Eyal: <postmodern cheese>Well, stout yeoman, four ounces of Caerphilly, if you please.
Ah. It's been on order, sir, for two weeks. I was expecting it this morning.
It's not my lucky day, is it? Er, Bel Paese?
Sorry, sir.
Red Windsor?
Normally, sir, yes. Today the van broke down.
Ah. Stilton?
Sorry.
Emmental? Gruyère?
No.
Any Norwegian Jarlsberger, per chance?
No.
Liptauer?
No.
Lancashire?
No.
White Stilton?
No.
Danish Blue?
No.
Double Gloucester?
..... No.
Cheshire?
No.
Dorset Blue Vinney?
No.
Brie, Roquefort, Pont-l'Évêque, Port Salut, Savoyard, Saint-Paulin, Carre-de-L'Est, Bresse-Bleu, Boursin?
No.
Camembert, perhaps?
Ah! We have Camembert, yes sir.
You do! Excellent.
Yes, sir. It's, ah ..... it's a bit runny.
Oh, I like it runny.
Well, it's very runny, actually, sir.
No matter. Fetch hither le fromage de la Belle France! M-mmm!
I think it's a bit runnier than you'll like it, sir.
I don't care how @#$%ing runny it is. Hand it over with all speed.
Oh .....
What now?
The cat's eaten it.
Has he?
She, sir.
[...]
It's not much of a cheese shop, is it?
Finest in the district, sir.
Explain the logic underlying that conclusion, please.
Well, it's so clean, sir.
It's certainly uncontaminated by cheese.
You haven't asked me about Limberger, sir.
Is it worth it?
Could be.
Have you got any Limburger?
No.
That figures. Predictable really, I suppose. It was an act of purest optimism to have posed the question in the first place. Tell me:
Yes, sir?
Have you in fact got any cheese here at all?
Yes, sir.
Really?
<pause>
No. Not really, sir.
You haven't.
No, sir, not a scrap. I was deliberately wasting your time, sir.
Well, I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to shoot you.
Right-O, sir.
<Shoots him> What a senseless waste of human life.
Kibitzing
