Some things are a question of faith, and some things are a matter of science. Wandering through my back yard at night, looking up at the glowing ball above me (as it whispers and beacons to lovers and wolves whom I have never met), one fact rises above the quagmire of doubt and debate to rap me smartly over the nose with a ruler of common sense: the moon is undoubtedly made of green cheese.
You may well laugh, but I ask you (with a haunted, greenish gaze): can you disprove it?