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You best step off dissin on da 'shrooms, my peeps. They might bust a cap in yo' ass.
Seriously, though, I love the little, slippery fuckers. The pert little cremini, the mysterious morel, the ever elusive truffle, the cloud ear, tiny enoki huddled in bunches, the ineffable shittake, the wise porcini, the cleaver oyseter, the broad and beefy portabella, and the inestimable matsutake. Even the lowly white button mushroom, rank upon rank in serried rows in the manure, a gnomish army about to march to their end in boiling butter for my tongue's delight. I love them all. And you will to when my sinister plan comes to fruition, spreading spores of fungiphilia through the hidden channels of the internet. Oh, Norton will avail you not on that day, but spinach and gruyere will be friends to you.
Mmm. Hungry now. So hungry.
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Light a man a fire, and he will be warm while it burns.
Set a man on fire, and he will be warm for the rest of his life.
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