I Hate Mushrooms
by

Leeman
Sunday, October 5, 2003

Humm dee dum dum dum. I’m hunting for mushrooms! I’m going to collect a ton!

The day I uttered those words, they were happier times.

You see, boys and girls, I used to be an avid fan of the mushroom picking business. Mushrooms were a delicious delicacy. When eaten raw, if you added a little ranch dressing (lite, if you’re on a diet) they were fantastic. Or, you could go all the way and fry them up for a taste sensation.

However, all good things come to an end. For some, however, things come to a horrible, disturbing conclusion and scar you mentally for life. How I came to write this article about the dangers of mushroom picking, I shall entail now, and hopefully you’ll make an informed decision if you ever choose to go ‘shroom picking.

There I was, picking shrooms at my usual locale. It seemed like just an average day for an average girl, the only thing that wasn’t average was the mushrooms...

I put my hand on the head of a huge one, it was bigger than any mushroom I’d ever seen! The thought of cooking this one for my Ma and Pa, it’d make them so proud... I grabbed at its base, but then I noticed something. The mushroom was shaking!

I drew back, completely terrified. I’d never seen a mushroom shake before, and didn’t quite understand how to deal with such a dilemma. What happened next, though, would truly make even the most noble of warriors pee his pants. Good thing I’m not noble, nor am I a warrior, otherwise, I’d be quite embarrassed! Anyways, where was I? Oh yes, not only did it shake, but it jumped out of the ground and sprouted legs! I let out a blood curdling scream and froze completely where I was standing.

The scream did absolutely nothing but get the stupid things attention! It lunged straight for me and spores shot everywhere. As I breathed in, I could feel them stinging all up my nasal cavity. The lil’ bugger scampered off after that into some bushes.

I packed up my things and was about to head into the cave back to Twoson, ready to retire for the day and go tell everyone my unbelievable tale of woe, when my feet decided to walk in the complete opposite direction of where my brain was telling them to go. I started nearing a bridge that was currently out of order, and my feet just didn’t feel like stopping. I motioned to smack them as hard as I could with my fists, but my fists decided to punch myself in the side of the head instead. I closed my eyes and anticipated landing in the gushing water below, however my head smashed against a rock instead and I went into a state of unconsciousness.

When I awoke, I was on the outskirts of a strange town, and all the houses were painted blue. I checked inside my pockets and all my freshly picked shrooms had disappeared, in their place was a note.

Hey, I saved your life, heroes have to eat too ya know.

You know, if you need a place to stay, my house is the one with the blue cow in front, I’ll even give you a discounted fee, I’m sure you’ll have a hard enough time scraping up cash to pay the hospital to check out that big bruise on your head!

“Cheapo jerk” I muttered as I reached up to touch my forehead. As my fingers went over the wound I flinched from the abhorred pain.

I arose to check out my surroundings some more, when some blond haired bimbo ran up to me trying to sell post cards.

“Anything you can give us helps us further our cause.” she said.

“Well Lady, normally I don’t have any money, and I just pick mushrooms. Unfortunately, my mushroom business is now indefinitely closed due to personal danger in the workplace. I’ll be talking to my attorney in the morning. In the meantime, plug your crap on someone who doesn’t have a concussion, thanks.”

“Well, when I was young, we respected or elders, and...” she trailed off with her mumbling as she walked behind a big building that looked like a church. What the heck would she do behind there? Curiosity got the best of me, so I went around the corner. There she was, in the middle of three guys who looked like KKK members with a different variation of lifestyle choices. They all seemed to be conspiring and gossiping worse than a pack of prepubescent junior high school girls. Then the woman spotted me out of the corner of her eye...

“There’s the little witch!” she screeched and all three of the crazy white supremacist wannabe’s lunged at me. It wasn’t the average hate crime I had anticipated, they whipped out buckets of purple paint and started flinging it at me with paint brushes! I just stood there, not really understanding how I should react to this situation.

They all just sat there, flinging paint at me for minutes on end, when one looked into his bucket. “Darn, I’m empty! Ah well!” and he flung the bucket at my face. I made a small attempt to dodge it, but all I accomplished was moving my head enough so that it hit me in the exact same place I landed on the rocks with just a few hours earlier. Everything went dark.

When I awoke again, I was in a dimly lit room. Literally hundreds of these cloaked losers surrounded me, and I could feel dry paint all over my body. I was tied down to a chair, completely immobile. I could see two rows of the dudes were parting, and some uncloaked bearded guy was walking towards me. One of the cloaked cronies went down on his knees, and spoke, “Carpainter sir! You will be greatly pleased, we have found Paula!”

The one I now knew as Carpainter looked at me, then he turned back to the henchman, “You idiot! This is not Paula! This is some insignificant NPC!”

“What’s an NPC?” I asked.

“Shut up!” Carpainter screeched and he kicked my chair over. I banged my head in the exact same spot again and passed out again!

When I awoke I was washed ashore exactly where I had started by the shroom patch. I could see blue paint running down the stream. I’ll never forget that horrible day that mushroom picking was eternally ruined for me. The thought of eating another mushroom makes me cringe back in horror, and I have to tell you, they are not your friends! Mushrooms are vile, despicable, living creatures that must be avoided at all costs!
 



 
 Written by    Title  Date Published  Category  
 Leeman
Written by Mushroom Girl
 I Hate Mushrooms  October 5, 2003  Letter
Article of the Month of October 2003Winner of the Mad Duck Prize for articles that RaSeb finds cute for some reasons