Chet Armstrong Almost Heroically Saves the World

Stepping out of his Rocketship, Chet Armstrong waved to the crowd and flashed his trademarked smile (Patton number 9725). The Space Jock looked dashing in his bright red uniform and his dozen shiny medals. With perfect hair, the broad-chested rogue was hurried off the launch pad and into the general's offices. But not before blowing kisses to his fans. 

"Chet! What the hell happened up there? You have caused us a universe of problems!" barked General Flag. "How was I to know that their hands were also their eyes. I thought he was offering his hand to shake. I didn't know he wanted to look more closely at gorgeous me. I didn't mean to make a Venetian blind. Anyway, I was quite disappointed. I thought there would be those boats with the singing men and much more water. No one told me to expect strange creatures with eyes on their hands and spiky purple toes for hair. There wasn't even any spaghetti." Chet answered. Red-faced, General Flag yelled, "You are thinking of Venice, you moron! That is in Italy. You would have known all the protocols if you had read the books, we gave you and listened to the lectures. You were sent to be the Earth's goodwill ambassador to the Planet Venus. Now we have an interplanetary fiasco to mend..." "Ah, yes, Italy. That reminds me," interrupted Chet, "I'm famished from my long flight, I'm heading home to eat. It's always nice to see you, General Flag. Thank you for your time. Oh, and here's an autographed photo of me for your lovely wife." Chet produced a colored glossy headshot with his signature scrawled across it. As he strolled down the hall, whistling, the general's screams could be heard over the hustle and bustle of the base. 

Chet was met at the door of his mansion by his butler, Jeeves. Handing Chet his customary martini, Jeeves asked, "How was your trip, sir?" in his flat monotone voice. "Nice, nice," answered Chet half enthusiastically, taking off his bright red uniform with a sigh of relief. "Ah! That's better." Chet's chiseled manly pecs eased into his protruding manly gut. Flopping into his Barcalounger 8000, Chet sipped at his martini before calling back to Jeeves. "I'm hungry. Can you get me a ham and cheese on rye?" "Sorry, sir, there is no more cheese," Jeeves replied. "Well, go to the store and get some more. And pick me up some more of those little swords. How can a man drink his martini without little swords to hold his olives?" "Sorry, sir. But there is no more cheese anywhere. The world is all out of cheese." answered Jeeves, handing Chet a stack of newspapers. 

Chet scanned the papers. The Holland Harold headline read "Edam non Made." "Nyet Rossiyskiy" was written in the Moscow Morning. From the Tokyo Times "Sayonara Sakura". The Italian Inquirer announced "Arrivederci Asiago". The Berlin Bugle proclaimed "Käse Kaputt," and the Swiss Watch stated, "Holy Moly, no more Holy Cheese." Finally, the Green Bay Gazette read, "The Packers Lose Again."  

"What is going on!?" cried Chet. "I am sorry, sir, but while you were gone, the world slipped into The Great Cheese Famine." came Jeeves' flat answer. Chet was out of his seat and pacing the floor. There was not much in the world that Chet liked more than cheese, except for himself, of course. "No more cheese? What am I to eat?" Chet cried, almost in a panic. Flipping on the television, the overstuffed spaceman flopped back into his overstuffed chair to try to relax. "Breaking News! This just in. The World Leaders are meeting today at the UN to discuss what can be done about this crisis. The top scientists have suggested sending a mission to the moon to bring back more cheese." said the handsome newsman, but not quite as handsome as himself, Chet observed. "A mission to the moon? Who better to go than Chet Armstrong, Heroic Space Jock!?" "Whom" corrected Jeeves. "The obvious answer is me!" exclaimed Chet enthusiastically. "Jeeves, call the UN. Set up a parade. This is going to be my greatest moment. Besides all those other great moments." As he redressed in his bright red spaceman's uniform, Chet said, "Oh, and find me more medals. The world needs to see how heroic I am."

A grand stage was set up at the space base. Crowded around the podium waited all the heads of state, the top scientists, and an anxious General Flag. As the audience looked on, the sounds of a marching band could be heard approaching. A line of floats, military cars, and cheerleaders followed the band, and Chet Armstrong was atop a white stallion in front of the whole procession. His hair was perfect and utterly impervious to any wind. His uniform was extra red, extra clean, and extra tight, making his manly pecs seem extra chiseled. Pinned to his chest, Chet wore two dozen shiny medals. As he approached the stage, Jeeves helped Chet from his mount. Chet grinned and waved to the crowd as he approached the podium. Chet's manly, dimpled chin got there five seconds before he did. The marching band silenced as Chet got ready to speak.

"My adoring fans. As you have likely heard, I, Chet Armstrong, Heroic Space Jock and all-around swell guy, am going to heroically risk my life to fly to the moon to save us all from the Great Cheese Famine. As I am hurling through space, I want you all to remember that I am not doing this just for you but for myself. There is nothing in this world that I like more than cheese, except for me, of course." Turning back to the world leaders, Chet pulled out a stack of colored glossy headshots with his signature scrolled and handed them out. "Give these to your lovely husbands and wives with love from Chet Armstrong."

Chet waved to the cheering crowd as he strutted to his Rocketship. As he got ready to climb in, he stopped and turned back to his fans. "Say Cheese!" yelled a cameraman. Chet flashed his trademarked smile (Patton number 9725) and his trademarked wink (Patton number 9726). And with one final wave, Chet entered his rocket ship and closed the door. Slumping back into his Barcalounger 8000, Chet took the martini Jeeves offered. "Thank you, Jeeves. Am I all set?" "Of course, sir. More martinis, all with olives and swords, are in the cooler. I even packed you some of those crackers that you like. Remember, sir, this mission is for your fans and the world. Do not eat all the cheese." With that, Jeeves exited through the butler's door and the back of the spacecraft as Chet prepared for the launch.

As the full moon rose, the top scientists carefully aimed Chet's Rocket Ship towards the moon's center and started the countdown. Excited for the launch and the solution to their cheesy dilemma, the crowd and world leaders counted down. "10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1…BLAST OFF!" Chet hit the large red button on his control panel. It was also the only button on his control panel. The rocket ship rumbled and launched toward the moon. Chet's voice came through the loudspeakers from his radio, "Never fear, Chet Armstrong, Heroic Space Jock is here to save the day!" as the rocket ship disappeared into the night. 

15 days later, General Flag, the world leaders, and top scientists, assembled at ground control as Chet and his Rocketship made its final approach to the moon. "Chet Armstrong, Come in, Chet Armstrong. Can you hear us?" General Flag called through the radio. "Loud and clear," came back Chet's slurred voice. "You should be able to see the moon through your port window, Chet. Can you see the moon yet?" asked the general. After a few minutes, a pause came, "No, I can't; all I can see is a sliver of the moon and the dark of space." came back Chet's panicked voice. "What went wrong?" Chet and the world leaders all cried in unison. The top scientists huddled together, calculators and abaci in their hands, murmuring. After a long ten minutes, one red-faced scientist addressed the group. "There has been a grave miscalculation. The moon is 238,900 miles from Earth. Chet is traveling at 660 miles per hour. So the 360 hours, or 15 days it has taken him to fly that distance, had delivered Chet to his destination during the new moon phase." "What does that mean?" asked the general. "Chet will pass through the crescent without making contact with the moon. In other words, it is time to try Plan B, getting the cows to produce more milk." 

As General Flag, the world leaders, and the top scientists quietly exited the ground control room, Chet Armstrong, Heroic Space Jock, loudly screamed as his rocket ship passed through the center of the crescent moon and hurled deeper into space.