Dear Zeppelin

I know this is probably out of the blue. But I just wanted to tell you that I truly look up to you. I admire you and respect you more than anyone else that I know from RPGC.


Gohan rose to his feet and prepared to leave. “Are you sure it is okay for me to go home now?” he asked, running his hand through his hair.

Piccolo, still hovering, uncurled from his meditation pose. “Go home, kid. I’m sure Videl would like to see you.”

Gohan gave a sheepish grin. “She wasn’t too happy when you dragged me off. We had a date that night.”

“Sorry. I wouldn’t have called you if I didn’t need you,” he said. Gohan had been spending more and more time with the girl – he seemed much happier and more confident since they had begun seeing each other. After those difficult years after Goku’s death it was nice seeing the boy actually looking forward to things.

“It’s okay. She complained because it’s expected, but she understood. Videl’s a lot like Mom that way – gripes, but she doesn’t really mean it.” Gohan grinned. “I’m supposed to take her out on the town to pay her back. She always looks so hot when we go dancing.”

==Is that what they are calling sex now?==

Go away Nail.

==Calm down, Piccolo. I think it is nice the boy has such a willing lover.==

Piccolo scowled. It was difficult enough to accept this boy – this young man - he considered his son having sex without having Nail rub it in.

“What’s wrong?”

Piccolo shook his head. “Nothing. Don’t worry about it.”

Gohan grinned. “Poor Piccolo. Who’s bugging you? Kami or Nail?”

He smirked; Gohan had seen him do this too often. “Nail, who else?”

“What about?”

“Trust me, you don’t want to know.”

==Why not tell him? You know, Piccolo, I have never understood why you never made the young man your lover.==

He’s like my son, you asshole!

“Piccolo, what’s wrong? You look really pissed,” Gohan asked with concern.

“I think you should leave, kid. Nail and I are about to have a discussion,” he growled.

“Sure,” Gohan laughed, rising from the ground, “kick his butt for me.”

Piccolo waited until his student was out of sight, seething at the damn-fool stuck in his head.

“What in the fuck is wrong with you!?” he finally shouted, so angry he couldn’t maintain any kind of mental speech. “It’s bad enough when you give me crap about Goku and Vegeta, or anyone else who catches your roving eye, but you leave Gohan out of it!”

==You’re just mad because you know you missed your chance.==

I didn’t miss a chance, you asshole. It was never a possibility. He could never think of Gohan that way. As far as he was concerned, Gohan was more his son than Goku’s. He trusts me; I’m his teacher. The kid is more important to me than anyone else - I would never risk that friendship.

He could hear Nail’s sigh. ==You’re too human sometimes, Piccolo. But believe it or not, I do understand – and agree with - your reasons.==

So why do you keep saying stupid things like that?

==Fine. I won’t ask you about Gohan anymore.==

Or Goku. Or Vegeta.

==Do you have to eliminate all of the good-looking ones?==

Nail… he growled warningly.

==Okay, okay. I’m sorry. Saiyans are off-limits. Got it.==

Good. Piccolo returned to his meditating.

A few minutes later, the pest renewed his efforts to slowly drive him insane.

==Piccolo…I have a question – a serious question.==

Piccolo sighed. Nail apparently wasn’t going to leave him alone today.

==I know you haven’t been around any Nameks but Kami, Dende and I…you know we normally live in colonies, right?==

So I’ve been told, he answered grudgingly.

==So how can you stand being alone all of the time? Doesn’t it bother you? I grew up surrounded by friends and family – a Namek who lived alone was rare. We are meant to have others around us.==

Kami lived alone for years…

==Kami is weird,== Nail laughed.

Piccolo chuckled. He had to agree with the pest. You’ll get no argument from me about that.

==Seriously, how can you stand it? Aren’t you lonely? Why don’t you ever have bedmates or lovers? Oh, quit growling – you sound like one of those Saiyan monkeys. ==

Piccolo suddenly wasn’t sure whether to be enraged or embarrassed – or just plain uncomfortable at his prying. You know why. My heat was hell.

When his transformation had started he had been in the wilds, days away from anyone, training to kill Goku. He hadn’t known what was happening to him. Piccolo didn’t have anyone to act as a heat partner – didn’t even know there was such a thing. It was like his body betrayed him – the almost overnight transformation from his childhood form to adult form was incredibly painful, especially since he didn’t know what was happening and had no one to ask. Nothing he did was enough and everything he did just seemed to cause him more pain – he was nearly insane when it finally ended.

==You plan on staying alone for the rest of your life because of that? You aren’t the first Namek to experience a difficult change. Why don’t you at least try?==

Damn it – why did Nail keep doing this to him? Why did he let him do this? Nail would bring it up and he would end up spending hours meditating, trying to answer the questions the other Namek asked. And he didn’t have any answers. What do you care anyway, Nail? Why are you constantly giving me crap? Why in the hell can’t you let it go?

==I’m not trying to give you crap. Believe it or not, I’m really trying to help you.==

You sure as hell aren’t doing a very good job of it. Did Kami put you up to this? He’s usually the one who thinks I need his asinine guidance. He was beginning to believe fusing with these two pains in the ass was a huge mistake. It wasn’t like the power he got from them had done him much good in the long run. Maybe he would be better off weaker but without Kami’s attempts to hen-peck him or Nail’s efforts to turn him into some kind of pervert.

==That chicken-shit old man? I don’t believe his stories about why he left. I think he was so obnoxiously self-righteous he scared away any potential bedmates.==

Piccolo laughed at that, secretly hoping the old pain-in-the-ass was listening. Serve the old bastard right. I swear Nail, you are worse than Vegeta. Have you ever stopped to consider I really might be asexual? Maybe I’m not interested.

Nail chuckled knowingly. ==If that were true you wouldn’t be spying on the Saiyans having sex. A lover would do you a world of good.==

Piccolo winced at that memory. Vegeta had noticed and given him a hard time the next day. It was one of the stupidest, most embarrassing things he had ever done. The reason he gave the arrogant prince – curiosity – wasn’t the entire truth. Most of the people he knew were pairing up – hell, even Dende had a girlfriend at the moment – and he was feeling more alone than usual.

And whom would you suggest? he asked sarcastically. After all, he had such a huge selection of potential partners.

==I would be willing.==

Piccolo scowled at the gall of the pest. Sure. Let me just pencil you in. Right after you get the hell out of my head and into a body of your own, he snapped.

“Damn pain in the ass,” Piccolo muttered to himself. Why did Nail keep bringing up this whole sex thing, anyway? Years – he had gone years without thinking about it. He did his best not to think about it to the point he really believed he wasn’t interested.

And then Dende had begun his change and gone into heat. Piccolo didn’t know it at the time, but he did exactly the right thing for the young guardian. Rather than let the kid drive him crazy with his needs and hormones, Piccolo had shoved him in a room with a more than willing Gohan and Videl. It still pissed him off that Kami and Nail didn’t mention anything about what was really happening even then.

Not a word. Not a fucking word until he started feeling so uncomfortable around Goku and Vegeta. Seeing the Saiyans together kept making him think of things he had long suppressed and he began to question himself. Wouldn’t you know, Vegeta, with his ability to pinpoint his opponent’s weakness, noticed how much it bothered him? Teased him for months until some part of Goku’s sympathetic personality slipped through the damned Saiyans’ bond – only then did the arrogant bastard back off.

Piccolo sighed. Fine. He was used to the idea now. Maybe Nail was right – he should find a partner. That still didn’t mean he was going to have sex with Gohan – ever. Dende… GodS – the idea of touching that brat that way just made him shudder with revulsion. And Goku and Vegeta were a bonded couple.

There was really no one he knew – male or female – he would consider. He groaned as he pictured himself standing in front of this mystery person – ‘Excuse me, but could we fuck? I don’t really know what the hell I am doing since I have issues and I’m still a virgin.’

He winced as he pictured their reaction and the mystery person morphed into a hysterically laughing Vegeta. Oh yeah, that would work really well. It wasn’t going to happen. He was better off not thinking about sex, that was all there was to it.

Piccolo scowled to himself at the ridiculous direction of his thoughts. That damned horny idiot! Nail was starting to interfere with his training now. He rose from the ground and began concentrating, performing his split-form technique.

He adjusted his stance, preparing to attack *him - his second self, when he realized *hee was smirking at him. Piccolo frowned. What was *he planning that would cause that look?

“It worked!” *he said, holding *his hands up in front of *his face and grinning. “This is great! Thanks Piccolo!”

Piccolo stared, stunned. That voice… “Nail?”

Nail beamed at him. “Yes?”

“But – but…” he was speechless probably for the first time in his life. How did this happen?

Nail laughed and drifted towards him. “Don’t get so freaked. It is only temporary. You can’t get rid of me that easily.”

“Pity,” Piccolo muttered. “Otherwise I’d get rid of the old man as well.”

“Come on, Piccolo. Don’t be like that.” He drifted even nearer. “This is for your benefit, you know.”

He noticed how close the pest was getting and considered retreating. But he didn’t dare – if he did Nail would know how uncomfortable he was. “Took over one of my split forms – for me. Thanks,” he said sarcastically.

He studied Nail – somehow the other Namek taking over his second body had changed it slightly. The face was a little broader, jaw wider, lips plumper… Piccolo groaned inwardly. No, no, no. Just seconds and he was observing details like that. What in the hell was wrong with him? He shouldn’t be noticing how Nail was fractionally shorter than him, his chest larger, muscles of his abdomen only slightly less defined than his own. He shouldn’t look – he shouldn’t care. This was his own body, somehow kidnapped by the pest in his mind.

“How did you—?” he asked, trying to use the time to get control of his already confused senses. There was a scent beginning to fill the air that seemed to make everything look and smell sharper.

Nail smiled lazily, drifting until he was hovering so close Piccolo could feel his breath on his face. “You weren’t concentrating as much as you should have been on the form. I’ve been waiting for this moment, Piccolo. Why do you think I have been tormenting you the way I have?”

“Because you are an asshole?” he snapped. This wasn’t possible. It only happened once – heat only happened once. But just minutes in Nail’s presence and that familiar, painful tension was already filling his body.

Nail grinned at him. “I’ve been called worse – mostly by you.”

“What in the hell are you doing this for, Nail? If the split is only temporary why do it?”

Nail laughed out loud. “Do I really need a reason? Do you have any idea what it is like being stuck in your head with that crazy old man?”

“I have a damn good idea,” Piccolo said dryly.

Nail sighed. “Okay, okay. I did it because I think I can help you. This aversion to sex of yours isn’t normal - it is making you a miserable bastard.”

Piccolo scowled. “Maybe I like to be a miserable bastard.”

Nail smiled at him, fangs bared. “You know that isn’t true.”

“Damn it, Nail,” he snapped. “What is the real reason you are doing this? It can’t just be for my so-called benefit.”

“Of course not. I’m doing this for me too.” Nail rested his palm against his cloth-covered chest and Piccolo pressed into the contact before he realized what he was doing. “If circumstances had been different I would have seduced you on Namek. You are very good-looking, Piccolo - I have always regretted not being able tto have sex with you.”

Piccolo growled and tried to shove him away. “No.”

“Really Piccolo?” Nail asked, reaching out and gently touching the dark ring surrounding the protective skin on his arm. “Why not? Can you deny what the scent of another Namek is doing to you right now?”

Damn him, damn him, damn him. He still associated these feelings with pain – even that little bit of contact should have hurt. He barely hid his surprise when he realized it didn’t – his entire body instantly felt wonderfully hyper-sensitive and Nail’s touching him only increased the sensations.

“See? This is why you needed a partner, Piccolo,” Nail said softly, continuing to touch exposed skin, fingertips brushing against his arm. Piccolo couldn’t seem to make himself want to make Nail stop. This was ridiculous- he should be able to control himself…but the sensations were so…good. “When you are in heat, your body is so sensitive, touching yourself is too intense – it causes pain.”

“How—?” He wanted to ask…hell, he didn’t know what he wanted to ask. He wanted to protest – he couldn’t be in heat again. But he couldn’t - he could only hover there, stunned at how right Nail’s touch felt against his face.

Piccolo began to wonder if there was ever any chance he could have refused the other Namek – or why he would have wanted to. All Nail had done was lightly touch his face and arms and he was already hoping for more. This contact was so different from sparring. Is this why Goku and Vegeta enjoyed touching each other so much?

“I actually do know what I am doing, Piccolo. Warriors would help each other through the change – it was part of our training.” Nail smirked. “And a great pleasure to practice.”

Piccolo hesitated. He couldn’t deny that his body seemed to want this, but it was a very strange circumstance and had the potential to be inescapably awkward. Nail could be a real jerk when he wanted to. “Damn it, Nail. If I- If we…” He scowled. “By all the gods – including the fucking Kais – if you give me crap about this in the future I will figure out a way to permanently unfuse from you and beat your idiotic green head into pulp.”

Nail smiled and removed the turban from his head. Piccolo blushed when he realized his damned antennae stood nearly upright as soon as they were exposed to the air. “Even Kami doesn’t know about this. Haven’t you noticed how quiet it is in your head? I kind of shoved him in a mental closet.”

Piccolo stared at the other Namek. Why didn’t these two ever tell him how to do this crap? “Teach me how to do that.”

Nail shook his head. “So you can shove me in there with him?”

Piccolo smirked and brushed his hand up Nail’s arm, noticing with amusement how it made the other Namek shiver. Apparently Nail had less control than he did – or wasn’t expecting him to initiate any contact himself. “Maybe I will torment you in return.”

Nail grinned and lightly skimmed the tip of an antennae with his thumb. Piccolo couldn’t bite back the little groan of approval. “Careful. I might like it – then what will you threaten me with?” Nail chuckled.

Piccolo didn’t really care anymore. His fingertips were fascinated with the feel of Nail’s pink ridges of skin, firm and unmoving, but with the texture of silk. Why hadn’t he noticed how his armored skin felt before?

And warm. He knew his body temperature was regulated by these areas, but the difference between the armor and the cool green skin was amazing. He never really paid attention to the difference on his own body, but on Nail’s the difference was remarkable.

And Nail’s hands on him… heat… electricity… One touch and he felt like he was being touched everywhere – he wanted to be touched everywhere. He moaned when Nail stroked both antennae at once.

Nail chuckled at the sound. “You okay?”

Piccolo glared at Nail’s amused expression. “Of course I’m okay. If you stop now I will have to kill you.” Now that he had started, there was no way he would leave this experiment unfinished.

“Not a chance,” Nail laughed. “But this,” he tugged on the front of Piccolo’s gi, tearing it down the middle, “has to go.”

“Bastard,” Piccolo smirked, twisting his hand in the loose fabric of Nail’s gi, “Let’s see how you like it.” He pulled and the top shredded away from Nail’s body.

Nail glanced down at his exposed chest and smirked back. “I see. So that’s how it is going to be. You realize you are going to have to create new clothes when we are done – unless you plan on returning to The Lookout naked.”

“Somehow, I think that is going to be the least of our worries.”

Nail laughed and skimmed his chest with his nails, sending pleasurable chills throughout his entire body. “I’m glad to see you are starting to enjoy yourself.”

Piccolo echoed Nail’s movements, delicately tracing his now fascinating armored stomach muscles. “I might as well. Seeing as you are bound and determined to drive me insane with your incessant yammering.”

“At least you know when you are defeated.” Nail pointed at his cape. “Will you please take this stupid thing off? It is in the way.”

“Why don’t you?” Piccolo smirked.

“You would trust me to have that much weight by your head? The damn thing is a weapon all by itself.”

Piccolo nodded thoughtfully. “Point taken,” he said, removing the heavy cape and tossing it aside with a thunk. “How about yours?”

“I’m working on it, I’m working on it,” Nail said, struggling with the cape that was tangling itself around him.

Piccolo chuckled and destroyed the offending item with a burst of ki.

“My hero,” Nail laughed.


He was taken by surprise when Nail suddenly lunged forward and tackled him. Nail sat on his stomach and grinned down at him. “You know Piccolo, I think I like you like this.”

“Nail…” he growled, preparing to throw him off.

“Calm down, hero. I meant I like you with a sense of humor.” Nail smirked and put his hands on either side of his head.

He snorted. “I wasn’t trying to be funny. You were taking too damn long with the stupid cape.”

“Hey, don’t blame me. It is your stupid cape.”

“I thought you were going to try to seduce me,” Piccolo smirked. “What is taking you so long?”

Nail barked a laugh. “You have certainly changed your tune. Not a problem, hero – allow me to demonstrate.”

He bent close and let the tip of his tongue glide over the edge of Piccolo’s ear. Piccolo didn’t even try to stop the full-body shudder when Nail’s mouth closed around his antennae, licking and sucking the delicate appendages. There was so much sensation, so much contact – and it didn’t hurt. Fingertips and nails would make him shiver from the too-light pressure, and then Nail would follow his tormenting touch with the soothing warmth of his tongue, igniting a fire he had fought for so long to put out.

He traced over the ridges on Nail’s back, amazed at how slick the green skin felt under his exploring fingers. Some part of his brain kept saying this whole experience was foolish…impossible. There was no way that he was allowing…encouraging Nail – that damn pest Nail – to touch him like this. But damn – the scent of the other Namek was making the blood rush through his veins. He could feel the heat rising from his armor, the pink of their skin beginning to turn red.

Piccolo growled his annoyance when Nail stopped his explorations and looked at him. “Are you okay, Piccolo? I’m not going too fast, am I?”

“What in the hell are you talking about, too fast? You are going too fucking slow.”

Nail chuckled and sucked on the tip of his ear, making him writhe against the body that had him trapped. “Don’t be so impatient, hero. Take your time – enjoy this.”

Piccolo groaned. He hated to admit it out loud, but he was enjoying himself. What in the hell had he been thinking? How could he have lived so long without this pleasure? There was something… thrilling… about being pinned under the weight of someone whose sole purpose was to give him pleasure.

Nail’s hands… his mouth… were everywhere. Piccolo gave up trying to keep up with him and surrendered himself to the sensation. These feelings that had been so painful years ago were ecstasy now. He could only writhe and moan as Nail worked his way down, covering every inch of exposed skin with fire.

He arched his back helplessly when Nail’s hand pressed against his cloth covered erection. Piccolo blushed purple when he realized he had actually whimpered at the other’s touch. “Damn it, Nail. Quit teasing. If you are going to do something, then do it,” he complained.

Nail smirked at him. “Too bad we won’t get to do this more often. You are one of the most enthusiastic lovers I’ve ever had.” He curled his fingers in the last of Piccolo’s clothes and shredded them with a burst of ki.

“Do you have to destroy everything?”

Nail repeated the action with his own pants. “It’s more fun that way.”

“That’s because I’m the one who has to replace them.”

“Whine, whine, whine,” Nail said.

Piccolo gasped when Nail curled his hand around the hard pink base of his erection, slowly stroking. He was helpless to stop the moan of pleasure when a cool thumb glided over the leaking green head of his arousal.

“You like that, hmmm?”

“What do you,” he groaned, “think?” This was insane. Nothing should feel this good. Did Nail really think he wouldn’t like this?

“You are going to love this,” Nail chuckled.

Piccolo actually whimpered when Nail’s mouth surrounded his erection, his tongue gliding and teasing the firm skin. He struggled to move, but could only curse when Nail’s hands pinned him to the ground, fingers hard against his hips. “Bastard. Bastard! Let me move! I need- I need-!” Bastard. Nail was being a bastard. He was sucking and humming around his erection, but it wasn’t enough. Piccolo wanted more. He was positive Nail knew exactly what he needed, but wasn’t telling him.

“I know what you need, Piccolo,” Nail said, taking away that marvelous contact, making him groan in protest. Hard. He was so damned hard he didn’t know how much longer he could stand it. He nearly begged Nail – don’t leave him in this state. If Nail didn’t finish he would kill him – he didn’t care how – he would do it.

He could only glare when Nail moved. What was the bastard doing? Nail was grinning at him, stroking his own erection, almost thoughtfully. Piccolo stared, a ripple of concern passing through him. Surely he didn’t think that thing would fit in Piccolo – it was too damned big. There was no way. What was he thinking? “Nail…” he said warningly.

“Just relax. It will be fine.”

Piccolo screamed. Nail had suddenly shifted and impaled himself on his erection with a drawn out moan. It was like nothing he had ever felt before. Hot and tight – he could feel blood pulsing through him and around him. He didn’t see how there could be anything better than this feeling.

Nail’s eyes were barely opened, his breath coming out in gasping pants. Piccolo frowned. He looked like he was in pain.

“Nail?” he breathed, hardly in control of his own voice. “Are you-?”

“Fine,” he gasped. “Fine. Just give me… adjusting…”

And then Nail moved, strong green legs flexing, rising up so only the green head of Piccolo’s erection remained in his body. Just as quickly he lowered himself, both of them moaning at the movement.

Piccolo wrapped strong hands around Nail’s hips, taking control, pumping his hips upward as he pulled the other Namek down, driving deeply into him.

Nail groaned and cursed. “Harder, damn it. Harder. I’m not some damn fragile toy.”

Piccolo snarled and flipped Nail on his back. Strong legs were instantly wrapped around him and he began to thrust with all of his strength. This was nothing like he ever imagined. All he could see was green. All he could feel was green. He could hardly believe he was actually buried deep in the lush body of another Namek.

Nail was gasping and cursing, fingers clutching his back and shoulders. “Pic- Piccolo- touch… stroke my cock…please.”

He didn’t hesitate – if he could give Nail even a fraction of the pleasure he was experiencing he would be glad. He slid his hand between their bodies, curling around the firm nearly red skin of Nail’s erection, stroking in time to his frantic thrusts.

Piccolo could feel something – could feel it…like there was a fire that started in his chest and traveled down until it seemed like his entire self was gathered in his groin. He didn’t see how he could contain himself – it was too strong – too much.

Nail began to shudder, curling even tighter around him, legs and arms clutching him tightly. Piccolo groaned as Nail came in his hand, the muscles around his own erection tightening almost painfully. He came nearly the same instant, screaming his release before collapsing.

Piccolo rested on his knees, sucking in gasping breaths of air. “Oh shit. Oh shit.”

==Oh shit indeed.==

He opened his eyes and looked below him. “Nail?” he asked when he noticed the absence of his partner.

==I’m back in here.==

Piccolo frowned regretfully. He wouldn’t have minded doing that again. At least his split form had lasted long enough for them to finish. He brought his hand to his mouth, smelling pungent herbs, tasting Nail’s cool essence.

Nail chuckled. ==Good, isn’t it?==

Piccolo blushed purple, but continued what he was doing. If Nail was going to give him crap anyway, he might as well enjoy this.

==So what did you think?==

Piccolo smirked. What? Are you looking for praise?

Nail laughed. ==It would be nice.==

I don’t know if I should risk inflating your already over-inflated ego, Piccolo told him, grinning. He picked up some of the shreds of their clothing and began cleaning himself off. Besides, you ruined my clothes.

==Don’t be such a baby. It is a small price to pay for sex with an expert.==

Piccolo barked a laugh. Nice to know you aren’t egotistical.

==It isn’t ego if it is true.== Nail sighed. ==I really missed sex. I wouldn’t mind doing that again, Piccolo. I could teach you some interesting things.==

Piccolo grinned and made a new gi. I’ll bet you could. You know…I think I would be willing.


‘Aaaah… lovely peaceful silence…’

The green skinned being lay back and relaxed. Lazily he grabbed a tall glass standing on a table beside him, absentmindedly toyed with the small colourful umbrella and the stick with star-shaped fruit-pieces on it and sighed again, smiling. Then he took a long sip of the refreshing mixture, watching the blue sky overhead, where small, fluffy white clouds seemed to enjoy themselves.

It was a perfect day.

‘It’s good to be god…’

Dende, guardian of earth, took a well deserved sunbath to refresh his healthy green skin colour. The young god relaxed in his sun-chair, idly counting the fleecy clouds. On his order they formed themselves to pictures. A fluffy Vegeta emerged, chasing an even fluffier Yamcha throughout the heavens. The little white Saiyajin fired a cloudy blast-shaped thing and the steam-based desert bandit vanished with a poof.

Dende smiled.

He felt he deserved this small break from his everyday godly activities. Just this morning, he had dealt with a large flood, threats of two major wars between neighbouring countries, a volcano erupting on a holiday resort island, a plane which had started without having gathered enough fuel - fools, all of them! - and a kitten that was stuck in a tree. Okay, so that hurricane had slipped his all-seeing eye. But hey, nobody’s perfect! All in all, it had been a busy start for the day and the young god had marvellously managed to fulfil his difficult job without messing up too much.

Surely he had earned himself a little break and some quiet relaxing, hadn’t he?

Mr. Popo was nowhere in sight, undoubtedly tending to the surprisingly large gardens somewhere in the back of the lookout. Dende would swear that those things were bigger than the whole lookout himself! You could get lost in there and that was quite something on a half sphere that was clearly visible at once from one end to the other. He had no idea what strange kind of plants grew in the deeper depths and frankly, he didn’t wish to find out.

‘Even for god some things stay a mystery…’

Piccolo on the other hand was off for meditation. Of course. The large Namekjin never did anything else beside meditating for hours without end. Dende, of namekian heritage himself, understood the concept of mental tranquillity through meditation but personally thought that Piccolo was overdoing it.

‘Wonder what he’s waiting for…’


Dende’s eyes snapped open as he nearly choked on his Pina Colada. Frantically he looked around only to realize after a few seconds, that he had not heard that with his pointy ears but inside his head. He frowned as he concentrated. The voice had been vaguely familiar…

‘What is it…? A new threat to earth…? Did something happen…?’

Quickly he stepped over to the brim of the lookout, looking down to earth. He focused on the source of the voice and narrowed his eyes. This amazing trait of the lookout, to allow him to view every part of earth in detail whenever he wanted to, was an indispensable tool for his work as the guardian of Chikyuu-sei. It was his duty to observe what was going on on earth at all times. Dende wiped the sweat from his brows, dearly hoping that nothing disastrous had happened while he was taking his little break. He HAD been neglecting his duties, but one hour could not make so much of a difference, could it…?

He focused more and finally the source of the voice came into view. Dende recognized the face immediately and a small smile grazed his lips. So it had been Gohan, his old childhood friend. Dende briefly wondered why the demi-saiyajin had called on him… the picture enlarged and the surroundings of Gohans position came into view.

Dende gulped.

‘Ooookay… not a threat it seems. Must have been a random stray thought… ehehe… looks like that really hit the spot, so to say…’

He sighed and retreated from the brim, trying hard to get one or two pictures he had not been able to ignore out of his head.

‘I swear, those two act as if they’re still on their honeymoon. Gohan’s really one lucky bastard. Hmm… I wonder. Videl looks a bit as if they would be expecting some offspring in the not too far away future. Maybe I should check on that…’ He mentally frowned. ‘’…later. Yeah, later. Definitely.’

He settled back into his chair, relaxing again. He had just closed his eyes for a quick nap when suddenly…

OH! Kami, Trunks!

His eyes snapped open again.

‘No… oh no… what day is today? It’s not… it’s not… Thursday, isn’t it?? Oh damn! It is!!’

Dende groaned painfully. He did not have to step over to the brim to check THIS one out. Mentally he prepared and without hesitation, it continued…

Oh goood…! Yes!! Trunks… Oh kami… harder! Harder please!

‘How could I have forgotten that today was Thursday? I mean, with those two, six days out of seven is bad but Thursday is worst because it is the day after Wednesday, which is, in return, the day Trunks has to train with his father, which means he can’t meet with Goten, which means they can’t… err… be together, which of course leads to the conclusion that they have to make up for that on Thursday which equals on hell of a headache for me because I swear those two are not human, they’re RABBITS!’

Dende massaged his temples groaning as he tried in vain to ignore the enthusiastic shouts in his head getting louder and louder. Finally, with one last earth-shaking scream (Dende would have sworn that there had actually been a small earthquake with those two in it’s epicentre) , finally silence returned.

The young god lifted his eyes gratefully before remembering that he could not thank some almighty entity above for this little gift of grace.

‘It’s bad to be god… you can’t blame somebody else.’

The young guardian briefly shuddered when a flash of memory passed his inner eye of how he had stumbled upon those two the first time. He had rushed to the brim upon hearing them like he had just now, anxious because of the loud scream that had echoed through his head. He had stood there and stared for at least five minutes, before he had been able to tear his eyes away, which made the whole thing even worse.

Dende was - kami knows it (he still liked that little pun) - not prudish, but the things those two did…

The namekian god, being the offspring of a race that was asexual for most of their natural life, had already a hard time to conquer the concept of inter-being intimacy. It did not matter to him that Goten and Trunks were of the same gender - to someone who did not understand sex at all, the particular details of the couple mattered sincerely zero. No, there were other things that made this matters difficult for the young guardian.

First of all he felt slightly guilty. He had the feeling that as earth’s assigned guardian he SHOULD understand these things as they seemed to be a basic principle in the lives of those he was destined to protect.

Second he felt guilty too, because he had actually felt some… weird thing, when he had first watched those two. It had been all warm and tingly, washing through his entire body from head to toes, leaving him feeling very uneasy. His antennas still twitched at the mere thought.

The third reason was simply that he did not want to know this. Much less listen to it or even worse, watch it. He might not have a total understanding what sex actually meant to those involved but he did have the strong feeling that it was something private that should STAY between those involved. Besides, he had grown up to look at Trunks and Goten as if they were younger siblings of himself and the mere thought of what they were doing made him blush immensely.

To summarize: he was one screwed up kami.

Dende hid his head in his hands as it started all over again - just like he knew it would.

He was almost glad when another voice in his head demanded his attention, hoping that it was some serious prayer that would help him avert his attention from what the two demi-sayaijin were doing at the moment.

He regretted it a moment later when he figured out the new voice. Idly he wondered what Vegeta would do if he ever found out that Bulma cheated on him with Yamcha. Frankly he doubted that the saiyan prince would care. All he seemed to have on his mind was training, day after day after day. But he would probably still blast the desert bandit to the next realm. The prince had never been overly fond of the scar-faced ex of his wife, and probably would be glad for the excuse to finally get rid of him.

*Ahhhh! Dende! Oh Bulma, yes, you’re fantastic, baby!"

Grossed out said Dende stuck out his tongue. He heartily despised the guy! It was bad enough to call for god or kami, but Yamcha had this annoying trait to actually cry out Dende’s name at the… err… climax. The nerve of it!! It made Dende feel so… dirty! As if he was somehow involved into the whole gruesome matter! Idly Dende wondered whether he should give Vegeta a hint. It would rid him of at least one of his problems…

‘Is there a official discretion for kami?’ he asked himself. He really had to ask the supreme kai when he next had to report to him…

He didn’t even react anymore when the voices of Kuririn and 18 joined the cacophony. It was just one of those days…

One day he really had to find out if it was normal for humans (androids included) to have that much sex or if they just did it to annoy him. With the demi-saiyajin it was of course an entirely different matter. Dende had figured from the involuntary statistics he had been forced to acquire plus some information he had gotten himself after first entertaining the thought, that Saiyajin were a race that was much closer to their primal roots than the humans were. Basically, what made them tick was food, fighting and sex.

It seemed that they had infinite reserves in the last department.

Dende shivered slightly and thanked… uh… damn… well he thanked himself that the last two full blooded Saiyajin, who of course just HAD to reside on the very world HE guarded, seemed to be the big exception from the rule…

Suddenly the sky turned pitch-black.

‘Nani? What’s this? Someone has summoned the dragon?’

The young kami frowned and again walked over to the brim. Just when he arrived a new voice popped up.

Uuuuuunnnh! Oh kami! This is incredible! Uuuuh!

Involuntarily Dende was distracted and instead of searching for the place the dragon had appeared in, his gaze zoomed in on a small house in a peaceful valley. Inside four figures were moving, tangled with each other, sweat-slicked skin gliding sensually over heated flesh. Dende’s eyes bulged out.

‘I had no idea you could use the split-form technique for THAT! Tenshinhan… I can’t believe it…’

Quickly he stepped back again, but his mind had already memorized the image of four absolutely identical muscular bald figures moving with and against each other…

‘Gosh, I knew he was single for a long time, but that he would reside to such desperate measures…’

Somewhere many miles away a mind was in sync with itself. Total silence reigned.

‘Not much longer.’

The sky had cleared again in the meantime and Dende cursed inwardly. Today was really not his day. He swore if he ever found out who was responsible for this mess he would… he would… ah damn! If only he was a bit more creative in the department of cussing.

If they had told him beforehand what was waiting for him he might have considered again if he really wanted to be kami. He sincerely doubted though that Goku, innocent sweet Goku, had known about this beforehand. He remembered the day the earth-grown Saiyajin had come to New Namek, asking for someone to volunteer as a substitute for the old kami who had fused with Piccolo to increase his strength. Unluckily that meant that since Piccolo had been evil sometime in the past he was not pure enough anymore to fulfil the role of kami. Without a second thought Dende had agreed to accompany his friends to earth and be their guardian. It had seemed like a good job, after all he would do something immensely important, help people and he had this real nice view from the lookout and his personal servant, though the term just didn’t seem to fit Mr. Popo very well.

Namely the same had taught him the duties of kami afterwards. He had served the old kami as well and Dende had been immensely grateful for his valuable advice. Mr Popo had told the young guardian that he would only hear the prayers of his protégés if it was really important. Without that limitation he would have heard a constant buzz of voices destined to make him crazy within minutes. Normally the prayers did start of with his name, “kami” or “god”, Mr Popo said.

Mr. Popo hat not mentioned THE EXCEPTION.

Dende sat down on the sun-chair and miserably buried his head in his arms. He still did not know if the strange genie-like creature knew or not.

‘With that never-changing expression of his… it’s hard to tell. He might as well laugh at me secretly all the time.’

Of course the old kami must have known. He would after all have experienced the same. But probably not to the expenses Dende had to.

The truth was, there was a catch in the whole god-business.

Normally kami only listened to the serious prayers, the one concerning life or death. It was impossible for one being to deal with all those little day-by-day problems. He was the guardian of earth, not the garbage-man of feeble human problems.

But - and this was THE EXCEPTION - this rule did not apply to the heroes of earth.

Dende had no idea what determined someone a hero of earth. He had asked the supreme kai once and had only gotten a cryptic answer along the lines of that fate chose itself and those who were deemed worthy blablabla.

The term unluckily seemed to include all of the z-fighters.

Dende assumed that whoever had partaken in the defence of earth at some point was found worthy of the title. He cursed it daily.

This seemed to be some kind of grace given to the ones who had offered their lives for the inhabitants of this planet. Their prayers would be heard by kami. Each and every single one.

Unluckily that rule must have been designed by some overly pedantic bureaucrat.

In theory it was meant as a acknowledgement of great deeds, dignifying the heroes above all others.

In practice it meant that every - quote Dende start - “kami-forsaken time one of the damned lot moans, groans, yells, screams, gasps or pants” - quote Dende end - either the word kami, god or Dende, he would have to listen. Every time!

In practice it meant that Dende had nearly forgotten that his natural skin colour was a beautiful shade of green because he blushed a healthy lilac so very often.

In practice it meant that the unlucky god knew more about sex - and kinkiness - than he wanted to, than he naturally should, being asexual and all, or than he could take without loosing his sanity.

In practice it meant that Dende had the feeling that, basically, all humans - or Saiyajin - did was having sex, sex, sex. But why the hell they had to mention his name every literally fucking time so to speak while doing it, stayed a infinite mystery to him. He had gotten so paranoid that he was on the brink of accusing them to have a conspiracy to drive him frikkin mad!

Of course he hadn’t.

He didn’t really believe that they knew what they were doing to him. And how could he tell them that he had been present every time? That he had listened while Goten was conceived, had even watched as Trunks and Goten did it the first time - and he had watched on other occasions too, because he wasn’t always sure at first that that’s what it was and he had to check, it was his duty and oh kami what things he had seen.

He couldn’t tell them that.

Could he?


OH GOD! Oooooh… do that again… Jyunana… oh please…

Dende froze.

He knew that voice. Its exact copy was still groaning loudly in another part of his mental world. The passion made his antennas twitch again.

‘How can there be two… No… It can’t be? No… Don’t tell me I hear them from different timelines too???’

On the other side of the world, someone watched and waited, knowing the time would come.

‘Soon now.’

The young guardian sniffed, clutching his head as the cacophony of screams and moans echoed on and on…

“Oi! Dende!”

‘…GAH!!! Nani? Goku?’

Dende turned on his heel and saw a grinning Goku walking towards him. He smiled brightly in relief. The savior of earth would distract him from the invisible concerto in his head!

‘You are my last hope! My savior!’

“Goku! I’m glad to see you!”

Son Goku had not expected to find a grinning green young god jump-hug and trying to squeeze the life out of him. He laughed brightly.

“Easy there, kid. It’s good to see you too! How are you doing up here?”

One or two seconds Dende was tempted to just tell Goku everything, his confusion, his feelings of guilt and arousal. Then he looked into the bright, innocent eyes of the strongest being in the universe and swallowed it.

‘Tell Goku? Sweet, innocent Goku who hasn’t given me any trouble since Goten? Who despite everything probably still thinks that sex is some strange food? Naaaa…’

“Oh… I’m doing fine, Goku…” He answered weakly.

“Say… you wouldn’t know if Mirai Trunks has come back to this timeline, would you?”

Goku’s eyes widened in astonishment.

“You already know? I was just going to tell you. He came back cause his mom died and he says there’s nothing left for him. He also wanted to make up with C 17 and C 18. Wow. How’d you know? You’re really quick! But…” the Saiyajin grinned and scratched his head in his trademark gesture - “of course, you’re kami, so I suppose you must know.”

‘Well I don’t know about C 18 but he certainly DID make up with C17!’ Dende thought dryly. He sighed and tried to ignore a particularly enthusiastic scream by following the movement of Goku’s twitching tail-tip with his eyes.

‘Hm… that’s soothing. Almost hypnotizing. Twitch… twitch… wait a second, TAIL??’

“Go… Goku, you have a tail!!”

Earth greatest warrior grinned again.

“Yeah. That’s the second thing I was going to tell you. I thought it was time to restore the moon again, and since Vegeta has finally taught us all how to control the transformation process I wished back all the tails too. Even for Trunks and Goten. They asked for it.”

He stopped when he noticed that Dende had turned a sick shade of blue.

“You don’t look to good, Dende, What’s wrong?”

The young guardian gulped audibly.

‘A moon. Tails. Oh myself, I’ll never be able to sleep again!’

His research had given him more details than he had actually wished for. He had even contacted a few Saiyajin in hell and one of them, by the name of Bardock and, if he recalled it right, somewhat related to Goku, had been particularly of help. He had explained about the saiyan customs and biology, about how the moon played a big role in their sex-life and that the tails were in fact erogenous zones that were essential in the mating cycle.

Dende had never thanked himself so much like on that occasion for the simple fact that neither moon nor tails were a problem for him.

Now they were.

Goku was surprised a second time this day when he suddenly felt Dende cling to him like his life depended on it and heard the young god speak so fast that he almost could not understand him anymore.

“Oh Goku, have I ever told you what a great guy you are, you are really great the way you are, promise me that you never ever change, always stay just as you are now, nice and sweet and innocent and caring and go on loving your food and training and fighting and…”

"Umm… " the warrior scratched his head in confusion, “actually I was just on my way to spar with Vegeta…”

“Great wonderful, Vegeta, yes, great guy, gotta love that man, really, so determined, nothing but training on his mind, wonderful you do that, spar, let off some steam, haha, just forget about such feeble things like tails and moons an everything, have fun okay?”

“Uh… ooookay.” Goku stared at the aggravated namek-jin, his tail twitching and indicating his confusion.

“Whatever you say, Dende…” He grinned.

“Boy, I really really like my new tail! By now, I’m gonna go spar with Vegeta!”

Dende grinned so wide that the upper half of his face threatened to come off and continued to do so until Son Goku had teleported out of sight. Then he unceremoniously slumped to the ground.

‘I’m doomed!’

He sobbed once or twice, then propped his chin on his elbow, drumming a small rhythm on the white tiles of the lookout, thinking.

'Good. At least I was quick enough to avert the worst. With Goku and Vegeta out of the way, it will probably be at least tolerable. Trunks and Goten seem to be at their maximum anyway, I honestly can’t imagine them increasing anymore, and Gohan… well, Videl should be able to restrain him. So, maybe it’s not such a catastrophe after all. ’

Dende had really taking a liking to the cold saiyan prince, solemnly because he was probably the one that bothered him least of all. The prince seemed to have one occupation alone and that was training, presumably to one day best Son Goku, Kakarott, his arch rival.

He still lived at Capsule Corp, mostly because of his kids Trunks and Bra, Dende assumed. But, and the young god dearly wished he didn’t know that so well, he did not join his wife in bed anymore and had not done so for years now. Dende wondered what Vegeta would do if he ever found out that he had heard him admit his pleasure as Bra was conceived. Dende had been impressed. In all the nights he had heard Bulma afterwards with Yamcha (why she was considered a hero of earth was still beyond his understanding) she had never been so enthusiastic like that night. It seemed the handsome dark saiyan prince had quite some traits.

Dende banged his head on the lookout-floor.

‘Must! Not! Think! About! That!’

He dearly wished that the old kami had designed some sort of manual. It practically suggested itself! Make up some simple rules and let somebody write them down! Over and out and you have so much less trouble, thank you very much! His rule number one would of course be: DO NOT USE THE NAME OF GOD IN VAIN!

Dende wondered if it was too late to do something like that. Maybe he could, like, manifest himself to some earthling in, say, a golden writing on a supermarket-wall, or make an appearance in a TV-spot or maybe a burning trash can? But he had the nagging suspicion that if you did not establish such rules in a religion from the very beginning it just would not work out.


Dende froze.

‘Nuu-uuuh… I haven’t heard what I just heard…’

As if in a trance he stood up and stumbled to the edge, staring down as if he wanted to jump any minute. Which he probably would.

A clearing in a forest, bathed in the rays of a glorious sundown.

Zoom in.

Lush grass moving slightly in a early evening breeze.

Zoom in.

Two bodies, still upright, pressed against each other.

Zoom in.

Eyes closed, dark hair ruffled by the gentle breeze.

Hot mouths pressed together, tongues battling for dominance.

Hands roaming spandex-clad flesh, down a muscled back.

Two tails, entwining, ruffling each others fur.

Dual moans, followed by husky purrs.

Graceful forms desperately clinging together, seeking as much contact as possible.

Heat practically radiating of two perfectly chiselled bodies, toned flesh tinted with the flush of desire.

Dende’s mouth hung open.

Now the taller of the two lost his balance and toppled over, but even that was full of grace. The lighter framed body followed suit, instantly claiming dominance. Strong hands gripping a slender waist. Hips moving, bringing much needed friction. A sinewy dark tail coiling around a muscular thigh, the tip nuzzling the soft delicate skin on the inside.

Soft words of affection being uttered before the heat takes over and a low growl announces that resistance is futile. Not that there is any. Claw-like fingers shredding orange fabric. Palms moving adoringly over rock-hard abdomen, tracing lines of fire in the evening sun. Molten light bathing tanned skin, glowing from the inside as a body arched up into a another, extracting moans of passion from both participants.

Dende could not believe it.

‘No… It can’t be… Sweet… determined…innocent… uncaring… DAMN!’

But even as he cursed he could not tear his eyes away. For the very first time, though his skin colour had altered behind any definition of a blush and he trembled head to toe, he felt the desire to stay and watch. Heat rose in his body and he sunk down at the edge to the world, eyes fixed on that unbelievably erotic scene.

Far away, in midst a beautiful valley full of blooming vegetation, in front of a cave way out in the wilderness, eyes snapped open and a rare smile grazed stern lips. Someone stirred and then stood up.


Spandex came off in a rush as the need to feel skin on glorious skin grew beyond all logic. Sweat slicked bodies pressing together, no out of element sense of shame hindering them.

Just pure passion as each found completion in the other.

A hot tongue trailing paths of liquid desire onto shivering skin. Silk-wrapped steel rising in need as hands took hold of a dark brown tail, ruffling the downy fur lovingly. Screams of passion echoing through the softly falling night.

Dende shivered just the same. A wondrous feeling approached him. He felt as if finally he was at the brink of understanding what this was all about as he watched a neck bending in breathless ecstasy and those two bodies finally moving in perfect harmony, melting against each other, performing a dance so grand that only a god could have designed it.

‘Wait. That would mean I had…’

Suddenly the young god felt a body pressing against himself from behind, two strong arms embracing him. Large hands smoothed over his chest. Startled he wanted to turn around but his captor prevented it.

“Watch and learn.”

A husky voice whispered into his ear as surprisingly gently fingers started to caress his skin, making it tingle. Dende closed his eyes as that strange sensations danced all over him and then seemed to gather in the nether regions of his loins.

“You… you knew…?”

He gasped, breathless, as the feelings threatened to overwhelm him.

Those fingers were doing wonders to him. But it was nothing compared to when a hot mouth closed around one of his antennas, suckling softly. He moaned loudly, in unisono with the voices in his head.

“Of course I knew. Kami is still a part of me. It was actually quite amusing to watch you squirm. I knew that you would not understand until the time was right.”

“But… but I thought we were asexual, we…”

“Yes and no. There comes a time in each of us when we awaken to what lies beyond. Our body must have developed fully before we can understand. Now is the time. I will help you understand…”


And Dende understood.

Piccolo smiled devilishly. He knew that the young guardian would now finally truly discover why it was good to be god. Oh, the possibilities…


~oO Owari Oo~


Why. WHY.


Charle, I hate you and all you stand for.

I laughed for a while, then I saw where it was leading…
Then I realized what it was.

Fucking burn it. (Preferably with the flames of Hell.)

This thread is now about the many awesome and delicious varieties of cheese


Gorgonzola is a veined Italian blue cheese, made from unskimmed cow’s milk. It can be buttery or firm, crumbly and quite salty, with a ‘bite’ from its blue veining. It has been made since the early Middle Ages, but only became marbled with greenish-blue mold in the eleventh century. It is frequently used in Italian cooking. The name comes from Gorgonzola, a small town near Milan, Italy, where the cheese was reportedly first made in 879[2]; however, this claim of geographical origin is disputed by other towns.[3]

Gorgonzola is made in the regions of Piedmont and Lombardy from whole cow’s milk to which is added the bacteria Lactobacillus bulgaricus and Streptococcus thermophilus along with spores of the mold Penicillium glaucum. Recently Penicillium roqueforti has started to be used to make Gorgonzola, besides its use in Roquefort cheese. After the whey is removed, it is aged at low temperatures. During the aging process, metal rods are inserted into the cheese. This creates air channels which allows the mold spores to germinate and create the characteristic veining. Gorgonzola is typically aged for three to four months. The length of the aging process determines the consistency of the cheese. A firm Gorgonzola is aged longer than creamy Gorgonzola. It is usually sold wrapped in foil.

Gorgonzola may be consumed in many ways. It may be melted into a risotto in the final stage of cooking, for instance. Another fairly traditional dish sees Gorgonzola served alongside polenta. Pasta with gorgonzola is a dish appreciated almost everywhere in Italy by gorgonzola lovers (usually gorgonzola goes on short pasta, such as penne, rigatoni, mezze maniche or sedani, not with spaghetti or linguine). Because of its distinctive flavor, gorgonzola is frequently offered as a topping on pizza, alone or with other soft cheeses (this is the so-called pizza ai quattro formaggi).

Today by law the zone of production includes only a defined area. What was once the village of Gorgonzola, not far from Milan, is being swallowed up by suburbs. Most Gorgonzola is actually produced in the province of Novara, but the DOC zone also includes such provinces as Bergamo, Brescia, Como, Cremona, Cuneo, Lecco, Lodi, Milan, Pavia, Varese, Verbano-Cusio-Ossola, and Vercelli, as well as a number of comunes in the area of Casale Monferrato (province of Alessandria).

What about Casu Marzu?

There is no cheese for my


Maggots are not awesome or delicious.

Charle what is he gonna do next

Cheese what is he gonna do next


Parmigiano-Reggiano is made from raw cow’s milk. The whole milk of the morning milking is mixed with the naturally skimmed milk (it is left in large shallow tanks to allow the cream to separate) of the previous evening’s milking, resulting in a part skim mixture. The milk is pumped into copper-lined vats (copper heats and cools quickly). Starter whey is added, and the temperature is raised to 33-35C. Calf rennet is added, and the mixture is left to curdle for 10-12 minutes. The curd is then broken up mechanically (spinitura in Italian) into small pieces (around the size of rice grains). The temperature is then raised to 55 °C with careful control by the cheese-maker. The curd is left to settle for 45-60 minutes. The compacted curd is collected in a piece of muslin before being divided in two and placed in moulds. There are 1100 L of milk per vat, producing two cheeses each. The curd making up each wheel at this point weighs around 45 kg (100 lb). The remaining whey in the vat was traditionally used to feed the pigs from which “Prosciutto di Parma” (cured Parma ham) is produced. The barns for these animals were usually just a few yards away from the cheese production rooms.

The cheese is put into a stainless steel round form that is pulled tight with a spring powered buckle so the cheese retains its wheel shape. After a day or two, the buckle is released and a plastic belt imprinted numerous times with the Parmigiano-Reggiano name, the plant’s number, and month and year of production is put around the cheese and the metal form is buckled tight again. The imprints take hold on the rind of the cheese in about a day and the wheel is then put into a brine bath to absorb salt for 20-25 days. After brining, the wheels are then transferred to the aging rooms in the plant for 12 months. Each cheese is placed on wooden shelves that can be 24 cheeses high by 90 cheeses long or about 4,000 total wheels per aisle. Each cheese and the shelf underneath it is then cleaned manually or robotically every 7 days. The cheese is also turned at this time.

A factory of Parmigiano-Reggiano. There are two storerooms, both with 20 of these shelves.At 12 months, the Consorzio Parmigiano-Reggiano inspects each and every cheese. The cheese is tested by a master grader whose only instruments are a hammer and his ear. By tapping the wheel at various points, he can identify undesirable cracks and voids within the wheel. Those cheeses that pass the test are then heat branded on the rind with the Consorzio’s logo. Those that don’t pass the test used to have their rinds marked with lines or crosses all the way around to inform consumers that they are not getting top-quality Parmigiano-Reggiano; more recent practices simply have these lesser rinds stripped of all markings.

Traditionally, cows have to be fed only on grass or hay, producing grass fed milk. Only natural whey culture is allowed as a starter, together with calf rennet.[1]

The only additive allowed is salt, which the cheese absorbs while being submerged for 20 days in brine tanks saturated to near total salinity with Mediterranean sea salt. The product is aged an average of two years. The cheese is produced daily, and it can show a natural variability. True Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese has a sharp, complex fruity/nutty taste and a slightly gritty texture. Inferior versions can impart a bitter taste.

The average Parmigiano-Reggiano wheel is about 18-24 cm (7 to 9 inches) high, 40-45 cm (16 to 18 inches) in diameter, and weighs an average of 38 kg (80 pounds).

Uses of the cheese include being grated with a grater over pasta, stirred into soup and risotto, and eaten in chunks with balsamic vinegar. It is also a key ingredient in alfredo sauce and pesto.

According to legend, the Parmigiano was created in the course of the Middle Ages in Bibbiano, in the province of Reggio Emilia. Its production soon spread to the Parma and Modena areas. Historical documents show that in the 13th-14th century Parmigiano was already very similar to that produced today; this suggests that its origins can be traced far before.

In the memoirs of Giacomo Casanova, he remarked that the name “Parmesan” was a misnomer in his time (mid-18th century) as the cheese was produced in the town of Lodi, not Parma. This comment originates probably from the fact that a grana cheese very similar to the “Parmigiano”, the Grana Padano, is produced in the Lodi area.

ROQUEFORT is a sheep milk blue cheese from the south of France, and together with Bleu d’Auvergne, Stilton and Gorgonzola is one of the world’s best-known blue cheeses. Though similar cheeses are produced elsewhere, European law dictates that only those cheeses aged in the natural Combalou caves of Roquefort-sur-Soulzon may bear the name Roquefort, as it is a recognised geographical indication, or has a protected designation of origin.

The cheese is white, crumbly and slightly moist, with distinctive veins of green mould. It has characteristic odor and flavor with a notable taste of butyric acid; the green veins provide a sharp tang. The overall flavor sensation begins slightly mild, then waxes sweet, then smoky, and fades to a salty finish. It has no rind; the exterior is edible and slightly salty. A typical wheel of Roquefort weighs between 2.5 and 3 kilograms, and is about 10 cm thick. As each kilogram of finished cheese requires about 4.5 litres of milk, Roquefort is high in protein and minerals, notably calcium and sodium (salt).

This pungent and striking blue ewe’s milk cheese has a long history and a formidable reputation. In fact, Julius Caesar may have been the first big shot to praise Roquefort, which he tasted while conquering Gaul in the first century B.C. Although Julius wasn’t a “king” per se (“I am Caesar, not King,” he told his subjects), he did have a few other titles including dictator-for-life, consul-for-life, imperator, father of the fatherland, and God. We can only assume his opinion on cheeses mattered.
After Rome’s fall, Charlemagne “rediscovered” Roquefort for the Middle Ages. Following a battle with the Saracens in 778, Charlemagne stopped for a snack in Rouergue (the region of south-central France from which Roquefort hails). An abbot served some cheese to the monarch, who started picking out the greenish-blue bits with his dagger, assuming the mold to be a corruption. Noticing this, the abbot advised Charlemagne that the blue bits were the best part; Charlemagne ate, enjoyed, and ordered a couple of wagon-loads of the cheese delivered to his home every year.
In 1411, French king Charles VI, a.k.a. Charles the Well-loved, a.k.a. Charles the Mad, legally ensured Roquefort’s regional identity, restricting its aging to the Caves of Combalou — where it was first ripened, and still is today. It’s uncertain whether Charles was lucid or bonkers when this decision was made; but it doesn’t matter. Since then Roquefort’s been adored by all the glutton kings of France, especially the later kings Louis.
All of that said, love of Roquefort has not been restricted to royalty; even rebels, revolutionaries, and intellectuals have admired it. Enlightenment philosopher Diderot (who famously suggested that kings should be strangled with the entrails of priests) declared that Roquefort “is indisputably the finest cheese in Europe”. Rough-edged American novelist Henry Miller (who famously wrote some lurid things about love-making), had similar thoughts, claiming of Roquefort, “To eat this cheese one must have genius.” Whatever that means.

Camembert is a soft, creamy French cheese. It was first made in the late 18th century in Normandy in northwestern France. Camembert is made from unpasteurised cow’s milk, and is ripened by the moulds Penicillium candida and Penicillium camemberti for at least three weeks. It is produced in small rounds, about 350 grams (.55 lb) in weight, which are then typically wrapped in paper and packaged in thin wooden boxes.

When fresh, it is quite crumbly and relatively hard, but characteristically ripens and becomes softer and strongly flavoured as it ages. Camembert can be used in many dishes, but is also popularly eaten uncooked on bread or with wine or meat, to enjoy the subtle flavour and texture which does not survive heating. It is usually served at room temperature.

Camembert was reputedly invented in 1791 by Marie Harel, a farmer from Normandy, thanks to advice from a priest who came from France. However, the origin of the cheese known today as Camembert is more likely to rest with the beginnings of the industrialization of the cheese-making process at the end of the 19th century. In 1890, an engineer, M. Ridel invented the wooden box which was used to carry the cheese and helped to send it for longer distances, in particular to America where it became very popular. These boxes are still used today.

Before fungi were properly understood, the colour of Camembert rind was a matter of chance, most commonly blue-grey, with brown spots. From the early 20th century onwards, the rind has been more commonly pure white, but it was not until the mid-1970s that pure white became standard.

The cheese was famously issued to French troops during World War I, becoming firmly fixed in French popular culture as a result. It has many other roles in French culture, literature and history. It is now internationally known, and many local varieties are made around the world. The variety named “Camembert de Normandie” was granted a protected designation of origin in 1992 after the original AOC in 1983.

Camembert cheese gets its characteristic flavor from many naturally occurring chemical substances, including ammonia, succinic acid and salt. When present, bitter notes may be caused by ornithine, cadaverine, and citrulline. Over-ripe camembert contains an unpleasant, excessive amount of ammonia, which is produced by the same microorganisms required for ripening.

“The Persistence of Memory” is one of the most famous paintings by artist Salvador Dali. The painting has also been popularly known as “Soft Watches” or “Melting Clocks”. The original idea of this painting came to Dalí on a hot summer’s day. He was at home with a headache while Gala, his wife, was out shopping. After his meal, he noticed some half-eaten Camembert cheese and how runny it had become on account of the heat of the sunny day. That night, while he had been searching his soul for something to paint, he had a dream of clocks melting on a landscape. He went back to the unfinished piece he had been working on, which had a plain landscape with rocky cliffs in the background and a tree on a platform. Over two or three hours, he added in the melting pocket watches which made this the iconic image it is today.

OtioseBeing (11:40:57 PM): fag
OtioseBeing (11:41:58 PM): fagg0t
OtioseBeing (11:42:47 PM): u r so gay
OtioseBeing (11:50:12 PM): homo
OtioseBeing (11:53:11 PM): gayboy
Charlemagne EPL (12:14:06 AM): why do you treat me this way?
Charlemagne EPL (12:25:53 AM): WHHHHHYYYYYYYYYY?

Hah! What a conversation!

Charlemagne dude, now zeppeline is gonna feel all awkward and uncomfortable around you. You ruined your chance to have a relationship with him by coming on to strong.

Man, I wanted to plug this cheese now, but I can’t find much more than a picture and about two lines of info on wikipedia. (The swedish wikipedia, because it sure as hell doesn’t exist on any other.)

Oh well, you can get a picture at least. :stuck_out_tongue:


(The picture is huge, and I’m too lazy to resize it, so I’m just linking it.)

All I could fake from my poor Swedish is that the cheese quit being made in 1979, is now a nostalgia item, and was a prop in a TV show?

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Gouda is a yellow cheese made from cow’s milk. The cheese is named after the city of Gouda in the Netherlands, but its name is not protected. Gouda cheese is sold all around the world.

The cheese is made from cow milk that is cultured and heated until the curd is separate from the whey. Some of the whey is then drained, and water is added. This is called “washing the curd”, and creates a sweeter cheese, as the washing removes some of the lactic acid. About ten percent of the mixture is curd which are pressed into circular moulds for several hours. These moulds are the essential reason behind its traditional, characteristic shape. The cheese is then soaked in a brine solution which gives the cheese and its rind a distinctive taste. The cheese is then dried for a couple of days before being coated to prevent it from drying out, then it is aged. Depending on age classification, it can be everything between a number of weeks to over 7 years before it is ready to be eaten. As it ages it develops a caramel sweetness and sometimes has a slight crunchiness from salt-like calcium lactate or tyrosine crystals that form in older cheeses. The term “Gouda” is now a generic name, and not restricted to cheese of Dutch origin.

The term “Noord-Hollandse Gouda” is registered in the EU as a Protected Designation of Origin. The cheese itself was originally developed in Gouda which is in the Dutch province South Holland, hence the registered name referring to North Holland seems incorrect. However, Noord Holland is the recognised premium pasture area of Holland, being land claimed from the sea by the use of dikes.

Exported Gouda has two varieties, the young Gouda cheese aged between 1 and 6 months, rich yellow in color and with a red or yellow paraffin wax coating. This cheese is easily sliced with a cheese slicer. Exported Gouda which has aged more has a pungent underlying bitterness, yet is still considerably creamier and sometimes discernible by a black paraffin wax coating. This strong tasting cheese is hard and often too brittle to cut using a slicer, but it can be sliced by knife or served cut in cubes, with drinks. Smoked Gouda which is a processed cheese and Leyden Gouda, a spiced cheese are also popular variations.