In a stunning turn of events, the State of Maine has appointed its first official Cheese Negotiator, an unprecedented position tasked with navigating the complex and often contentious world of Maine’s diverse cheese preferences. This historic move comes after years of rising tensions among cheese aficionados in the region, culminating in clashes reminiscent of medieval court disputes—but with more cheddar and less jousting. At a press conference held in front of the state capitol, Governor Paul Fromage declared, “Today we embrace our dairy destiny.” With the sun glinting off a carefully arranged display of artisanal cheeses—including a sharp cheddar that some suspect was the source of a rather heated Facebook debate—the Governor introduced Finn Ellsworth, an unassuming former cheese shop owner with years of experience in resolving curd-related conflicts. “This is a time for unity,” Finn asserted, surrounded by supporters waving signs reading “Provolone Not War!” and “Brie for Peace!” The crowd erupted into laughter as a local comedian performed an impromptu cheese-themed stand-up routine, quipping, “You know what they say: when life gives you limburger, make limburger-ade. Just hold your nose!” Maine’s cheese crisis, which began innocently enough with a disagreement over the superior meltability of gouda versus mozzarella, gradually morphed into a state-wide cheese debate. Online forums erupted into what can only be described as a “Dairy Divided.” Discussions devolved into cheese-flinging matches at local farmers' markets, where rival factions began distinguishing themselves by their taste in dairy products. Some citizens donned berets as they sought to elevate their affair with Brie, while others camped out by the lobster shacks, staunchly defending the supremacy of American cheese in the land of lobster rolls. Finn Ellsworth is diving headlong into the quagmire. “First order of business,” he announced, “is to host a statewide Cheese Summit in Bar Harbor, where we’ll sample everything from feta to fondue. We’ll also encourage dialogue—though I’d advise against any subcommittee on blue cheeses until we’ve sorted out the Gouda-Grazers from the Cheddar-Champions.” In a flash of inspiration, the new Cheese Negotiator proposed a revolutionary idea: the “Cheese of the Month” program, which would theme each month’s cheese choices around Maine’s iconic attractions. “Let’s pair lobster with an exquisite cheddar,” Finn suggested. “And in October, we can have pumpkin-flavored Swiss just in time for Halloween!” Criticism of his approach came swiftly. Some cheese purists scoffed at the idea, arguing that mixing seafood and cheese is akin to mixing apples and chainsaws. “Next they’ll tell us to pair lobster with Ricotta! Outrageous!” one disgruntled citizen exclaimed, clutching a wheel of her beloved aged gouda as if it were a family heirloom. As the newly appointed Cheese Negotiator, Finn’s responsibilities will also include mediating disputes over block versus shredded cheese—an issue that has polarized communities, leading some to proclaim shredded cheese as “cooked rat hair” while others have rallied behind the slogan “Block loyal, block proud.” While these negotiations are in their infancy, one thing is clear: Maine is ready to address the cheese crisis head-on, armed with wit, bountiful cheese platters, and the determination to finally unify the state around a single, glorious cheeseboard. As Finn Ellsworth put it, “In cheese we trust, and cheesy puns we must!” With an uncertain future ahead, residents can only hope that this saga doesn’t devolve into a national cheese war—because that, dear readers, would have the nation crying “this is gouda-bad!”