The Head Duck worries that he might be usurped by a traitorous band of educational mutineers. Messrs. Cheese and Connery are his prime suspects. So he goes to televisual superstar of the seventies, Ricky Bootlethrop, to ask him what he should do. Ricky Bootlethrop was the unconventional detective star of the popular police sitcom, The Tab. He had a huge following of teenage farmers, who did so enjoy his urbane wit. Unfortunately, he had a nervous breakdown, after it turned out that he wasn't famous enough for the KGB to have a file on him. His private KGB mole looked in the Potentially Dangerous British Persons filing cabinet, but could not find a file between Booth, F and Bowen, J. His over-inflated ego was pricked like a gardener's finger, and he became a recluse, who could only relate to similarly reclusive headmasters.
Back at the school, while the Head Duck is away, Mr. Cheese has come out to play. He plans an assembly with such insane precision that he will become forever associated with the genius of Lucifer himself.
Firstly, he forced everyone in the room to carry lead weights as he delivered his venomous sermon. Then he gave the impression that the assembly was just about to end, before going on for three hours, in which he spouted the most ridiculous things about a new uniform that involved lederhosen and braces for boys, and hairnets for girls.
"So the rumours are true," thought Chuck, who immediately jested that the next dictat would probably involve enforced praying at an alter of Mr. Cheese for five minutes every period.
Peculiarly enough, the next day, Chuck heard raving-mad crowds of philosophical Standard Graders, talking about the deification of the evil emperor of Cheese. However, that comes to nothing, and at the next week's assembly (with the assembled mass treading water whilst singing) he criticises those who hurriedly sent off letters to the Vatican. He is merely to be the next Pope.