Saturday, August 2, 2014

Where'd the Cheese Go? -Sitting Now

Originally published August 8, 2014 via

I guess I’m a Ween apologist. I’ve liked the Pennsylvanian band ever since my buddy’s penny CD club accidentally sent him Chocolate and Cheese instead of the Weezer album he’d ordered. After noting all the underboob on the cover, our sixteen-year-old hormones graciously decided to give it a chance, and I instantly fell in love.

They’ve always made me laugh, with the same glee that dick and fart jokes do, and I’ve often found myself singing the chorus of one sophomoric Ween anthem or another over and over like a mental hiccup.

But it was a real downer when I realized early on that the only other Ween fans out there were, as Aaron “Gene Ween” Freeman has put it, “children and retarded people.” It became quickly apparent that mentioning them in polite company would almost certainly lead to sour faces and distrusting, sideways glances. 

Ween became a seriously guilty pleasure, hidden under my mattress and played only at low volumes with the curtains drawn.

My poor wife has had full access to everything behind closed doors, though, and on a recent occurrence of the ever-popular “Sing Ween Songs At Your Spouse” game (not her favorite), I found myself bobbing my head at her like an emu and barking, “Where’d the cheese go?”

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