Whilst partaking of luncheon on Saturday, I was discussing going out one night for consumption of curry, and then considered the detail of the night in question. One of the days mentioned was "next Saturday".
Now, exactly when is 'next' Saturday, for there is quite a fine distinction between 'this' Sat and 'next' Sat.
For instance, you could say that next Saturday is 2 weeks hence, for next Saturday is not this Saturday, but the next one. However, if it's Saturday today, then is this Saturday today, or this Saturday coming? If it's Saturday coming, then is next Saturday the Saturday after this Saturday which isn't the Saturday if the curent day is Saturday?
Seems to me that you need telepathetic powers, as you have to be able to read peoples minds in order to determine the distinction between 'this' & 'next'!
And if you can read minds, then perhaps you can harness that power to engage in the ever popular practice of using the mind to influence cheese.
Apparently, this is a most popular pastime, although I am still unsure what benefits this brings to mankind. Of course, there is the obvious - cheese hasn't risen in rebellion to overthrow the human race, which is clear evidence that these Cathedral City Psychics are keeping the killer cheese in place!
Although, that said, every time these boffins supress any murderous entities slaughterhouse desires, they always end up breaking free. Be it gunslinging Yul Brynners in big, black hats, or Wesley Snipe Types encased in chryo-chambers and given mental brainwashing, the old characteristics rise to the surface like hardening fat on recently heated lard in a chip pan as it cools.
Breaking free of the psychic bond would appear to be Double Gloucester!
The mystics of Cooper's Hill have failed miserably in their entracement of the brie and stilton, and by the magical three fold law of return, the Gouda has thrown a psychic backwash right back at the populace!
Not content with simply lying on a cheeseboard awaiting dissection by cheesewire, they trundle off (making obligatory burbling noises) and place themselves at the tops of steep hills, cliffs, and multi story carparks. The killer camembert takes a leaf out of 'Starkiller' Sheridans book, and sends out a mental 'distress signal' in order to gather those weaker minded individuals to it.
Once the damnable edam has all of it's victims in place, it then sends out it's death call, overpowering the minds of it's flock. As le roulê rolls down, it forces the gathering to cast itself, lemminglike, down the hills after it.
Luckily, these days we have Health and Safety officials, so the muderous mascarpone no longer kills in droves, and gets it's kicks from minor limb destruction only.
And the best that Em Shite Charlatan could come up with blades of grass being pissed off, when there's people dying from telepathetic chedder forcing people to gorge themseves to death in Somerset.
Oh, killer cheese! Now that has to be a movie in the making...
