The mysterious origins of Crack and Cheese

It all started with an innocent prank. Isn’t that the origin of so many dark tales? A group was carousing late into the night, foolishly leaving their window open to the blackness. They were young men, mostly. Callous and cruel, they berated one among their company. He, defiant and vigorous, refuted their claims. "Penes Meirdo!" they cried. "Cheater! You can’t possibly win the game again!" Fate would see that even his totem of protection would not diminish the anger of his fellows. In a fit of rage, the Nordic one with long golden hair hurled the icon "Greedo" far into the inky darkness, sending a wave of stunned shock through the assembled group. Silence fell. Softly, a low moan slowly became a cry. Then the cry became a scream as the accused (I shall call him only "Big Biscuit") launched himself from the open window and into the night. Without heed for the rotten filth around his naked limbs, he braved the unknown dangers of the undergrowth in a frantic effort to reclaim his totem of power. After an eternity of fruitless searching, he returned to his humble bed, and slept only a few fitful hours until morning. The blessing of dawn’s light struck few that morning. And despite his pain and nausea, Big Biscuit renewed his desperate search in the cold sun. For his efforts, he won only the pity of passers by.

And so the tale spread among all the people. It was late in the day when the news reached my ears. Appalled, I could scarcely imagine the fury of the previous evening. As Big Biscuit himself lamented his loss to me, a plan began to form in my head. "We shall use the assets of all these good people among us." I said. "I shall create an announcement of your dilemma, and you will request the aid of any able hand." Only one piece of the plan remained. "What reward will you offer?" I asked. Big Biscuit paused and cast his eyes downward. A faraway look came across his face, and in a moment of serene repose, he said "Cash… or Crack!"

I was stunned. Yet I knew my task was at hand. Assembling my notes, I set off to create the bill of warrant. For long hours, I poured over all the resources I could find until I knew I had created the perfect message. Returning just before the midwinter sun disappeared below the treeline, I sought Big Biscuit. He was greatly pleased with my work, and he agreed that the warrant and reward would surely get the attention of the others. He took all the notices I had produced, and set about his pilgrimage to the people. He distributed every notice, and pled his case to any ear that would listen. Some approached him, late in the night. They said they might be able to find his lost treasure, even musing at the ease of such a task. Big Biscuit was uplifted by such claims, and was equally dejected when their inquiry was simply "How much crack?". Sadly, the totem was never found.

But that is not the end of this tale.

Many long months passed, and the pain of Big Biscuits loss healed slowly. While his totem was lost forever, people could not forget his passionate search and his colorful presence. Often, strangers would approach him, call him by name, and recollect warmly on that spirited time. As fall turned to winter, the bittersweet memory of the Greedo saga returned. Those who were close to Big Buscuit then made a fateful decision. They would commemorate Greedos passing annually with a grand ball, a party of epic proportions, a festival whose decadence would match the horror of that fateful night.

The Crack and Cheese tradition was begun.