Advertise With Us||Links||
Submission Guidelines||Subscribe to Feed||Contact
fun with milk and cheese!
by Michele Christopher
We here at FTTW have varied tastes. Let's face it. It's gonna happen.Some of us like one thing while the other doesn't. We want to keep this post short cause we know you are all still getting over that hangover wondering why you didn't put the 12 pack in the fridge from the night before. It was so easy. Put it in the fridge. Why didn't you do it? But, now you are screwed. But, meh. It's warm beer. Get over it. Think about it this way. Pabst sure as fuck ain't gonna taste any better when it's cold. Crack a can and just pound one back. Pain comes in different forms. You just learned one lesson today.
Before you pass out, put the beer in the fridge. It's not that hard.
But anyways, Michele gave me the go ahead today to pick anything I wanted to write on. Usually she has a say in this, but she wanted me to pick one all alone. One topic. Hell. I just woke up. Being the meek little turtle I am looking around my table for an idea. Milk! Cheese! Milk and Cheese!!
So this is my idea. I''m going to right about Milk. She has Cheese. I do want to say that she got out of the shower and grabbed Cheese before I got done with the intro. Cause Cheese is cool. That being said let's move on.
If any of you don't know, this is an extremly violent comic that features two violent characters. One is cheese. A block of cheese with a love of gin. The other is a half gallon of Milk who has a love of beer and baseball bats.
Beer cans and broken gin bottles. Anger and boredom. TV and broken arms. These dairy products are fucking hardcore. They just like to beat on people. Watch them bleed and watch TV. Cool concept for a comic.
So today, we will each choose a character, Milk or Cheese, to discuss why they made such a huge impact on our lives. Well, maybe not so big. But it makes me giggle to see a piece of cheese with a baseball bat hitting people for no reason. Call it evil? Sure. Call it out of control? Sure. Call it a statement? Hm. That's going a little far. Call it funny? Oh, fuck yeah.
So here is our take on Milk and Cheese. Michele has Cheese. I have Milk. Ready?
Here we go.
Milk was an outdated carton of milk from the past. 16 ounces of fury. He didn't wait for things to happen. He started them. He liked bricks and broken bottles. Maybe a baseball bat. But he loved to beat people. For no reason other than to tell them they were wrong. Instead of telling hippies they suck becuse you were sick of them bumming change off you when you know damn well thier parents are from Carmel and they probably know Clint Eastwood, Milk would just take a baseball bat to their heads and see what they were thinking when they asked that question.
Not really sure where these two came from, though. But I know Milk was always the instigator. He always wanted to hurt someone to put his message out. People suck and we just want beer. As long as he had beer and a little blood on his carton, he could keep going. He didn't sleep. Didn't care. Gin and beer. That's all this little dairy dream disaster needed to keep going. He was a model of destruction. Never backing down. Half drunk with a baseball bat walking thru your town.
Wanna see a movie, Cheese?
We have no money, Milk.
We don't pay with anything except bricks through the ticket taker's forehead. We will get in for free, Cheese.
It's like Milk was a total response to what all of what I was feeling. But he did it in an expired container. - T
Make no mistake about it. Cheese hates you. He loathes you. He also hates mimes. And hippies. He probably hates that Laughing Cow, too. You know what he would do if he ever met that laughing cow? Probably cut it up with those gleaming teeth of his and them make some kind of Hamburger Helper recipe that includes vodka and eat the whole thing while he’s watching talk shows. I wonder if there would be cheese in it? Would that be cannibalism? Would Cheese even care? He seems like the kind who would eat his own. Well, cheese, anyhow. It would be hard to find something that is exactly “his own.” There’s not many violent, alcoholic wedges of cheese out there. Thank god. One is enough. I mean, I had some bleu cheese go bad once, but all it did was stink up the fridge and make me sick. It didn’t start drinking my vodka and going on rampages. Though that might have been cool.
You know why I like Cheese? Because I understand him. Don’t tell me you haven’t felt that kind of rage and anger and random hatred. At least I admit it. Find your inner Cheese, kids. Go with it. Revel in it. It’s ok. It’s ok to be Cheese sometimes.