King of Cheese

Sir Gouda woke to find himself sweating and bound in chains. After ensuring that his mask still hid his identity, he began scanning his surroundings, trying to find a clue as to what had happened and where he was now captive. Unable to move without becoming nauseated, he finally discovered the reason - each motion caused his entire body to sway, looking up from where he lay prone, he realized he must be dangling from the ceiling by the massive chains that covered him from shoulders to toes. He also became aware of the waves of heat coming from somewhere below.

Struggling to turn his head toward the sound, Sir Gouda was dismayed to see his archnemesis The Swissinator!

"That foulest of fiends must have something to do, or perhaps everything to do, with my present situation," thought Sir Gouda to himself. "Perhaps he hasn't noticed that I'm awake yet, but how am I going to extricate myself from these chains? If only I could reach my Cheese Belt, then I could create a distraction while wriggle free."

The Swissinator began laughing softly to himself, then louder until his cackles echoed through the room.

"Ahh, Sir Gouda. You are so profoundly funny in your little Cheese Cape and Cheese Boots. Oh? Are you looking for your Cheese Belt? Why, don't you recognize your little toy here on my waist? Yes, I see you do. How nice. Well, since you have always been such an observant little cheese head, perhaps I need not explain your predicament to you." He turned to leave, but abruptly turned back, "But where would the fun be in that? You see, Sir Gouda, we are alike, you and I. Like two cheeses from the same continent, but one of us went bad, and one went good. You attempted to rule an entire country, and this simply could not be. I have decided I will be the king of cheese in the Netherlands, and you will simply be a new croquette. The Americans call it fried cheese, but the Dutch will simply call you a croquette and none will know when they look at you if you are chicken or shrimp or cheese or something far fouler."

"Swissinator! You evil doer! You have no right to be the king of cheese in the Netherlands! You're not even Dutch! You're Swiss! You're a pacifist! You can't take over another country!"

"Ahh, but Sir Gouda, I am not taking over another country militarily, I am taking over it's cheese preferences. One must admit that I am far silkier and smoother than you shall ever be. Why, I am even more decorative than you, who has ever heard of a Gouda Lace? Noone, but Swiss Lace, that is world class! So be silent and await your transformation from culinary necessity to lunch time afterthought!"

As the Swissinator walked out the door, the chains released Sir Gouda, plunging him into the vat of hot oil, frying him into a perfect croquette of Gouda cheese. After being removed from the grease by a giant spatula, Sir Gouda realized The Swissinator had made a terrible mistake - as the fried cheese of choice, Sir Gouda would become the king of lunch! No Dutchman would be able to take his lunch without the soon to be famous Fried Gouda!