Chester Cheetah: The Lost Episode

Does anyone remember Chester Cheetah? He was a fast food
mascot from the American 1960s that actually not a lot of people know about.
Famous for selling artificial snack dust cakes to aspiring consumers of all
ages, there was also a rather sinister side to the ad campaigns that featured
him.
Me, I was an intern for Frito Lay. We were going to launch a brand new line-up
of snack-themed products for ABC Saturday mornings, but it was actually not
meant to be. I, myself, was a cartoonist for the Chester Cheetah cartoon, but
as the case is still under active investigation, I cannot reveal my identity or
sources.
One day, I was sitting in the break room eating Cheetos brand snack dust when I
noticed the telephone was ringing in my office. Now, I don't have any friends,
so this actually caught me off guard. I could feel my eyes bulging in my skull,
and the drool drizzling down my chin. Was this some sort of prank? Who would
actually call me at this, or any other, time of day? Frantic and disheveled, I
ran into my office, tripping over the telephone cord. I was so upset--I was
going to miss my first phone call in my lifetime! I could feel a vein snapping
in my forehead. I was concerned about potential blood loss, however, so I
calmed down and took a seat at my desk.
Now, at that point I was just about to give up on finding out my secret
admirer, but just as I was about to purchase more cheese dust from the break
room vending machine... I heard a ringing in my ear. At first, I thought I had
acquired tinnitus from the loud ringing of the telephone, but no--the telephone
was actually ringing. Again! I feverishly pawed for the receiver, and this
time, I swung true. Admittedly, I covered the handle in orangey artificial
cheese in the process, but it was worth it, and I'd do it again.
"Hello?", I initiated my recipient in unconfident uncertainty.
"Why, yes. Hello, Isaac. I am very happy that you answered."
"Wh... Who is this?", I answered back, stuttering like something I
will not mention right now. "Tsk, tsk... after all we have been
through...".
And with that, he hung up the phone. I knew he thought he was getting out of this
one, but there's a better chance of breakdancing with a nun than getting me to
chillax once you've roused my suspicion! I dialed *69, got the number
of my mystery man, and called him back. My very first phone call on a non play
phone! I couldn't believe this was actually happening.
I did not receive a greeting on the other end. "Oh, uh, hey. It's
Isaac." I paused. I could hear heavy breathing. The other person must have
been quite overweight. "I knew you'd call back", he firmly stated
between crunching and munching sounds, affirming my suspicions as correct.
"It is time for you to do what you were born to do, Isaac. You must find
the Chester Cheetah Diamond, before it is too late. Otherwise, I, uh...".
There was a lengthy pause. It must have lasted half a minute. "Otherwise,
I will die."
"But I don't want you to die, whoever you are!", I barked back in
distress. "Surely, there must be something I can do!".
"Indeed, there is." He sighed. "And don't call me Shirley.
Rather, meet me at the Artificial Cheese Dust Factory in Birmingham, Rhode
Island. I will arrive at approximately 7:23AM."
"B... but that's 20 miles away! You know that I don't have a car!". I
assumed that must have known, somehow.
"I know that you'll be here. The consequences otherwise, will be quite...
cheesy."
"What the hell does that even mean?", I responded, feeling unkempt.
But it was too late. There was a clicking sound, because he must have hung up
the phone.
I had a hunch that my adventure was only just beginning. As well as my appetite
for Frito Lay brand snack food products...
Now, as I previously said if you were actually listening
(knowing you, you probably weren't), I don't even have a car. I do, however,
own a lot of play-doh. After emptying several hundred cans of play-doh and
attempting to mold myself a car, I realized that I would need something to
serve as the motor, and I didn't have anything in my cubicle that could do the
job. Thus, I did the next best thing: I started walking there. I was wearing
flip-flops and shorts in 30 degree weather, but it was O.K. because I had
stayed at a Holiday Inn express the previous night. Just kidding. The truth is,
I was homeless, and rather used to inclement weather. I may not have had the
lid of my dumpster with me, but I did have an umbrella that I stole out of the
lost and found, so that helped me along my way.
Upon arrival, I checked my newfangled wristwatch... and screamed in horror.
7:24AM! I was late! For all I knew, captain anonymous could have been dead
by now! There was also the issue of getting inside, since the Artificial Cheese
Dust Factory of Birmingham, Rhode Island was surrounded with an electrical,
barbed wire fence. I casually walked my way down the driveway and was greeted
by a security guard in a little outpost hut.
"Excuse me, sir. Do you happen to work here?", he asked. Well, s***:
no, I didn't, though I did work for corporate HQ. I showed him my badge.
"Sorry, sir, but this place isn't really for interns." He shook his
head 'no' and lit up a cigarette, and let out an enormous
puff. Like one of my Chester Cheetah cartoons, he blew the puff into my mouth
and down my throat and I coughed for a little bit.
"But it's a matter of life and death!", I exclaimed. "Besides,
I'm the guy who draws Chester Cheetah. Would you really let down the guy who
drew your favorite?". He exhaled, and put his palm under his chin to think
it over. "Alright. You win.", he conceded. Well, wow. Could it really
have been so easy...?
As I witnessed the drawbridge gate go up, I had a sudden thought about the
nature of sexual attraction. But before I could take that thought further, I
felt the impact of a blunt object smack me in the back of my head! The lights
went out on my consciousness, and I was out cold. Colder than a caterpillar on
Christmas morning. Gerald mcBoing Boing.
When I came to, I was in what appeared to be a musty basement. I was tied to a
chair. That must have been why I had such sudden sexual fantasies: I was into
bondage, and my mind was predicting the future like it sometimes did. I tried
reaching into my pocket for my Swiss Army Knife to cut the chains that bound
me, since I was more into freedom than BDSM at the moment, but instead, I cut
into my knee. Highly realistic blood spilled out of my knee as I clenched my
teeth in agony. This was not cool, man. I considered screaming for help, but I
realized that I may have been better off keeping my condition a secret from my
captor. That, and I'm very sensitive about who I reveal my fetishes to. I trust
you, though.
Fortunately, I was able to hop around in my chair, although I couldn't untie
myself. I was bleeding all over the floor like the carpet was the rag, but as
the Japanese say, 'C'est la vie'. I tried to find windows, but then I
remembered that if I was in a basement that wouldn't do me any good. I realized
that the best thing I could do at that point is look around at my surroundings
for clues on how best to formulate an escape route.
Now, I know you're not going to believe me, but maybe that's because you're a
skeptic and you need to read the Bible more. What I saw around me... disturbed
me. There was a whole heck of a lot of memorabilia. Action figures, gumball
machines, hamburger buns, blow-up dolls. They were all around me. Packaged up.
And on all of the containers, it clearly read, in blood red, size 72 Hepatitis
font:
"The New Chester Cheetah. DO NOT OPEN UNTIL 4/11"
Well, this was very confusing. I, for one, do not like
confusion, because I suffer from an anxiety disorder. I hopped around the room in
my woody/ropey prison, and evaluated as many boxes as I could, and they all had
that very same 'do not open' label. How could this possibly be? As an intern
cartoonist, every major decision involving the Chester Cheetah mascoting
franchise came back to me, or at least was discussed with me. Could it be that
someone had been plotting a new direction for Chester Cheetah under my nose the
entire time? I wished I had brought my forensicking kit, so that I could check
the room for fingerprints and submit them to police to figure out who my captor
was, but it just wasn't happening.
While I'm at it, I should also let you know that I know what you're thinking.
"Why didn't this guy look for a door?". Well, hey, you judgmental
jerkoffenstein, maybe you should actually give me a chance
to tell you and maybe I would, alright? There was a door, and I tried
opening it with my teeth, but I have cavities and my teeth hurt a lot so I
stopped. Also, the blood loss from my knee was starting to make me feel so sore
and dizzy that I considered going back to sleep, even if I had absolutely no
idea where I was and if going back to dreamland again would be an inadvertent
death sentence this time. Furthermore, I was a diabetic and I need to eat every
2 1/2 hours, and if I don't, it's really bad for my health, so that was also a
problem.
Realizing that I was fresh out of luck in terms of making my own rescue, I gave
up. I yelled out a 'hey', but nobody responded, to my chagrin. Tried knocking
on the door using my head as a doorknocker, and all I got was a mild
concussion. I even forgot my name for a few seconds, which is no big deal
because my name is not important. Finally, I looked on the ground near the
doorway, and wouldn't you know it--I found a bloody slip of paper. At first I
thought that this was some sort of foul omen to scare me, but then I realized I
had knee-bled all over it. Well, hey, shit happens.
I managed to take off my shoes and socks by jamming my feet up and down against
each other, and I grabbed the note with my toes. I sat back down so that I
could drop it on my non-cut up knee and give it a read. "Why, hello there,
Damien." Ah, so that was my name. "I am now your guardian. You will
find your next meal in the corner." I turned my head backward and could
make out delicious, fun-sized bags of Frito Lay funyuns and fritos brand corn
chips. "Yum Yum! Eat up and go to sleep. See ya later. I'll be back with
entertainment. With love, CC. P.S. You're next." ... The fuck? Who was CC?
Carmen Collins? Christopher Columbus? Crunchy Cornchip? Coolwhip Cal? Well, I
was fresh out of answers, so I dined on corn chips while using my toes as my
utensils. Admittedly, it took some athletic maneuvering to get the salty snack
pieces out of bag and into my mouth, but when your adrenaline is soaring and
there isn't much else of a culinary option, you do what you can do.
Eventually, a lot of time passed and I fell asleep. I woke up with red cheeks
because I accidentally nodded off into a pool of my own knee blood. Well, hey,
it happens to the best of us. When I had 'come to' for this second time, I
still did not notice a person, but I did notice something different--a CRT TV,
equipped with VHS player! Or VCR, if you're not very fun at parties. I noticed
that the television was on, but all that was on screen were those little gray
flies on a black background that you used to get if you hadn't configured your
set properly. Confused and fresh out of Frito Lay brand cornchips, I
toe-grabbed the remote control that had been conveniently laid to rest in my
bloodpool, and pushed play, gambling that a tape had already been inserted into
the receiver by my captor. And you know what they say about gambling--you lose
your pride and your wife's salary against her knowledge but when you win, oh
boy, do you win. The tape began.
Now, I'd like to tell you the episode began as normal, but
it didn't. Instead of the usual Chester Cheetah television program theme song
that we all grew up and loved as a child, we were instead greeted with a
picture of a chicken holding a picket sign. Fortunately for me, my captor had
put my Buddy Holly glasses on me, so I could make out what the sign said 'No
Crossing the Road for Blood Money'. ... The f***? I pressed pause on the remote
with my big toe, and chair hopped back to the corner to foot-pull out a
fun-sized bag of smoked barbecue ruffles chips. Once the intense hunger pangs
had subsided, I started bouncing my way back to the television screen... but
then. It happened.
I was free! I had broken the chair! My ass stung a little bit where it came
apart but it was O.K. because I had learned pain tolerance in new age yoga
class. I tossed off the rope, now full of hope, no longer eager to mope, and
made my way toward the door. It was locked! I reached in my pocket and pulled out
a credit card in an attempt to Inspector Clouseau my way to safety, but it was
no use. I was still stuck in the basement. Finally, I decided that my Swiss
army pocket knife would be all the defense I'd need if Fatty McVillainFace came
back anytime soon, so I did what any other responsible adult would do: I
thanked my adoptive father for providing me with entertainment and snackfood by
continuing to watch the VHS tape.
The chicken still held his sign, and my patience was still beginning to run
out. But then... it happened. For real, this time. The eponymous icon--the most
popular figure in popular cartoon culture today--Chester Cheetah! He emerged,
and he looked... unkempted. Like, majorly unkempt. Too cool for school unkempt.
His hairfur was all disorganized, out of place, like when you wake up in the
morning and are a skank who wears the same torn up jeans twelve days in a row.
His irises were a startling crimson blood hue, and his douchebag beard was all
mangled. He looked... uncultured. This was not like him! We had especially
designed him to be the epitome of cutting-edge cool, with his trademark
sunglasses, backwards cap, and skateboard!
"Eat my shorts", Chester Cheetah exclaimed. I pondered copyright law,
but before I could get any further--he... he did something disgusting. His jaw
opened wide. It was full of blackened, jagged feline predatorial incisors. It
was disgusting. Also, he was missing his wisdom teeth. Then he... uh... well.
He swallowed the chicken whole. In one bite. The petrified poultry didn't even
stand a chance. Its chicken eyes all wide, its comb all still in surprise. It
was eaten alive.
"Fit for a snack. Fit for a king.", Chester Cheetah hummed to myself.
"Fit for you to go fuck yourself, Damien Isaac who has no friends and is a
chicken and I'm about to eat you alive when I come back from school you little
whore." ... The fuck? How did this tape know half of my name?
That was when it finally dawned on me. That was my whole name!!. I
screamed like Ned Flanders in love with purple drapes, and pressed eject on the
VHS player. But it was no use--the tape was stuck inside of the player!
"Press that button again, and I'll press your luck like a whammy who'll
leave your dick broke off in two.", Chester Cheetah howled. This was... I
didn't draw this episode!! And I didn't know who would write such a horrible
tale either! I grabbed the remote and pressed pause, but nothing happened
either. Remembering my AA little league championship MVP award from last year,
I picked up the remote and heaved it at the screen like one of my prized
straight-down-the-middle fastball throws, but it was no use. The tape continued
to play.
Chester Cheetah was seen in a board room, dressed up in suit and tie. His fur
and goatee were still mangled, though. "It has been brought to my
attention that sales are declining", he said with his incisors clenched.
"And I blame you." He pointed--directly at ME!!!!
Tears started streaming down my face. "But--but I tried
my best! I really did! I did as well as I could!". I was choking on the
salty drops as they poured downward and into my mouth. This time, Chester
Cheetah didn't even respond to me. He just stood there, pointing his finger at
me for what must have been 11 or 12 1/2 minutes. The entire time, I didn't even
feel like getting up. Though I was already standing up. I guess I just didn't
feel like moving, because I was sad. I knew he was right. I knew I had messed
up somehow.
"I guess it's time that we do something about the problem.", Chester
acknowledged. Everyone else at the corporate meeting was a yes man, and they
all agreed. "Let's start by cleaning your office." He pointed at me
again. The fuck? "Oh, I'm sorry, D.I. I mean: your cubicle. You were never
really a good enough employee to have your own private space." Chester
'tsk tsk'ed at me. "Go f*** yourself, dad!!", I yelled at the TV.
Just then, the TV shut off, and I could hear a voice yelling at me from the
other side. "Damien! Are you in there!". Fuck. Someone was coming
onto me! I mean, rather, they were onto me. Whoops. I had somehow been
responsible for the change in corporate fortunes because I was an irresponsible
adult. I rummaged through the Chester Cheetah 'Catman Goes to Outer Space'
action figure boxes (in mint condition I may add) and found a massive pickax,
which I used to smash my way through the padlocked door. Screw all this--I was
going home! I may not have known my way around the Artificial Cheese Dust
Factory of Birmingham, Rhode Island, but I was a fast learner and I was ready
to put my learning skills to good use.
As I exited the doorway, I stepped on something kind of fleshy and squirmy. I
looked down and realized it was the corpse of a balding middle aged man, with
gray hair off to the sides. His head looked like a soft-boiled egg. Loser. Old
man. Well, whatever. I ran up the stairs, pickax in hand. Nobody was going to
take me out of here in a pinebox! No sir! I rummaged my way through the house.
A kitchen, a dining room, a bathroom, and finally, a rather large bedroom. As
if by feline instinct, I opened up a cabinet, and I found it--a sparkling,
yellowy diamond! "To my one and only love." Oh, f*** me up the asshole.
It was the Chester Cheetah Diamond!! I tossed it in my pocket and ran off,
limping from the aforementioned knee pain but who gives a shit. I made my way
out of the front door and ran down the street, calling for a cab, breathing
heavily.
It was at that moment that I realized something: I was fat. I was also smelly,
and ungrateful. What was I even doing with my life? Who was I? I got into the
taxi, and stared in the mirror. I had a mixture of frito lay snack crumbs and
slobber in my beard. I looked like I had been awake for several days in a row.
I expected the cabbie to ask me "where to, Mac?", but he wasn't very
cordial. Instead, he didn't say a word to me, and he had a firm and unhappy
look, like one of those English guards with the black fuzzy hats that people
like to make fun of because they're envious of them for having a job. Something
I will say about hospitality is that the driver grabbed my arm and escorted me
out of the car rather firmly. I guess that was kind of nice of him, though I
hoped that he would have been gentler if he had known that my skin was extra
sensitive to human touch. There's also the fact that I didn't know where I was,
though it looked rather formal and business-like from the outside.
Within minutes, I was locked in another room. A big man wrapped me up in some
sort of convoluted jacket, and he took away my knife and virginity or I guess
dignity, I think that's the right word. The walls were white and padded, and
nobody talked to me much. I realized that it was all part of my captor's plot.
I spent weeks playing imaginary harmonica to myself and autostimulating with my
hand until he arrived.
That fine day began alright, though I missed the way things
used to be. Frito Lay snacks for 3 square meals a day were my pride and joy,
although I guess the bacon and eggs that they slid through the hole in my door
were O.K. Anyway, that was when the first day of the rest of my life happened:
a man in a white lab coat and a name tag that read 'Doctor' knocked on my door
and opened it up. "Looks like you're free to go", he explained.
Having spent so many days in captivity, I felt an urge to raise my fists to the
heavens and shout hooray. That would have to wait until the big man came back
and took off my jacket, and slapped me on the back. "Hey, man. Way to show
'em how it's done.", he pep talked at me with a wink. What a pal. Maybe
these people were all part of the bad guy's grand scheme, but maybe they also
weren't so bad after all. I was escorted out to the lobby, where I was told
that my dad was waiting for me.
Wait. My dad? How could this be? All my life, I thought I was born in a test
tube. Then I remembered it all. That was a prank that the other boys in school
used to play on me. Yes, that's right. They would taunt me, tease me, and
accuse me of having been born a test tube baby. And I would get rather...
angry. I would reach out into my pocket, and pull out my Swiss... my Swiss...
my... Swiss...
I could feel myself hyperventilating. The memories. "Swiss cheese. Swiss
cheese. Swiss cheese.", I muttered to myself. Yes, that would do it. I
would be just fine. I was Damien Isaac, and I was fine! The world was my oyster,
and I didn't even like oysters. I liked Frito Lay products. And I was finally
about to be a free man. I could enjoy all of the Frito Lay fun-sized snack bags
that a young man my age could ever desire!
When we made it to the lobby, I saw him, but he was difficult to make out. He
was wearing a mask, and one of those voice obscurer things that make you sound
like you smoked one too many cigarettes. "Come here, son. It's time to go
home."
You know what? I guess I should let you in on a little secret. I'm a dope. A
real, real, great big dope. I'm so gullible. I'm a big man with a big heart,
but I'm so, so easy to take advantage of. I should have realized it when I
started looking out the window, but no. I did not. We were not going home, and
this man was not my father. And we were driving into a very, very bad, bad part
of town.
We were driving into the slums. "It's time to go to your new home,
son." Seriously, what the f***? I thought this man was my father, but my
memory's not so good, so who even knew at that point? We drove down an empty
driveway, and into an unlit garage. I started to look around, but I couldn't
make anything out because my vision is poor and I have to wear glasses. Just
kidding you doofus: it was dark. I already told you. Duh.
"Get out of the car.", Mr. Cigarette Voice insisted. Well, heck. He
didn't have to ask me twice. The moment I opened the door and stepped out into
the darkness, I heard a sound. At first, I thought it was lips smacking, but it
was too faint to be quite like that. "Are you chewing any gum, uhm...
dad?", I asked the strange man. "Why, no, son.", he added with a
gruff, sarcastic laugh. Hmmm. This was quite the enigma.
Suddenly, the rough concrete turned to dirt. I could tell, because I was much
acquainted with dirt. I paused, surprised at the change in terrain. "Keep
walking", father insisted. I could feel something in my back. It was kinda
sharp, and I'm not into that sort of thing, and certainly not from dad. We kept
walking in the darkness for what felt like miles, until I finally saw it.
Torchlight! As we approached, a dozen torches lit in a semi-circle clearly
illuminated a padlocked door.
"I don't wanna be a prisoner again, dad!", I sobbed.
"That's not it, son."
Well, I'm going to be blunt: he lied. He shoved me in, and
he locked the door. I was stuck there, alone, mostly in darkness, but with some
small degree of reflected torchlight as well. I was in there for a long
time--I'm guessing weeks. I peeled maggots out of the ground. I ate rats. I had
nothing to cook them with, either. It made me feel nostalgic for the captivity
of the basement of the Artificial Cheese Dust Factory of Birmingham, Rhode
Island, even. Given that my birth name was not Beetlejuice, eating bugs really
sucked, and my calls for room service went unreturned.
But then--it happened. A light? A light went off, like a light bulb in a room!
I could see the dirty ground in all of its glory! The musty, moss-covered walls,
and there, over there, in the corner--why, there was a colony of ants that I
hadn't gotten around to eating yet! I was overjoyed by this new found glory
that was flooding my senses, until I heard a loud voice, as through a
loudspeaker.
"Son... you've made it. Do you know what today's date is?" "No,
you asshole. You never gave me a calendar. Some deadbeat loser dad you
are!". I could tell by the cracking in his voice that I had hurt his
feelings.
"Today is April 11th, son."
Then another lightbulb went off. This one, in my brain. "4/11!", I
squealed, giving away that I knew my captor's horrifying secret. "The new
Chester Cheetah!" "That's right, son. That's right."
You know, things had changed a lot since my time away from captivity. I gained
the habit of growling when I was frustrated, for example. My eyesight also got
comparatively worse, given that I was isolated in darkness for so long. I was
given stylish, new prescription sunglasses to help me with my worsened
visionous state. My skin had also turned yellow, with black spots. At first I
thought I had leprosy, but dad cracked back that it was more like I had
"leopardsy". At first I didn't really know what he meant, other than
that maybe he was into making cheesy puns like most dads, but then I realized
the shocking truth that had been hidden from me for oh so long. Cheesy...
leopardsy...
"I'm going to show you a sequence of images and words, and I would like
for you to learn these, son", father explained, after entering my cell
door and making us both sit down on stools (not that kind of stool, you
weirdo). There  was a picture of a
gray-furred rat with a lengthy, wormy-looking pink tail, and next to it, it
said 'Fritos'. Next, he showed me a picture of a maggot, and below that, it
read: 'Funyuns'. Once I had memorized all of the word and image combinations, I
was freed to see the world for what it truly is.
What is truly is.
Listen, I don't know if you watch a lot of TV or read a lot of magazines, but
you've probably noticed the shocking truth by now. That's me. That Chester
Cheetah. I am Chester Cheetah. The Chester Cheetah I saw in the cartoon? That
was the old one. He was untamed. He made fun of the other children. He needed
to be locked away. He needed a fresh start in life. And that Chester Cheetah
gave birth to another Chester Cheetah, and I, in turn, will one day give birth
to another Chester Cheetah, as I had previously given birth to the original
Chester Cheetah as an intern cartoonist for Frito Lay Incorporated. I am my own
father, grandfather, and grandson. I know, to you, it may seem like I have
problems, but I am actually... a free man.
The man in the mask was Chester Cheetah. The man on the phone was Chester
Cheetah. The man who put me in the straightjacket was Chester Cheetah. You are
Chester Cheetah.
Now, if you'll excuse me: it is almost 7:23AM. That is when I meet with the
cartoonists who portray me. Where they will be writing me, drawing me into a
brand new VHS tape. And that VHS tape will be Chester Cheetah. Just like you
and I.
So give in now. Be who you are. Avoid the struggle. Chester.
The End.
Category:Trollpasta
Category:Satire
Category:Lost Episodes
Category:Animulz
Category:Memes
Category:MOTHER OF FUCK THIS PAGE IS LONG LIKE MY PAINIS
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Category:YT Readings