Once upon a time there was a fish called Bob. Bob lived under the sea with his friend Colin the Crab and other assorted underwater creatures. One day, Bob was at Colin's house, watching TV. They were watching The Poseidon Adventure, the story of a huge ship that sank, turning upside-down as it came to rest on the bottom of the ocean. Many of the passengers were still alive because there was a large bubble of air trapped inside the ship. Bob tutted loudly.
'What's wrong with these people?' he said. 'Why don't they just swim to the top? That's what I'd do.'
'They're humans, remember,' said Colin. 'They're deep down and they can't breathe underwater.'
Bob shook his head in disgust. 'And they're the dominant life form on this planet. It's ridiculous.'
Just then the film was interrupted by a newsflash. The female newsreader simply said: 'London is under attack! David Anchovy reports,' before looking down towards the corner of the screen.
'Why do they always do that?' said Colin. 'I mean, what's down there that's so interesting?'
'Ssshhh!' Bob hissed. 'Look!'
It seemed that the newsreader wasn't exaggerating. London was indeed under attack. The scene on the TV was one of mayhem and devastation. Buildings were on fire, telephone boxes were exploding, cars were flying through the air and smashing into shop windows. People were running back and forth in no particular direction, like headless chickens. Chickens were running back and forth like headless people. A couple sat outside a restaurant, the man purposefully checking his watch every five seconds, clearly irritated at the lack of service.
In the centre of the street, in the eye of the storm, stood a squat reporter. He looked directly into the screen, nodded knowingly and spoke dramatically into his microphone.
'London ... is under attack!' he said. He pointed over his shoulder to emphasise this rather obvious statement, then took a deep breath and continued. 'Just two hours ago, life in the city was normal. Londoners went about their daily business in the warm autumnal sunshine, beneath a clear blue sky, unaware of the breakfast bowl of mayhem that was about to be served up to them. They got up, they had their corn flakes, they showered, they brushed their teeth, they got dressed. Those who had jobs went to them, others with dogs walked them, those with cats stroked them. Some went to the shops, they bought their newspapers, their milk, their butter, their sausages.' Then he said, rather more pointedly, 'and their cheese!' before pausing for effect. 'And little did they know that, in buying cheese today, of all days, they were probably making the biggest mistake of their lives!'
The reporter was so wrapped up in the theatrical delivery of his powerful speech that he didn't notice something very strange hovering in the air behind him. At first glance it appeared to be an enormous blob of congealed, weightless custard, but - on closer examination - it turned out to be a fat girl. A flying fat girl! She was wearing a silky body suit that was at least five sizes too small for her, with a cape attached, and knee-high plastic boots. A utility belt was strapped tightly around her waist. Apart from a logo on her chest that had a large red letter 'C' in the middle, she was completely yellow; her suit, her skin (which appeared to have the texture of cheddar cheese), and even the 'whites' of her eyes were yellow.
She swooped down to the ground gracelessly and landed with a thud. Her long, scraggly yellow hair floated down around her shoulders, her belly flopped down over her belt, and the fat in one of her legs popped out of the top of its boot. Somewhere, a seam came apart.
'You!' she boomed, with a voice that had built-in echo. Bits of semi-digested cheese from between her teeth shot out of her mouth in all directions.
The reporter span around in surprise, and stood rooted to the spot in shock as the girl waddled towards him and snatched the microphone from his hand.
'People of London!' she cried, coating the camera lens with more bits of soggy cheese. 'People of the world! All your cheese is mine! Your Somerset Brie, your Exmoor Blue, your Appenzellar, your Caerphilly!' she cried. 'Your - '
She suddenly stopped and dropped the microphone, sniffing the air, then turned her attention back to the reporter, who was still unable to move. She picked him up and held him over her head, then reached into his pocket and pulled out a cellophane parcel.
'So, you thought you could hide this from Cheese Girl!' she shouted. 'A sandwich! A cheese sandwich!' She sniffed the parcel closely. 'Wensleydale!' she cried, stuffing it into her mouth, cellophane and all. With a huge gulp she swallowed it in one, burped loudly, then sucked huge a lungful of air through her nostrils with a smile, puffing up her voluminous chest as she did so.
'Cheese Power!' she cried, and bolts of yellow lightning issued from her rippling body. When she stopped the reporter was rigid, and appeared to be dead; his eyes were wide open in shock, his hair was sticking up and heavy smoke drifted downwards from his body. Cheese Girl tossed him over her shoulder and pushed her face up against the camera.
'Gimme cheese!' she cried, licking off the residue she'd deposited earlier. She stepped back, exclaimed 'Cheese Power!' again for good measure, then more lightning shot out of her body as she flew upwards and out of shot, leaving behind a city in ruin.
Back in the studio the newsreader spoke solemnly. 'That was David Anchovy reporting. Our condolences to his family and, if he has any, his friends.' Instantly regaining her composure, she continued. 'We have Professor Brian Flapyatt in the studio, our resident cheese expert. Professor Flapyatt, have you any idea what is happening here?'
The view switched to a little bald man, wearing a bow tie that was too large for him. He took off his horn-rimmed classes, pinched the bridge of his nose, then replaced them carefully before speaking.
'We are all aware of the hidden power of cheese,' he said. 'Sixty years ago, scientists in Switzerland found a way of initiating complex nuclear reactions, by firing bits of cheese at other bits of cheese at light speed. The energy produced was incomprehensible, hence the birth of the cheese bomb, which effectively put an end to World War II. We've known for some time that, in the wrong hands, cheese power could be used for sinister purposes. One can only assume that Cheese Girl has some improbable genetic defect, which enables her to eat cheese and harness it's energy. Judging by the size of her, she was almost certainly picked on at school. That coupled with her encyclopaedic knowledge of cheese and very sensitive olfactory system is a recipe for evil.'
'What would you advise the public to do at this stage?' the newsreader asked.
'Remove all cheese from your house. Whatever type it is, be it mature cheddar, extra mature cheddar, mild cheddar, extra mild cheddar ... cheddar ... all of it; just throw it out into the street, get inside and lock your doors and windows. Cheese Girl will find cheese wherever it is, so just make sure it's not in your house.'
'What about Dairylea, does that pose a danger?'
'To be on the safe side, yes, I would throw out any Dairylea and Cheesestrings, plus those square plasticky things you put in cheeseburgers. Wash your feet and scrape under your finger and toenails too, just in case.'
'Professor, thank you,' said the newsreader. 'An emergency meeting is being held in the Houses of Parliament, and the BBC has cancelled all programmes containing references to cheese, however fleeting or obscure. We will keep you up to date with events as they unfold. In the meantime, a picture of some cheese and some cheesy music.'
'What are you doing?' said Colin, as Bob rose purposefully from his seat and switched the TV off.
'Someone has to do something,' said Bob determinedly. 'People's lives are at stake.'
'No, I mean, you don't have to get up to turn the TV off. I have a remote control.'
'I thought you were talking about Cheese Girl!'
'What? You're not seriously going to try to defeat Cheese Girl?' said Colin incredulously. 'You don't even like humans - you said it yourself!'
'It's not their fault they're all dumb. They need my help. Let's go!'
'Okay,' said Colin reluctantly. 'But first I need to use the toilet.'
'What,' said Bob, 'your new Baxter's Frequent Flush 9000TM?'
'Yes,' said Colin. 'With it's new patented TurdMasherTM technology and ten second cycle time, it's just the thing for when elderly relatives are staying. When Grandma's Here, There's Nowt To Fear!TM'
Meanwhile Cheese Girl had decided to catch an Underground train to her next destination, as she was quite exhausted after destroying most of Central London. Unfortunately there was nowhere to sit, so she brutally murdered a couple of people to create space. Other people on the train smiled nervously and buried themselves in their blood-spattered newspapers, too polite to say anything. After giving the air a good sniff and detecting no cheese in the vicinity, Cheese Girl let out a resigned puff of cheese-tainted air and nibbled at the yellow crust under her fingernails.
'Tickets, please,' shouted a voice. An inspector walked along the carriage. 'Tickets, please!'
As the inspector reached Cheese Girl, she pulled out a blood soaked ticket from her utility belt. The inspector examined it carefully and satisfied himself it was valid, then said 'what about the other one?'
'The other one?' Cheese Girl replied innocently. 'The other what?'
'The other ticket, lardy. You're taking up two seats. That's two tickets.'
'I've never been so insulted!' Cheese Girl exclaimed.
'Really?' said the inspector in surprise, 'you should get out more. Come on tubs, show me the ticket or get your left buttock off that other seat.'
Cheese Girl shifted around uncomfortably, 'I can't!' she said, panting. 'It's wedged in!'
'Alright, get off at the next stop. I'll let you off this time,' said the inspector, returning her ticket. 'But don't use the escalator - you'll knacker it,' he added. He walked over to the two people Cheese Girl had recently killed. 'That old scam, pretending you've been brutally murdered,' he said, kicking one of the corpses. 'The things people do to avoid paying, honestly. Come one, let's see yer tickets, or you're off.'
Cheese Girl suddenly felt very alone and very sad as she disembarked at the next stop. The inspectors insults had reminded her of school. The other children there didn't like her, and - desperate and too ashamed to tell her parents - she'd sought solace in cheese. At first she didn't think it was a problem; so she'd eat a bit more than most children of her age but she could control it. But she knew she had a problem when her fixation increased to the extent that she was smuggling lumps of mozzarella into school, wedging them under her armpits and picking at them throughout the course of the day. By then it was too late. She was hooked. Her dependency got to the point that she needed to eat a bucketful of the stuff every hour just to stay alive. When she began to turn yellow, there was no longer any hiding place and she sought revenge on the world that had scorned her.
She stopped in her tracks, her lower lip beginning to quiver. A yellow tear trickled down her textured face and splashed onto the platform.
'Oy! Fatso!' came a voice from behind. Cheese Girl span round to see Colin the Crab gesturing wildly from the other end of the platform. 'Look at the state of you, you bloater!' he added.
While distracted, Bob approached Cheese Girl cautiously from behind, clutching the only weapon that he knew could stop her evil ways. A cheesegrater.
'Leave me alone!' she cried. 'This is all your fault! You're why I ended up this way!'
'Come on then, come and have a go, if you think you're hard enough!' Colin cried.
Cheese Girl turned a colour she'd never turned before, and she suddenly looked like a huge unsightly lump of Red Leicester. Her sorrow had quickly turned back to hate, and it was all focused on Colin as she began to run towards him like she'd never run before.
'I'm ... going ... to ... kill ... you!' she cried.
Her momentum was such that nothing could stop her. Colin was hemmed in at the end of the platform, and Bob hadn't anticipated this very predictable course of events as she slammed into him and bounced off the wall like a gigantic Mini Babybel. Colin, spread across the wall, slowly peeled off and hit the deck. Cheese Girl quickly stood up and, now facing in the other direction, noticed Bob for the first time, speeding down the platform towards her. He jumped up and fish-slapped her hard before she could attack. It was to no avail, she wouldn't go down. She swiped at the air wildly as Bob jumped around her, slapping her at every opportunity. Then he had an inspirational idea.
'Colin! Colin! Snip off one of her big toes!'
Colin the Crab, with what he thought would be his final burst of energy, crawled along the platform as Cheese Girl was being attacked by Bob. He moved his battered pincer into position and snapped it closed as hard as he could.
'Aaaarggghh!' shouted Cheese Girl. 'What have you done!'
She lifted up her other foot in order to stamp on Colin and, completely off balance, fell with a thud onto the platform. Bob pounced immediately. He jumped onto her face and grated off her nose until there was nothing left.
'No, no, no, nose!' Cheese Girl lamented wildly, thrashing about in agony.
Just then a police tube train pulled into the station, it's sirens blaring and it's blue flashing lights bouncing off the walls. The doors opened and Chief Inspector Spiggot jumped onto the platform.
'Just in time, Inspector,' said Bob.
'You've saved the world again!' Spiggot exclaimed, shaking Bob violently by the fin.
'Actually, I think this is the first time,' Bob replied. 'But I suspect it won't be the last.'
Cheese Girl continued to writhe on the platform.
'Without a nose she can't sniff out cheese,' Bob explained. 'No cheese, no cheese power. Simple!'
'Simple?' said Spiggot, 'it's pure fish genius, that's what it is!'
'So what will you do with her now?' Bob asked.
'Technically, she's a minor,' said the Chief, 'so it'll probably be a slap on the hand and a "don't do it again". Okay lads, take her away.'
'Colin!' Bob exclaimed, noticing for the first time his battered friend, trapped beneath one of Cheese Girl's yellow submarine-like ankles.
'I'm done for,' said Colin, as two dozen policemen manhandled Cheese Girl onto the train.
'Don't be stupid Colin. We'll have you fixed up in no time!'
'You two deserve a slap up meal for this!' said the Inspector.
At a nearby Pizza restaurant, Bob, Colin and the Inspector sat around a table while Bob related what happened in detail to the Inspector. Colin, liberally plastered with Shellotape, tried without success to sit up straight, and kept falling off of his chair.
'I can't take all the credit,' said Bob, acknowledging his friend. 'Colin helped a bit.'
'In that case, well done both of you!' said the Inspector, 'now to more important things, what are you eating?'
'I don't mind,' Bob laughed. 'As long as there's no cheese on it!'