My life… my everything… it used to be at the bottom of the bottle. We were not scientists, we were assembly line workers. It didn’t matter how useful our abominations were, as long as they were present. So I found solace in a melange of liquors hard and brutal. As I pulled my blood soaked arms out of its gaping cranium, my heart was heavy. The brain was wired, the switch was flipped. It stared at me, blankly, for nearly five minutes. Then it smiled, and hung on my every word with unflinching adoration. Was this unconditional love? No, there was a dire condition: lobotomization. But I needed something to grab hold of to haul myself out of the pit of this despair. This seems to be working. Hmm, I’ll feel terrible about him down the road? You know what? Whatever.

Uploading my shoddy fanfest shlock. [ebff2011] "She was a simple hobbyist, her passion keeping her out of nasty associations like Happhy Happyisms and the Fresh Breeze Movement. She didn't dabble in Burglin Park's illicit condiment trade. She didn't join in the midnight vigils of Orange Kid's most staunch admirers. No, she thrust herself headlong onto the exhausting path of an ace mycologist. She poured her energy, her time, her money into her craft. She gave it her life and her livelihood. She accrued so many mushrooms. So many. Why did she need them? It was excessive, the obsession consumed her. The need to separate herself from the normal cliques, and then the need to once again belong. The fibrous hivemind of Peaceful Rest Valley's mushrooms. A direct neural link to the planet. Everyone an extension of the same organism, everyone beloved by everyone else. Intoxicating. Humanity was a small sacrifice. Her collection reached critical mass, and she began collecting everything else. People. Trees. The Valley. She is the valley now, they all are. She dearly wants you to fee the same feeling of oneness, of true belonging. She wants the Earth. She wants to become it. The natural primordial push towards survival compounded by human obsession."