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Aaw, maaaan!

"This sucks", you say, but you're cheese, so it comes out in cheese language; "cheese cheeses."

A light shines on up ahead, so you roll feebly towards it, each chunky corner of your creamy self thudding against the tar of the road.

The light is of a dim pub, so you enter, avoiding the clunky shoes of bar patrons. A drunkard fishtails across the floor, nearly smearing you in the act, but you dodge and grapple the edge of a bar stool. Shimmying your way up (your tender, goo-ey insides make it easy to cling onto metal) and sit upon an ash tray.

You yell at the customers and try to make them notice you, but they only watch, confused. One sluggish man yells, "Wait, I can speak fluent Cheese! It's saying...it used to be a human, but got turned into a kumquat...and then a piece of cheese." "Bummer. My brother-in-law once got turned into a sofa. Took weeks to get him back to normal." You gasp. Weeks?

The fluent-Cheese-speaker tells you that there's a guy in Aus that specialises in unexected transformations, and that you should go there.

"Cheese sheese, cheese cheese! Cheese cheese chee-eese cheese-cheese;cheese?"

"Of course I'll give you a lift!" he says jubilantly, and you set off.

The man's name is Phrederic, and he has a huge collection of The Bay City Rollers cassettes, but you don't complain because, heck, you're a piece of Camembert.

He drops you off at an ominous, emerald building. Tiny people alk around outside it...dare you enter?


Written by Eliza Janssen

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