"Come one, let him be," Greg yelled out.
"How come, are you friends of this nerd?" the cheese asked.
"No, but I just think it's wrong of you to point at him just 'cause he happens to have eleven eyes."
"What are you? Santa Claus?"
"Yeah."
"Oh."
"But come one, cheese, let him go."
"Okay, okay, I'll let him go," the cheese said and sighed.
The can with eleven eyes then quickly got down from the tree and walked over to the next one, where his mom lived. He was close to get in some deep trouble for going up the wrong tree. The treetop gangs have grown bigger and more violent throughout the weeks, and no one is safe outside of their own tree. Greg, however, didn't like this. His good old friend, the cheese, used to be a nice guy. They'de known eachother for years, and when they were younger they used to say "clay" together. But now the cheese had joined the gang-trend, and now he was pointing at people. Greg was worried that the cheese soon would point at the wrong guy and get in deep trouble.
Five minutes passed, and Greg's fears came true. It was a cloudy minute, and the cheese was sitting on a brench, looking out over the park. Then all of a sudden a paper came flying in the wind and landed on a brench below the cheese. The cheese immediately started pointing at the paper, but he didn't realize his mistake until it was too late . . . the paper was the notorious gang-leader, Paper.
"The fuck you want, cheese?" Paper asked. "You coming here pointing at me like I'm some rock?"
"Uh, seriously, man, I didn't mean to point at you. Come on, it was a mistake," the cheese said, not with his usual tough-cheese voice.
"You've made a fatal mistake, cheese," Paper continued. Then he was quiet and two other papers came blowing in the wind.
"I'm Paper," said the first one.
"And I'm Paper," continued the other one.
"You pointed at our boss?" Paper asked.
"I . . . I . . . I didn't mean to," the cheese replied.
"Too late, cheese," Paper said and pointed at him.
While this was going on Greg played pinball.
After this incident, the cheese never became himself again. Greg never again heard him speak a word. And it was a sad day for all golfing fans . . .
//Benny
