When I Die You Will Come to Me

When I die you will come to me,
Oh, happy day! Oh, happy day!

You’ll plow your furrow,
And plant your flag…
a giant, cheesy, celebratory flag.
Oh, happy day!

As I ferment in the cold cold ground,
you will remember the joy you found
in that giant fucking cheese ball
I made for you, my love.
Oh, happy day!

Cheese balls are fun, they said.
Cheese balls are retro, they said.
Cheese balls are middle class, they said.
Middle class?
Kiss my ass.
Oh, happy day!

My cheese balls are aristocratic,
so stop being so dogmatic,
you have no taste,
you have no nose,
your feet doth stink
and you wear dumb clothes.
Oh, happy day!

Thomas Jefferson received the
first ever cheese ball in 1801.
It weighed 1,235 pounds
and was referred to as
the “mammoth cheese."
(Personally, I would have called it a giant fucking cheese ball.)
Oh, happy day!

It required milk from over 900 Republican cows.
By the time the cheese ball arrived
in the federal city on December 29
in a wagon drawn by six horses and an elephant,
now six months removed from the cows,
the cheese ball was strong enough to
roll the remaining distance to Washington.
Mr. Jefferson received the gift New Year’s morning.
Oh, happy day!

Cheese balls are mainstream again
and I am always ready to
ride that stream.
So here’s to cheese balls.
May they reign on earth
as long as gourmands like myself are
alive to make them
for the benefit of all mankind.
Oh, happy day, you curds and whey!