Too many Mushrooms!
A load of friends and little old me were at a free party in an old church, which ended up being shite. So one of the guys said "I've got a little bag of mushrooms at home, if anyone fancies it". Which of course, everyone did.

We all bundled into the back of a dodgy old van and drove for what felt like forever, in the dark, with only a tiny, tinny stereo to save us. Eventually the van stopped and we bundled out.

Looking around I could see we were out in the countri, but I had no idea where and frankly, didn't care. I was eager to get to the lovely lovely fungus within. We all jumped out and the decks were erected so we could party - we were in the middle of nowhere at the fella's lovely little cottage in the woods. There was noone around for miles. The music went on and everyone started to party. True enough, the fella brought down a bag of mushrooms. We were then introduced to three huge dogs which proceeded to wreck the place.

The bag was about the size of an A4 sheet of paper and was full to about half way up - and bulging out at the sides. A little bag? Mrs Muhnquai leapt up and volunteered to play cook as she was the only person, other than the designated driver, that wasn't pissed. She cooked up enough for everyone, I think 12 of us, in 3 dose cups, 1 to be shared between 3 people. It barely dented the bag.

Now, Mrs Muhnquai's simple recipe is this: LOTS of magic mushrooms. I mean LOTS. Heroic doses. A few vege Oxo cubes and water. That's it. Beatiful, tasty mushroom soup. Everyone shared the cups out (or so we thought) equally. One girl, who had been one-ear-in-headphones-on-the-decks when I gave her the cup and explained the dosage, suddenly wandered in and said "Have you got anymore of that soup?", spotted a mug on the side, and downed the lot.

SO that was enough for 6 people.

I sat her down and her boyfriend came over and asked where his cup was - he hadn't had any yet. So I went into the kitchen and poured out a single dose for him. As I handed it to him he said "I need milk and sugar in mine". I explained it was soup and not tea, but for twenty minutes, he refused to take it without milk and sugar. I eventually caved in and gave it to him with milk and sigar, grudgingly. As he drank it, he wretched and had to reswallow the lot. He was not a happy bunny. His missus was at this point flidding on the sofa like a retarded sea-lion. The only word she had said for half an hour was "Rainbow" then appeared to pop invisible bubbles.

I noticed my dose was kicking in and that the sun was coming up and said I was up for a walk in the woods. Me and Mrs M and another friend went out into the woods, under strict instructions to bring back a bear. It was a week later that I found out we had been in the hundred acre wood that inspired Winny the Pooh. Didn't see him, though I wouldn't be surprised if he saw me.

When we came down a bit, we went out to the pub. The wretching boyfriend had rather foolishly taken some ketamine on top of his mushys and was an absolute mess. His ketamine friend had thought it would be a great idea to take the three large dogs out with us on the walk through the woods to the pub. Not such a great idea on the walk back to the house.

On the way home, the guy with the dogs managed to get pulled along and way ahead of all of us and disappeared off into the night. We all got back to the house and he was nowhere to be seen. A few of us went out with torches to look for him, but after a few hours, we found nothing. We needed to get back into town and were all feeling a bit worse for wear, what with the booze, mushys and sleep deprivation (by this point nearly 48 hours awake).

We dismantled the decks and loaded them back into the van and drove back in the dark, minus one stoner and three dogs. We slept.

The next day, we phoned the guy out at the cottage to ask about dog man - apparently while we were driving back in the van, he had woken up in a ditch, under the three dogs, with blood on his face. He doesn't even remember taking the mushrooms, to this day. He had gone back to the house and broken, gone to bed in the cottage owners bed and woke up when they returned from dropping us off. He was OK, but he had a nasty cut on his head.

There are many many details of this adveture that I could bore you with but frankly, teh werds teh werds. My arms ache. I'm still looking for Winny the Pooh.
( Bud Muhnquai Update your profile or fuck off, Mon 19 Dec 2005, 20:33, Reply)