DO YOU SMELL THAT? DO YOU SMELL THAT?

My apartment mate is convinced that our landlady is on the spectrum. She herself is on the spectrum oh boy bigtime, and I'm convinced that the old lady in the front apartment is also on the spectrum. Which makes me the only normal person building, and I've got some bad news for me. Which I'm not going to like one bit.

A few weeks ago when I made a Monty Python reference it was explained to me that many people born in this century just wouldn't get it. The bookseller, my apartment mate, and the landlady would. Spectrum and age.

A coworker significantly younger than mysef compared me to Grampa Simpson. Which means that next week when I see him again I shall have on onion tied to my belt.
Just because. The little snot.


A good place to start the long journey to becoming like me is the Monty Python Cheese Shop Sketch. Which will additionally introduce you to the terpsichorean muse and familiarize you with several different fine fromages. Assuming that you want to become like me.
Which perhaps you should. It's a hip and with-it gestalt.

Cheese was mentioned an awful lot at work recently. Delicious artery clogging heart-stopping cheese. Parmegiano Reggiano, twenty year old cheddar, New York Sharp, Edam, Gouda, Ilchester, Stilton, and various stinky Frenches.

Partly this may have been due to a fresh bag of snacks, crisy-crunchy, that were cheesy and delicious, but I like to think that it was mostly because of an inherent caseophilic tendency instinctive in many people.


Cheese-love is a natural and beautiful thing.

It humanizes the French.



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