Apologies to both Stephane Henchoz and Rudyard Kipling, both of whom are great, except Rudyard Kipling who never really affected me either way. No apologies if you're not familiar with who Stephane Henchoz is, and what his cheeks look like.
Many years ago in a tiny pocket of the mighty Swiss empire there lived a small boy. He was like any other small boy and spent his time eating earthworms and urinating as high as he could. Other small boys came from miles around to outdo young Stephane at eating earthworms and urinating, but he saw everyone off with a chomp and a splash. As news of his fame spread, small boys would travel from other countries to his small village to do battle with him, but he would see them off, at least over the course of the home and away leg.
The mighty Swiss government were immensely proud of their empire on which the sun rarely set (never more than once a day at least), yet their standing in jokes was laughable to say the least. In Europe jokes were dominated by Englishmen, Irishmen, Scotsmen, and perhaps the odd Frenchman or Germanman. Over the pond it was still Englishmen, Irishmen and Scotsmen. Over the Atlantic, it was Americans, Poles and Jews, with Mexicans and Canadians bringing up the rear. Poor mighty Switzerland was nowhere to be seen.
Swiss forin minister Hofnar Cigarbox had a stroke of genius. Einstein went to get the stains out of his dress, and Hofnar had a great idea. What better way to feature in jokes than to take Switzerland's one hundred greatest thinkers and have them executed? Intelligentsia genocide (not the 80s Namibian death metal band) isn't inherently funny, but Hofnar was expecting some fiendish escape plans, which in time would feature in jokes told around the dinner table to avoid telling the people around how much they were hated.
They all died, the empire crumbled. At his trial Herr Cigarbox was afforded one last chance to prove himself. He chose Hurr (Mister is to Master as Herr is to Hurr) Henchoz to be the one to save the Swiss joke industry. Unlike the previous hundred, young Stephane was told that his rôle was to escape, and that the fallen might of the Swiss empire was at his disposable. This frightened young boy with the expectations of a nation at his doorstep - and if you've ever had a nation at your doorstep you'll know the kind of mess they make - knew of nothing but worms and urine, and how to stamp his authority over forwards. Advice flooded in, but with the hundred greatest minds all worm food, the advice ranged from the sublime ("stand under a lime, 'cos bullets hate limes") to the ridiculous ("do something that's a pun on ridiculous"). He was alone.
The revolutionary Tommy Roe was the only person who actually helped. He grabbed little Stephane and tattooed a target on his cheek, leaving him with the wise words "Turn your head, open your mouth and brace yourself." As he faced the firing squad Stephane had his photo taken for posterity, and his posterior taken until afterwards so he didn't do himself an injury. I can never write shootings dramatically cos they just happen quickly. Just before they shot, he turned his head and opened his mouth. The firing squad's attention was drawn to the target and they subconsciously aimed at it. The bullets ripped through his cheek and out the other side. He was alive but bleeding profusely. Cheers went up. Stephane was a hero. Switzerland would feature in jokes.
With a proud nation baying for scabs, everything that could be done to staunch the bleeding and save his cheeks would be done. He was bundled into a waiting ambulance and taken to Switzerland's foremost plastic surgeon Dr. Notarealdoctor, a man whose talent only just outweighed both his unfortunate moniker and his hapless wife, Monica. Reconstructing Stephane's face was a slow and painful process as Dr. Notarealdoctor was working with inefficient nurses and a broken finger. Although the doctor worked his magic as only he could, he was working from a post-tattooing photo. Stephane Henchoz would carry his proud target with him for the rest of his glorious days. And that is how Stephane Henchoz got his cheeks.