We got up the next day and decided we’d just have to scour the forest, hoping that we’d know the feather when we saw it.
Some of us headed into the forest and up the hill:
Others walked the tree line along the edge of the lake:
Adam put on his climbing gear and went up into the canopy. Look at this photo he flicked:
But it’s not as though there wasn’t plenty to see close to the ground.
Sometimes the brush got a little thick:
And, of course, there were times when we all sought a little relief, if you get my meaning:
But, alas, no Feather of Destiny. Nada. Zilch.
And then we heard it. Faintly at first, and then louder.
Cheese, cheese, we want cheese,It got louder:
Cheese, cheese, we want cheese.
Drill, baby, drill! It gives us a thrill!It was the Pentagonian Battle Chant:
Now baby, drill! A green cheese thrill!
Cheese, cheese, we want cheese,Oh it was horrible. It chilled us to the marrow of our bones. As the sound got louder the lake turned a cheesy neon green and a Pentagonal Battle Cruiser appeared skimming the waters, armaments bristling from every surface:
Cheese, cheese, we want cheese.
Green cheese the only cheese, a green cheese thrill.
Oh baby pleeez! Green cheese, wanna’ drill cheese thrill.
And then it went to black. All color was sucked out of the world by those dastardly Pentagonian cheeseheads:
Was it all over? Where our geese well and thoroughly cooked? Was the Bergen Arches to become a sea of green cheese commandeered by cheeseheads zipping along on atomic-powered jet skis?
Tune in tomorrow for the conclusion of our tale.
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