors, kill homosexual murderers, retrieve Aaron’s hair, and fix major global problems which we, in our complete and utter ignorance, have brought about. Hence Bokstar, hence us standing on the USS Missouri in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean, and hence that we haven’t had time to debrief anyone about our ultimate weapon,” spouted Steve.
For a moment everyone was silent. Steve then ended the silence as quickly as he started it.
“Now,” he muttered, falling to one knee, “ I haven’t slept in several days trying to figure out how to stop Bokstar. I’m taking a nap.
Steve collapsed onto the deck of the USS Missouri, already fast asleep.
“Well, someone’s bitchy,” stated Mr. NiceGuy.
Aaron glared at Jannis who was standing next to the now-unconsciene Steve.
“Damn, Jannis, what did you do to him in there?” asked Aaron, still shocked by Steve’s outburst.
“I... liberated him.. tee hee hee,” said Jannis, smiling.
Aaron winced a bit; an expression which could have either been interpreted as Aaron trying to figure out what Jannis meant, or knowing damn well what Jannis meant, and trying to block the thought out of his mouth.
At any rate, it was at that moment that the lump of WWF blanket which was Jeff Turner, sat up.
“I think I’m getting my second wind,” said Jeff, from beneath the blanket. “But I think I’m naked,” add Jeff.
“I think you are too,” said Aaron.
“I should get some clothes..”
“I think so.”
“...or not.”
“I really think you should.”
“Oh.... okay.”
Aaron began to search for clothes for Jeff as the rest of the Executives members began to walk down a flight of stairs to the underbelly of the USS Missouri.

--Sock--
                                   written by Missionary of the Sacred Cow,
                                     All Powerful Deity Subservient to the Afrosnake

okay, so heres the deal, theres this giant gopher beast right? and its got like testosterone dripping from every pore, right? and it smells really funky, kinda like an old gym sock thats been left in the locker too long and no one even knows its there, it just lays there in the bottom of the locker, underneath the old traperkeepers. cold, alone, sobbing gently to itself at night, crying itself to sleep. becoming hard and cold to the world, unfeeling and uncaring, wanting nothing but the ultimate destruction of all pleasant smells. then the day finally comes! its chance!!!!! as it oozes its now mostly liquid mass out of the locker, it holds itself together in pure hatred of the one thing he knows brings happiness to the world....LAUNDRY DETERGENT!!!!!!! dripping through the city like liquid cheese off of a freshly toasted bun, he searches, searches, searches for the destruction of his greatest hate, yes.......LAUNDRY DETERGENT!!!!! the gentle bringer of silken soft cotton undies and nice smelling t-shirts.now, this sentient liquid gym sock thingy ((notice how all these inanimate objects are becoming sentient? geez, first the fungus bastid, then the demons of hell, now inanimate objects bent on destroying the worlds cheesy goodness, we cant find NORMAL problems to deal with??)) crawls its slow but steady pace looking for the source of all the goodness of detergent, DOWNY! yes, that annoying cute little bear, and the pungent aroma of the sicknening sweetness drew him through the nighttime streets, exuding odor as he went,bent on bringing down society as a whole! a world without comfortable underwear cannot stand! ((or sit, or run, or jog, or even cross their legs)) the leaders of the world would bicker pointlessly and relentlessy because of their chaffing undergarments. The hate filled slime-sock continued to allow himself to be drawn by the cloying aroma of fabric softener and detergent all in one. after downy he would find BOUNCE..... then whatever other low-end products were out there waiting for his destructive powers. and then, once the world was brought to its knees without their comfortable underwear, and chaos had reigned supreme, the people would look to HIM for leadership! to guide them through their troubled times! the stinky sock that had insulted and degraded would lead them! and he would lead them down a path of ruin!!! it chortled to itself with the pure glee of its madman's insanity! stopping to reasses its surroundings, it realized where it had been drawn, THE INFINITE CHEESE HEADQUARTERS!!!! for some reason the sickening sweet smell of fabric softener seemed to emanate from the severely damaged structural wonder. the newly sentient sock being stopped to take in this new information as it stared at the marveling structure before it, and decided infinite cheese had thought of the same plan!!!!! damn those bastards!!! except they werent detroying the softener, they were..........storing it? preparing for the end of fabric softener, but managing to keep enough to keep their own personal undergarments springtime soft?
"those bastard must die!!!!!", the sockbeing would have screamed if it had a mouth. bracing itself to bumrush the building and destroy all softeners within, the sock being hurtled toward the glass doors and the security guard ((is his name brian? you edit it, i cant remember)) the sock noticed only one thing before he realized what mistake he had made, THAT ?BRIAN? WAS A COMPLETE IDIOT!!!!! the overpowering stench of the sock beast was nothing to the mental midget before him. noticing the thick splootch on the floor, the security guard did what any respectable idiot would do. he picked up the sock to hide it from his bosses ((forgetting they were several thousand miles away and on the bottom of an ocean))

"NOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!" the evil sock wanted to scream, "I CANT BE FOILED LIKE THIS!! I CANT END THIS WAY!!!! I AM EVIL SOCK!!!!! I MUST HAVE MY REVENGE ON THE SOCIETY THAT SPAWNED MY EVIL!!!!"

and ?brian? finally realizing that what he held was a rather stinky old gym sock, ALSO realized it looked alot like one of his own socks. ?brian? the boy-blunder was always losing his socks somehow, and not just in the wash. he'd come to work wearing 6 or 7 pairs of socks, and go home with maybe a pair and a half sometimes. so, instead of blowing all his income on socks ((his sock fetish was almost as extensive as aarons, errr, or is it jeffs.. yes its jeffs, thats right... flag fetish, though he was unluckier in keeping his collection, least till bokstar came.....))he just picked up stray ones off the street to wash at home and keep as his own. when hhe went home for the evening, the strange sock he had found was attempting to escape, and although ?brian? saw nothing wrong in this, it was just noticeable that the sockbeast was growing. so ?brian? tossed it into the washing machine with plenty of fabric softener to give it a good whirl go round
truth be told, the sock was actually very tired, in ?brians? back pocket all day in the nevada heat it was unbearably stinky. the man probably didnt know how to wipe properly, which would account for the stench. the poor evil sockbeast bent on wolrd domination had been foiled by the most incompetant man in the infinite cheese superstructure, as the sock slipped into narcoleptic dreams while the fabric softener loosened the fabric of his mind, he could only hope that once day he would come out of it.but now he had a new goal, the desstruction of brian and all of infinite cheese!!!!!!! course, what can one sock do......

oh yeah, the gopher beast got hit by a truck crossing the highway late at night, a LAUNDRY DETERGENT truck at that! ahh yes, the sad ends of our evilest villains.........

--MegaStory; part 8--
An Infinite Cheese Story

The Grand Wazoo sat in the conference room. The other chairs did not contain their usual items; the items, of course, being the other Executive members of Infinite Cheese. In their place, sitting on each of the chairs were different baskets of fruits and vegetables.
On Jeff’s chair was a basket of cherries. On Aaron’s chair was a basket of zucchinis. The Fifth Jew and Mr. NiceGuy’s chair held baskets of lettuce and tomatoes, respectively. On Steve’s chair were several dozen bananas.
Most would see no connection; these people are foolish, bastards even. The odd connection with the various fruits and vegetables was that each of the Executive member’s chair held a food item which they were enormously allergic to.
The Grand Wazoo giggled.
The phone near the Grand Wazoo rang.
The Grand Wazoo looked at it.
It rang again.
The Wazoo winked at it.
It rang again.
The Wazoo picked it up.
There was silence on both ends for a moment, then:
“Wazoo, is that you?” said Aaron through the phone.
“Yes,” responded the Grand Wazoo, Tim Powe.
“We need something.”
“Oh?”
“Yes. Things are going well so far, except finding clothes for Jeff, but we even got that taken care of.”
“Ah.”
“Anyway, I was talking to Steve about what we should do when we actually find Bokstar.
“Okay.”
“By the way, I think Steve got some from Jannis,” said Aaron, giggling.
“Oh? I gave Jannis a vile of semen once.”
Silence.
“What was that?” asked Aaron, not sure that he heard correctly, but frightened that he had.
“For that surprise birthday party I planned for myself. I didn’t tell anyone, then I all invited them to a party in the conference room on my birthday. It was a surprise party for myself. Anyway, one of the party favors I gave out was a vile of semen. That and a bag of--”
“I don’t remember going to a surprise birthday party,” said Aaron, thankfully interrupting the Grand Wazoo.
“Oh... I didn’t invite you. Anyway, I think that Jannis keeps the vile in her purse for good luck. What a weirdo.”
“Why wasn’t I invited?”
“I never really liked you.”
Silence.
“Oh,” said Aaron, carefully. “Anyhow, we need you to go track down the Escaped Mac. You know, Jeff’s personal Mac which escaped from his office. Steve thinks that it may be possible to have the Escaped Mac interface with the InfiCheese computer within Bokstar, and shut it down.”
“Okay.”
“Well, I guess that’s it. Try to find him and get him over here as soon as possible.”
“Okay.”
“It may be hard. Jeff and I have been searching for him for months. Try, though, okay? The world may depend on it.
“I will.... bitch.”
“What? Why did you just call me a... Oh, never mind, just find the damn computer.”
With that said, Aaron hung up. The Grand Wazoo hung up also, then adjusted his hat.
“I’ll find the computer... for the world’s safety.... I suppose....” said the Grand Wazoo, “but first, I need a Slurpee.
The Grand Wazoo shuffled out of the conference room.

The Grand Wazoo walked into the 7-11 which was located across the street from the Infinite Cheese headquarters building.
Behind the counter the Escaped Mac, who had been working there for several months, shrinked back a bit.
The Grand Wazoo made a beeline for the Slurpee machine. Once there he created himself a Slurpee, using the Triple Super Big Gulp container instead of the regular Slurpee cup.
Once the cup was filled up it weighed approximately eight pounds.
The Grand Wazoo giggled as he lugged his Triple Super Big Gulp filled with Coca-Cola and Wild Cherry to the cash register. He whipped out a five dollar bill and his Official Infinite Cheese discount card.
“Here, and hurry, I have a world to save,” said the Grand Wazoo.
“O--o--okay,” said the frightened Mac, hovering over to the counter.
The Grand Wazoo looked at the Escaped Mac.
The Escaped Mac looked at the Grand Wazoo.
“You’re the escaped Mac, aren’t you?” said the Grand Wazoo.
“No.”
“Oh?”
“I’m not.”
“Take off those glasses.”
“No.”
“Don’t make me pour water on you.”
“No!!!”
“Ha! Only a computer would be frightened of having water thrown on them in this 120 degree Las Vegas heat!” The Grand Wazoo began to glide over the counter ominously, like some sort of demented desert tortoise.
“No! Wait! I’m not a computer,” cried the Macintosh, “I’m just Canadian!”
The Grand Wazoo froze. Was it just a Canadian?
“Oh?” asked the Grand Wazoo.
“Yes.”
“Tell me about Canada.”
“Well.... it’s nice, cold, has lots of tress--”
“I wasn’t always the spin doctor of Infinite Cheese, you little Mac,” interrupted the Grand Wazoo. “Before I gained knowledge of everything important, I was a student. One of my majors at one of the colleges I attended was Canadian Anthropology. I learned everything about Canadians.”
“Oh..... Ah... Did you?” said the Escaped Mac, hovering away from the counter, “What did you learn?”
“I learned all about Canadians. In Canada gravity only exists from the hours of 10 am to 8 pm. The rest of the time all the Canadians must strap themselves to trees so they won’t float into space.... and all those moose don’t really exist. They are just brought about into existence from random psychic energy stored up in Canadians from all the excess radiation they receive due to the fact that they don’t have oxygen nor an atmosphere in Canada.”
The Grand Wazoo moved his face sparse inches from the Escaped Mac. “So.... if I don’t see you materialize a Goddamn moose in the next ten seconds... I will know you aren’t Canadian.”
The Escaped Mac stared at the Grand Wazoo.
The Grand Wazoo winked at the Escaped Mac.

One hour later the Escaped Mac was being placed onto the deck of the Not-So-Fresh-Feeling-Maker, the back up air craft owned by Infinite Cheese. The Grand Wazoo just finished explaining to the Escaped Mac how the world may depend on if it could stop Bokstar.
“I’ll do it, but just because I know the world would be doomed if it was left up to Jeff and Aaron,” came the reply from the little computer.
And with that... the brave little Mac took off in the Not-So-Fresh-Feeling-Maker and headed towards the Atlantic Ocean.

--The Search for the Unholy Swiss, part 3 or,
How We Spent Our Summer Vacation--
written by Those Moon People

warning: the following story contains no explicit lyrics, and just happens to be a continuation from where the last installment left off. Please continue.

{begin transmission}
The Moon Inspector and I walked off toward the direction of the shady side of the moon in search of the Block of Swiss. I didn't want to stare, but I could not take my eyes off of him. He was so handsome, even with his two missing front teeth he lost in that fight. As we walked along holding hands, I noticed some moon rocks to the right side of a small crater. Excitedly I headed over in that direction, pulling the Moon Inspector along with me. Letting go of his hand I picked up a few small pretty rocks and held them up to the starlight. They glittered and sparkled. Also, they were of unusual size and shapes. "Yippie, just perfect for my moon rock collection!" I exclaimed, as I flashed the Moon Inspector one my of big smiles. He could not help but smile back, as he was amused with my simplicity. I have always found fun, amazement, and pleasure over the small things in life that most people do not take notice to. He gently took the rocks and tucked them away in his pocket safely for me.
"Are you ready to resume the search?" I heard him say in his masculine voice. Brought back from the moment of day dreaming, I gave him an eager "yes!" and once more we headed in the direction of the shady side of the moon, in search of that Block of Swiss.
We were headed for Andrelseekan Crater. This is where the Moon Inspector came from. He wanted to show me around that crater, and said that we would stop to eat there. Together we walked, until... There it was, this huge crater. This time the Moon Inspector flashed one of his grins with that cute little laugh he makes, it just makes me melt every time I hear it. Before Having a look around he suggested we stop and eat. Taking his hand, he brushed moon sand off a rock for me to sit, as he did not want to get my pink form fitting body suit dirty. I politely thanked him and sat. He went over and broke off some cheese for us to much on. I watched as he ate. I never saw anyone eat quite so fast. I guess this comes from being on the run, always inspecting the moon. I sat there gently picking off small pieces with my fingers and nibbling. Suddenly we both hear a noise... Could it be? Maybe, hopefully, it was the sound of that Block of Swiss. The Moon Inspector insisted I stay put as he went to check it out...

...and so the guy that was in the bathroom says, "What? I have brown stuff on my chin?" The other guy says... What was that? We're on? OH! Ladies and gentlemen, please disregard everything I just said... Now, to continue where she left off...
I was walking down into the crater... Andrelseekan Crater, if I remember the name correctly... It basically looked exactly like it did about 20 years ago when I had last been there. But there was one small difference, and this small difference wasn't small at all, because, well, it was BIG. I'm talking HUGE. The Crater, I mean. Last time I was there, there was barely enough room to lay down. Now, you could put 5,000 antelope on one side and about 3,000 lions on the other and they would never see or smell each other... Well, the "not smelling" comes from being on the moon, but that's beside the point... "What's your point?" you ask. Well, I will tell you. This was not the same crater that I remembered from my youth.
As you can imagine, I was very distraught and afraid, because, well, I had no idea what was going on, and, as I worked my way towards the center, I pretty much had gotten myself lost. I had been away for about, um, let's say 6 hours, and, as you might have guessed, she came, running after me, which, naturally, started a rock slide. I was both thankful and regretful about this. Thankful, because there was a beautiful female sliding down on top of this, and it would soon catch up to me and hasten my trek to the center. The problem was, though, that it would be much harder for us to get out, given the fact that much of the rock that provided my way down was sliding down under the south side of my playmate. I might add that this person was the Moon Inspectress. I might, but I won't, because I just did.
When the rocks (and the inspectress) caught up to me, I discovered that I was in for the ride of my life. To my surprise, she was riding on a very big rock, by big I mean flat, long, and wide, about the size of the deck of a ship. Not a ship in a bottle, but a cruise ship. I hopped aboard, and was informed by this temptress that she wanted to "get busy" with me right then and there. I, of course, could not refuse. Needless to say, the seemingly endless vibrations of the rock slide heightened the pleasure of our "joy ride" tremendously.
When the rocks stopped, we came to a halt...

..."Ruck a fuss a!" I exclaimed. "What dust!" Sliding down that crater stirred up a lot of moon dust and now it was all in my hair and on my pink suit. The Moon Inspector just gave me on of his little laughs, the kind that makes me melt. He then took his hand and gently brushed away the dust from my suit, and I combed it out of my hair, so that, once again, my brown hair sparkled in the star light. After we had composed ourselves, we heard that noise again. Yes, I believe it was the sound of that Block of Swiss. Grabbing my hand the Moon Inspector gently pulled me behind him out of harm's way toward that muffled noise that we thought to be the Block of Swiss.
We edged our way along the inside walls of the crater following the noise. Suddenly, as we came to a large cavity in the crater, the noise became louder. The Moon Inspector turned and quietly told me to stay behind and not make any noise. We then proceeded to look into the cavity ... and there he was... THOS... the person holding the Block of Swiss hostage. He wanted it all to himself. He was a greedy little man, I would say about 5 ft 7 in. tall, kind of thin, approximately 145 lb. He had glasses that slid down to the end of his nose. What little hair he had was around the sides of his head, and gray. The top of his head was bald and so shiny it look like we could get a glimpse of the reflection of a small portion of that Block of Swiss, so we knew it was in there...

We interrupt this broadcast to bring you ... absolutely nothing!

...What was that? Couldn't have been a commercial...
Where were we? I think I remember...
This cavity that we had stumbled upon was a small, private lab. This guy THOS was not only hogging the UnHoly Swiss to himself, but he was also running experiments on it, like a mad scientist. I, being the hero of this particular story, decided that it was up to me, and me alone, to take care of this fiend.
As I quietly worked my way toward the maniac, I could tell that the Moon Inspectress was having considerable trouble stifling her giggles, as she watched me with awe, or at least I hope it was awe. Wait, I just remembered something... There was a hole in my pants! Well, anyway, creeping along, I overheard the schemer mumbling to himself. I could only make out two words: Swice, and worthless.
I was about two feet away from this evil being, when the moment occurred that the Moon Inspectress could hold back her laughter no more. It burst out of her, as loud as a foghorn, being that the walls of the crater amplified the sound many times over. THOS, who we called this because it was written in large letters on the back of his lab coat, turned around, and saw a human skull on the ground. Not just any human skull, but his, for in fact, he had no face, and he could see his reflection. I knew that the Moon Inspectress was going to laugh, so I was prepared... I had my trusty rusty knife ready. This was no ordinary knife, though, because, even though it was rusty, I could still (and did, on occasion) use it to cut someone's face off. This is what happened to THOS.
THOS, being "mad" as he was, refused to die from just losing his face. He reached behind me and grabbed a foil, and, being the honorable fighter I was, I could not refuse a duel, but I had no foil at hand. Being the Moon Inspector, as I was, I knew much about the moon, though, and how to use it to get what I needed, so I reached down and, seemingly, pulled my weapon up out of the ground.
"En guarde!" I shouted. As a man of few words, this is one of the phrases I enjoy saying. We proceeded with the duel.
Parry! Thrust! Parry! Thrust! As a last resort, I decided to use my foil as a tooth pick, which confused my adversary, so he did the same. That was my chance! Thrust! Stab! Stab! Thrust! Thrust! Stab! I heard an ominous voice in the background say "Finish him," so I did. He was dead in less than two seconds.
His journal was on a table nearby, so I proceeded to read it. I could only read a page, because it self-destructed in 10 seconds. What I could read, though, informed me that the Swice that I had previously battled was created by THOS himself from the UnHoly Swiss. Luckily for us, he didn't use all of it. I could not even begin to tell you how much of this UnHoly Swiss was left, you'll just have to come see for yourself. Oh, and, just for the record, I discovered that the moon's core is pure Swiss cheese, no holes, no fungi, no nothing. Just pure Swiss.
After all of this was done, I had realized that the crater that the Moon Inpectress's rocks came from was Andrelseekan Crater, and not this place. Where we found ourselves was a crater I had named the Specific Crater about 3 years ago.
We, the Moon Inspectress and I, are now mining the UnHoly Swiss to export to the earth. When we get enough for one shipment, we shall contact you again.
{end transmission}

--MegaStory; part 9--
An Infinite Cheese Story

“Well,” said the general, “There’s only one way to get down to the Mid-Atlantic cheese accelerator. You descend, two at a time in the pressure-resistant minisub we’ve designed on a variation of the Spam can. It’s an eight hour trip, in order to avoid the bends, and one of our subs was swallowed by a giant squid, so we can only transport four of you at a time.”
“A giant squid?” asked Jeff, “Do you get many of those out here?”
“Unfortunately, yes. It’s the cheese that gets them. When the acclerator’s been generating a giant slab of swiss and it’s being floated up to the surface, the squid feel the holes on the cheese, confuse them for sucker-marks, and try to mate with them. Ah, but who can blame them? Out here on the lonely ocean, you realize the seductiveness of a good swiss, the softness of it as it melts in your han--” Suddenly the general realized that everyone was staring at him, except for Aaron, who was nodding sympathetically until he, too, realized that everyone was staring at the general and he began to do likewise. “Ahem, uh, that is to say...the subs are right over this way!” With that, the general began leading them to the mini-sub docking platform on the side of the carrier.
“Hmm,” said Jeff, as they reached the subs, “You say you can only fit in two people into each of those, and you only have two, and it’ll take eight hours?”
“Yes,” said the general, “That’s exactly what I said. Do you have some sort of memory problem?”
“I could have you killed. But anyhow, I was just wondering if there was some faster way to get anybody down there. we don’t have 24 hours to travel four of us down there and then wait for the other two to come down. In fact, we barely have 8 hours to get us down there.”
“Well,” chuckled the general, “I suppose you could always strap someone into a pressure suit, tie weights to their legs, and toss them overboard, and they’d get there a lot faster. That is, of course, if you didn’t care that they would suffer massive internal and external injury from that much pressure added so quickly, and that after they hit bottom they’d probably have to walk a mile or more to reach the base before those injuries could treated.”
Jeff nodded at Steve. Immediately, ship workers stepped forward and began preparing him for the trip. Minutes later, as they hoisted a still unaware Steve to the edge of the ship and prepared to drop him in the water, Jeff and Aaron walked up to bid him a good trip. “And remember,” said Aaron, “You’re our advance guard, so don’t dally when you hit the bottom. You’ve got to walk to the accelerator immediately to make sure that there’s nothing dangerous there to hurt us when we get out of the subs. Oh, and don’t worry if your legs break when you slam into the ocean floor. You’ll be lighter there, so you can probably walk okay even with shattered femurs. Okay boys, drop him.” With a splash. Steve Gomez was on his way to the Atlantic Ocean Cheese Accelerator.
“Well,” said Aaron, “that leaves five of us here. Who’s going to stay behind?”
“How about one of the hitmen?” Jeff suggested. “One of them could ride down with Jannis while the other stays behind to guard the ship.”
“That’s an excellent idea,” agreed Mr. Niceguy, glancing at Jannis and the cushioned interior of the minisubs.
“I’m glad you think so,” said Jeff, “Fifth Jew, Jannis, grab your bags and get in that sub.”
“What?!” said Mr. Niceguy, and watched in shock as Aaron and Jeff left in their sub, followed by Jannis and the Fifth Jew climbing into the other sub. “Boy, it’s hot in here,” he could hear the Fifth Jew saying just before the hatch closed, “Maybe we should take our clothes off,” followed by a giggle of acquiescence from Jannis.
“Don’t worry,” said a sailor, walking up from behind and clapping Mr. Niceguy on the shoulder, “We have lots of fun here. You won’t even miss your girlfriend there.”
Lightning fast, Ty reached back, grabbed the sailor by his neck, and flipped him over his shoulder, slamming the sailor’s back on the ground. Ty looked down on the man, writhing in agony and struggling to breathe. “She’s not my girlfriend.”

When Steve awoke, he was surrounded by a dim blueness and was chilled to the bone. He also felt weightless, as if he were floating. “What’s going on?” he thought, “Am I dead?” A pulse of elation ran through his body at the thought. “Yes!” he shouted, “I’m dead! Let’s see those bastards make me do work now! Ha ha ha!!!” At least, he tried to shout that. However, as he opened his mouth to say the words, the mouthpiece from which he had been breathing fell out and his mouth instantly flooded with water. That was when he realized he wasn’t dead, remembered the half-dazed preparations for his dive, and then further realized that although he wasn’t in Hell, he certainly was very far down, under the ocean at least. He also shortly realized that he desperately needed the respirator that he had just spit out. As his breath grew shorter, he flailed blindly amongst the tubes and tanks strapped to him, searching in the darkness for the important one that was supposed to let him breathe.
Somehow, he managed to hit the on button for the lamps that someone had wisely strapped to his shoulders, and in the new light he quickly found the mouthpiece and inserted it into his mouth, breathing gratefully. Despite his intense hatred of life, Steve still found that it was over-ridden by his fear of death, and so he breathed a sigh of relief as well as he could with a scuba hose thrust into his throat.
Then, he noticed the odd orange color in the water around him, rising up in tendrils from below, as if diffusing into the seawater from some unseen source. Curious and filled with the deadened dread that comes from an everyday familiarity with horrible shit happening to you every day of your life starting when your sternum collapsed eight minutes after birth, Steve looked down, and saw that, as fast as he was sinking into the ocean, a mammoth wedge of swiss cheese was shooting upward on its natural buoyancy. The wedge stretched out for thousands of feet in all directions, giving off tendrils of cheese into the ocean’s murk as its fringe dissolved into the briny ocean.
“Oh shit,” thought Steve, and kicked his legs desperately in an attempt to swim past the wedge’s nearest edge and avoid being flattened into cheesy oblivion on its massive bulk. However, flail as he might, he made almost no progress. Glancing at his feet, he saw that, despite all of the other worthless tons of crap strapped all over him, no one had remembered to give him a pair of flippers. Instead, a 5 pound weight was strapped to each foot to add to his natural sinking ability. In resignation, Steve stopped kicking, put his arms to his side, took a deep breath, and clenched his eyes shut. Then the cheese hit.
All that Steve felt was a thick mushiness all around him, getting thicker and thicker and then, abruptly disappearing. Once again, he felt like he was floating, but this time, he couldn’t feel any of his limbs or move. Opening his eyes, he saw a white brightness all around him. “Yes!” he shouted, “Now I’m dead for real!”
Except that once again his shout was cut short by his mouthpiece being dislodged from his mouth and the bitter ocean flooding his lungs. In shock, Steve shook his head back and forth, and the white brightness disappeared in patches and revealed itself to be soggy swiss caking his viewing mask and illuminated by his shoulder lamps. Familiarly panicked, Steve found the respirator and shoved it back into his mouth, breathing deeply despite the fact that the respirator now tasted disgustingly of pickled Swiss. Swiftly, the Swiss that had coated him dissolved off into the ocean, and Steve could feel his limbs again. Looking up, he saw a hole in the bottom of the Swiss. He had shot through it like any heavy weight would sink through a soggy wedge of cheese.
“Oh well,” thought Steve as he sank into the ocean’s darkness, “I’m not dead, but at least the worst of it’s past.” Then the darkness of the ocean rotated in front of him, bringing a five-foot eye to bear on him. Steve instantly remembered what the general had said about squid and Swiss. And then the dark, giant squid rotated once more, revealing a giant, parrot-like beak in its underside, a beak which opened and shot forward, swallowing Steve whole. And then, all was darkness once more.

Eight hours after their drop from the carrier, the minisubs docked at the accelerator. The Fifth Jew and Jannis’s sub was first. The heavy scent of sweat and bacon wafted out as the airlock opened, and The Fifth Jew walked out, pulling up his zipper. Right behind him, Jannis walked out, straightening her pantyhose. Minutes later, the second sub un-docked behind them. Aaron and Jeff walked out, each holding a canister of Jeff’s “oxygen”. But the anesthesia-induced smile on Jeff’s face disappeared instantly as he looked around the docking bay of the cheese accelerator and saw no Steve present.
“Dammit!” said Jeff, “We loaded that stinker with enough weights to plummet him to the bottom of the Atlantic in 3 hours, and at least enough air to last two hours, and he’s still not here! I bet that slacker’s off taking a nap somewhere.”
Aaron, who hadn’t developed as much of a tolerance for “oxygen” as Jeff, continued smiling as he looked out the window and said “Man, a giant squid is taking on a crap on the station.”
“What?!” said Jeff, rushing to share the window, “See, if Steve were here, he could have prevented this. Or he could swim out there with a skimmer or something and get that out of there! We can’t have squids and things pissing in the Atlantic! We float cheese in this ocean, for goodness’s sake! That’s it, first thing I’m going to do when I see Steve is make him skim the Atlantic. That’ll serve him.”
“First you’re going to have to skim Steve, it looks like,” giggled Aaron, pointing out the window at the distinctly bad-luck-shaped outline of Steve, flowing in the midst of the freshly expelled cloud of squid shit.
“No,” said Jeff, “He’s going to have to skim himself.”

The last thing Steve remembered was the affair with the cheese, then being swallowed by the giant squid, and then darkness. As he opened his eyes from the darkness, he saw a bright light in front of him. There was a shape in the light, the outline of a person, beckoning to him, summoning him. “Steve,” called the booming voice, “Steve, come here, Steve, get up Steve, Steve, get your lazy ass moving, I know you can see me because your eyes are open. You may have gone for over five hours without oxygen in the stomach of a giant squid, but the doctors said that you normally function on only an eighth of the oxygen of a normal person anyhow, so don’t try pulling any brain damage crap on me, okay?”
Steve blinked. The figure came into focus. It was Aaron Wells, leaning over him with a toilet scrubbing brush. Steve looked around. He was lying on a tile floor in a puddle of seawater and squid crap, still fully clothed and still coated with squid excrement. Steve closed his eyes again. “I knew I couldn’t be dead,” he said.
“That’s the spirit,” said Aaron, tossing the toilet-scrubbing brush onto Steve’s chest. “Now clean yourself up and get moving we’ve got a lot to do down here, and afterwards Jeff wants you to skim the Atlantic. And, uh, you might consider putting on some cologne or something. You smell like swiss cheese and rotting fish.”

A few hours later...
Aaron and Jeff walked along the main corridor of the cheese accelerator, curving in a ring around the vast cheese-acceleration apparatus. Neither one said a word, just listened to the thrum of various cheeses being accelerated circularly at various speeds in the inner sections of the plant. Finally, Jeff broke the silence.
“Aaron,” he said, “This certainly is an impressive facility here. But, uh, just why the hell did you build it?”
Aaron stopped still and looked at Jeff. “I didn’t build it. I thought you did. This is just like something you would do. Just like those ‘Jeffey tubes’ you had installed between each floor of the HQ building, just like the orbital giant clown nose in geosynchronous orbit over Djibouti.”
“Yeah,” said Jeff thoughtfully, “This does seem more like something I would do, I guess. You would probably have built a strip club on the floor of the Atlantic, not a cheese accelerator.”
“Actually, it’s on the floor of the Pacific. And it’s a massage parlor, not a strip joint,” said Aaron, moving again. “But the question remains, then, just what the hell is this place for?”
“I don’t know. Let’s ask that guy,” Jeff said, pointing at a passing man in a white labcoat. “Hey, you!”
The man turned to look at Jeff and Aaron, recognized who they were, and immediately backed into the wall behind him, his face twisted with fear. “Oh, please Mr. Wells and Mr. Turner, whatever I did, I didn’t mean it! Please, let me live! I’ve got a wife and children!”
Aaron looked at Jeff. “Gee, maybe we’ve been a little too callous in our random killings. It looks like we’ve gained a reputation as careless murderers.”
“Nonsense!” said Jeff, gesturing at the shivering labcoated man, “We haven’t been callous enough. He’s just cowering. He’s not begging! On you knees, man!” The scientist sank to his knees and clasped his hands, collapsing onto the floor in a groveling heap. “That’s more like it.”
“This is getting us nowhere,” said Aaron. He stepped forward and kicked the groveling scientist. “Hey, we won’t kill you if you’ll tell us what it is you do here. That’s all we want.”
The man looked up, straightened his glasses, and got back up to his feet. “Oh. Um, very well. As long as you won’t kill me. Right this way.”
As Aaron and Jeff followed the man, Jeff leaned over and whispered “Why’d you tell him we wouldn’t kill him? What if he gets annoying.”
“Well then, we won’t kill him. Mr. Niceguy or the Fifth Jew will.”
Shortly, the group arrived at a door on the inner wall of the corridor. Entering it, they found themselves in another curved room, with its inner wall composed of glass. Workers busily poured various materials into hatches on the inner wall, where they disappeared into the blur behind the glass. “The purpose of this emplacement,”said the scientist, “Is to perform advanced research in physics and cheesery. The theory we’re based on is that the fundamental substance behind the universe, more fundamental than the elements or quarks or even energy or space, is cheese. Hence, if you spin any substance fast enough, and create enough pressure to break it down completely, it will revert to its cheesy base. And the more you spin it, the sharper the cheese you’ll get. If you spin it at 5 miles per second, you’ll get provolone. 7 miles per second yields mild Swiss. 15 miles per second yields a cheddar so sharp you could shave your teeth with it. Our goal is to spin matter so fast that we create a cheese that can be used as a weapon. So far, we’ve created an uber-brie that can warp time and an over-muenster that implodes anything within a 15 foot radius of it. In between those power-intensive big spins, though, we create giant slabs of near-pure cheese, which we then dump straight into the ocean where they float to the top covered in kelp and plankton, and then have to be reprocessed to attain industrial-grade purity and be sold to prison food halls and college cafeterias.”
The man gestured at the glass wall. “Behind that wall is the accelerated cheese. As you can see, we have workers pouring substances mined from the ocean’s floor into the mix to add to the cheese’s bulk. Today we’re going for the world’s largest string cheese. If we’re successful, the string cheese will yield fibers large enough and strong enough to create that Earth to Moon elevator you ordered last month.”
“Wow,” said Jeff, “This is really very impressive. I guess I did order. I must have been drunk at the time. Say, uh, why is it on the floor of the Atlantic? Wouldn’t it make more sense to have it somewhere above water, or is the pressure important?”
“No, actually the pressure is a major impediment that prevents us from reaching speeds we need for certain reactions. Really, it would have been infinitely better to place it above water. The only reason we ever got from HQ on why it was on the ocean’s floor was that real estate was cheaper here. The popular theory around base is that you were drunk, sir.”
Aaron nodded. Jeff scowled. “So,” said Aaron, “Since you mine the cheese-fodder from the Ocean’s floor, is that what we mean by the ‘cheese mines’ under the accelerator?”
“Oh no,” said the scientist, “That’s actually cheese. It’s a long story.”
Suddenly Jeff checked his watch. “Oh, I’d love to stay and chat more,” he said, “But we really do have to get going. There’s an energy being in the cheese mines that we’ve got to deal with or risk his consuming all the energy on Earth.”
“Oh,” said the scientist. “Well, good luck then. I’m sure you can do it sirs. I have the utmost faith in your ability, wisdom, and intelligence.”
“Thanks,” said Aaron, “But... ...how exactly do you get into the cheese mines?”
The scientist looked at him blankly. “You see the signs every three feet that say ‘This way to the cheese mines’? You follow those.”
“Oh,” said Jeff, “I figured those were for distraction. Come on, Aaron, let’s head to the cheese mines. The others must be waiting.” Aaron and Jeff walked out of the room, going in the opposite direction from the “This way to the cheese mines signs.” The scientist waited until they were out of sight, then shook his head in combined disgust and relief, and turned back to watch the cheese in the glass, ever spinning, ever spinning...

On the surface of the battleship employed by Infinite Cheese to guard the waters above the Atlantic Ocean Cheese Accelerator, Mr. Niceguy leaned over the railing and watched the ocean listlessly. He had been left behind by his employers, spurned in favor of The Fifth Jew. He felt like killing something, and had indeed done so several times before they had managed to overpower him and chain him to the ship’s railing. Now he sat and sulked.
His sulking, however was interrupted as the ocean’s surface began to change in nature drastically and frighteningly. The small, friendly ripples of its surface began to smooth out, creating a vast, smooth circle of flatness off to the side of the ship. Then the water began to rush away from the center of the circle swiftly, creating a huge, ring-shaped wave at its edge. “Wedge off the starboard bow!” shouted a nearby sailor, noticing the effect. The cry was echoed across the length of the ship, and soon a siren cut in. Ty watched in curiosity as panic set in all around him, and then noticed that the ships engines had cut in, rotating the ship around so it pointed away from the center of the circle, and pushing the ship away from the circle.
Then, the wave hit. The ship was rocked high, nearly tossed from the water, its entire surface drenched as the tips of the wave splashed over its edge. Even chained to the railing, Ty lost his footing on the slippery floor as it tilted 45 degrees from the horizontal. Then, the ship began falling back down. For an instant, it was horizontal again, then it was tipped back the other way. Dazed by the switch in direction, Ty was washed under the railing, over the edge of the ship. Screaming in terror, he fell.
With a wrench, he stopped falling, and his arms were jerked behind him up above his head. The ship settled down, and Ty hung quietly from its side, chained to its rail. From this vantage point, through the pain that wracked his dislocated arms, Ty saw the cause of the disturbance: a mile-wide wheel of Swiss cheese that bobbed gently where the ship had been, floated up fresh from the cheese accelerator. “Damn,” said Ty, kicking his legs idly as whoops of “Cheese ahoy!” spread jubilantly along the ship, “That’s a lot of cheese.”

--The Creators of the failed 5 cheese Macaroni and Cheese, and the secret hidden message. - Part 2--
by Sarah Smith AKA Mas Quesso,
creator in charge of fine grilled cheese and Macaroni

Dora stood in a dark alley way, next to the Cathedral of Learning building on the University of Pittsburgh campus. A man in a black leather jacket, with cowboy boots and spurs handed her an envelope.
"Ok, here ya go, now keep your mouth shut about this meeting, or your gonna be the next depressed college student to fling herself off this building."
"Yeah, I don't think you have to worry." said Dora, smugly, as she tore open the envelope with her alfredo stained teeth. "most people don't even think there are any dark alley ways next to the cathedral of learning, they all think it's in the middle of a lawn, all by its self, patewee!" she spat out the piece of envelope she ripped off. "Little do they know, eh?"
"Yeah, whatever. We all know you and your 4 cheese freaks up there in that shabby three bed room apartment are crazy." joked the man in the leather jacket.
"Hey, how do you know that I live in a shabby 3 bed room apartment with 4 cheese freaks." whispered Dora, leerily.
“Man, you ARE paranoid. It said so in the last chapter. Don’t you read anything?”
“Ok, sorry, in these situations, you can never be too sure.” She pulled the contents of the envelope from it. They consisted of a counterfeit plane ticket to Illinois, and a ticket home. “Ok, great, thank you for the help Zeph.”
“No problem Dora, anything to help out a fellow aspiring espionagist.”
“Just like my uncle Max. I wonder whatever happened to him...”
Dora jumped in her ‘86 Oldsmobile Cuttless Ciera and sped immediately to the airport. She hopped a plane to Ilinois and was there in 2 and a half hours. She looked sharply at her indiglo watch.
“Ok, 11 hours and 25 minutes left.” she said officially. She spotted an escalator, and ran down it immediately, knocking over as few people as she possibly could. Then, she went to run through the revolving doors, but it was the automatic kind, and they swung slowly, and annoyingly, jammed behind her in the door compartment with her was a tall red headed man, in his mid-thirties.
“God damnit.” he squeaked. “Why can’t these doors ever open normally. Look at me, I must look like and big Irish sardine.” Canned laughter echoed stiffly through the glass doors. “I mean seriously...” he began. “No, wait, start the joke that way and I turn into Gerry Sinefeld, which...really wouldn’t be such a bad thing.” More canned laughter could be heard. This time, it kind of freaked Dora out. She turned at looked behind her. “Excuse me sir.” She said moodily. “could you please shut the lid on your canned laughter. Or else I’m gonna have to take down my own can. and it’s gonna be a can of Whop-ass!”
“Ooh, excellent bad puns! Hey, could you do that for me?” he asked.
Dora glared at him, and didn’t answer. Finally, the doors had turned enough for her to escape, but he wasn’t far behind her. She ran out into the dim of the complex parking lot. As she hid behind a pillar that held up the front airport kiosk, she looked at the man. “Connan O’Brien” she thought to herself. “What’s HE doing in Illinois, miles from Chicago?” She couldn’t be thinking about things like that right then. She had to worry about getting information on static-electricity, and she only had 12 and a half hours left.
Dora hitched a cab across town, to the Fruit of the Loom factory. Once she got there, ran to the back of the building where Fruit of the Loom trucks headed in and out, carrying the cottony products of Fruit of the Loom. As she got closer, she spotted men dressed in white work uniforms, with white hard hats, white rubber gloves, clipboards, and identification cards. Being a member of Infinite Cheese, Dora was trained in how to deal with this situation. She hid behind one of the trucks, and waited for one of the men to stupidly separate from the others, and walk backwards towards the truck, where she waited. Of course, because this story is pro-Infinite Cheese, one such stupid man, did one such stupid thing. Dora immediately used the Vulcan death grip on him, and he immediately fell to the ground. She dragged him off, and within minutes had put on his uniform, and taken his identification, and his clip board. She then hurried inside the Fruit of the Loom building. She headed through the halls, following instinct, she came a pon other workers, but none of them seemed to notice her. After running around the giant cloth weaving machinery of the factory, she realized five minutes had passed her already, she needed to work faster. Dizzy from trying to find a way out of the factory, she leaned against a cinder block wall. “How will I ever find the head of wool socks, if I can’t even find the stairs out of here!” She asked herself. She sighed. One of the workers turned and looked at her “Well.” He said, “you must be new here. There’s a pile of tour maps in that compartment on the wall next to you.” Dora looked at the man, stunned. She turned her head, and sure enough, there on the wall beside her was plastic compartment, with a pile of maps in it. “Welcome to the Fruit of the Loom factory...” She read allowed. “huh. Thanks..” she said to the man. He smiled, and walked on. Dora pulled herself to her feet, and opened the map. “Stairs are located at the edges of each floor, and in other various places through out the building. They are marked by purple symbols...blah blah blah, ok” Dora read. “stairs, good.” She followed the maps directions, and in moments she was heading up the stairs, into the office area of the building. “HEY YOU!” cried someone who had spotted her from below. “Marty! You can’t leave yet, your shifts not over for 25 minutes!” Dora quickly slid through the doors. “HEY! Heeeeey!” called the man.
Dora ran up more and more stairs. “The head of wool socks has got to have a really big office, REALLY high up, I’m sure of it.” she thought.
Four minutes later, she had found the correct floor from the map, and was heading for the head of wool socks’ door. She opened it up, and stuck her head inside. Much to her surprise, someone was in there with him. “Conan O’Brien?” she asked her self. “Again?” she tried to listen to the conversation.
“Thank you for endorsing our products Mr. O’Brien.” said the head of socks.
“Oh, My pleasure Mr. Evanston. The chicks really go for the 2 red stripes on top...no doubt about it.”
“Yes Connan, but...ph-huh, ph huh-huh huh.” he laughed.
“What’s so funny Mr. Evanston.” smiled Connan O’Brien, wanting to be in on the joke.
“Your mother called you Connan! Hah Ha! I mean, what kind of cruel joke is that, to a poor defenseless child!” Mr. Evanston looked up, Connan was looking down at the floor, frowning. “I’m sorry...umm, I was saying...Connan, YOU are the reason that America is still purchasing our striped mens socks. Ha ha, and they thought it was just a MILK add, ha ha. Little do they know, right?”
“Yes, Mr. Evanston, and red converse high-tops. But I mean, if they stopped buying them, I mean...Fruit of the Loom would go on right? I mean, you have other products, so what’s the big deal? They’re just so..” The door of the office flew opened.
“Sorry Mr. Evanston” said Dora, who had realized, she didn’t have time to listen to Connan O’Brien bicker about his sock deal. “But I need some information from you.”
“Does your supervisor know you’re up here?” Evanston growled.
“I’m not an employee Mr. Evanston, I just...”
“Yeah, then why are you the one in the plastic suit, and I’M the one behind the desk?”
“MR EVANSTON. OK! I stole this uniform from one of your employees to get in here, and get some information from you, that may possibly prevent Infinite Cheese from making a horrible mistake in its quest to take over the world!”
“Oh...” said Mr. Evanston. “I see, ummm...” the information buzzed through his head like the sound of a dog whistle to those who can hear it. “Mr. O’Brien, this is one of the mental patient we let work here on weekends.” Mr. Evanston bull shat. Don’t let her change your mind about that contract. Now, lets humor her for a moment and give her the answers she asks for, then send her on her merry way. Sound good to you dear?”
Dora looked at Mr. Evanston with a raised eyebrow. “Lovely idea” she answered. Connan O’Brien stared at the two of them for a moment, and the mentioned “I- gotta go.” and fled from the room.
“Infinite Cheese eh?” said Mr. Evanston.
“ummm... maybe.” Dora realized she could have just made a really big freakin’ mistake. “That, might be...what I said.”
“Well, if it is, I’m glad to be of any help. You see, my brother joined Infinite Cheese a few months ago, and since then, he’s stopped shooting up. I’m very thankful to them...all. Now, what did you want?”
“Well, I take it you are the EXPERT number one on static electricity.” Dora began, she knew this investigation was worthwhile. She suddenly got a feeling, that she was sent on this journey by the Afrosnake himself.

HEY KIDS, IT AIN'T OVER! THE FINALE OF MegaStory IS ONLY A FEW CLICKS AWAY. IT'S YOUR NEXT WACKY-ASS E-MAIL DOWN!

'Sock' are © 1998, Missionary of the Sacred Cow, All Powerful Deity Subservient to the Afrosnake
'The Creators of the failed 5 cheese Maccaroni and Cheese, and the secret hidden message - Part 2' is © 1998, Sarah Smith, AKA, Mas Queso, Creator in Charge of Fine Grilled Cheese and Maccaroni
‘The Search for the Unholy Swiss, part 3’ is © 1998, Moon Inspector and Moon Inspectoress

The rest of this newsletter is © 1998, Jeff Turner and Aaron Wells

Newsletter #12, Part 2