I don't want to do it. Don't make me, please.

I don't want to do it. Don't make me, please. I can barely string a sentence together, let alone

write a coherent story. I wish I were back in foldingstoryland, by the babblin' brook. before the giant speaking mushroom, whose mycelia gird the mantel. tells me what to say.

I was never very good at storytelling. Yet, beckoned once again by the ruling fungi, I put pencil to paper and

began to write of forgotten forests, deep bubbling streams, and the mushrooms that grew along them in the dark, warm corners of

the base boards inside his hotel room. He put down his pen and saw magic bean stalks growing out of his shower. He called the front desk. "Looks like you have a Narnia infestation

! There's something really weird growing in the shower and a faun in the mirror said 'beware the white witch,'" said the guest. The hotel manager quickly called the cleaning staff

which consisted of three fairies in tiny maid uniforms, but they were out behind the hotel on a smoke break. "Just hang a MAID SERVICE thingy on the doorknob" suggested the manager

To all guests. Among them was Jeff Bezos the new king of e-commerce. Big fish swallow smaller fish, as Darwinism put it. John Mackey was licking his wounds and drinking Raging Bull

Semen. He loved it best chilled with cilantro and lime.