About that... this summer, I went through what some might call a "mushroom phase." I started frying balls pretty heavily about two months ago. One night, I found myself smurfed out of my fucking gourd when I happened across a young man in a Wal-Mart parking lot selling bootleg DVD screeners of A Walk in the Woods starring Robert Redford. That's when I got the idea.
The next morning, I drove to north Georgia and began my northbound journey at a trailhead near Springer Mountain. My gear list was a blue poly tarp, 50’ of paracord, an old book bag and a blanket that once belonged to famous Shawnee Indian leader (and distant relative) Tecumseh. This would prove to be insufficient.
After 10 days of sleep deprivation and walking around with heavily blistered feet, I realized that I had greatly underestimated the amount of food I would need for a five-month hike. I did not, however, underestimate the amount of mushrooms that I could eat in a week and a half.
After seven days of ingesting nothing but Mexican magic caps and creek water, I awoke in what I thought to be the Great Smoky Mountains National Park. Later, I came to realize that I was actually inside of a Apostolic Pentecostal Blood Moon Cult Compound.
I was discovered by Brother David and several of his followers, shivering and stark naked inside of a barn that was used to store provisions for the alpacas. After several days of being fed and nursed back to health, Brother David shared with me his vision of the rapture and the apocalyptic hellfire that would soon lead this world to ruin. He also shared with me a tea that was made from a decent amount of North Carolina blue caps and what tasted like chamomile. It turns out that the cult was also going through a “mushroom phase.”
Tripping balls, I agreed to join their group. The next six weeks were amazing. It was a scanty, zen-like existence the likes of which I had never experienced. I spent most afternoons selling our baked goods outside a local mall. In the evenings, I’d help Sisters Dusty and Nevada scrub the cauldrons and clean out the wash basins. On Sundays, we cleaned our robes.
As the end drew more nigh, Brother David began allowing some of us to use the compound’s iMac to communicate with the outside world and say our final goodbyes. That was when I started posting again to CCS.
Last Sunday, as the Super Blood Moon began to settle in the eastern sky, we prepared our earthly bodies for our final journey by disrobing and partaking in what tasted like a combination of Tennessee red caps, elderberries and straight poison. Within an hour, we were surrounded in light, fire was traversing the sky above us and there was smoke so thick that one could barely see his own blood-soaked hands.
The apocalypse was upon us! Actually, it was an FBI raid, and I was tripping dick so bad that I couldn’t tell the difference. It turns out that someone from CCS had tracked the IP address of my posts and alerted the federal authorities. (It had to be Crystallas, right?)
I was held for three days without bail on a litany of charges, the least of which was selling food stuffs without a proper license. As part of a plea deal, I offered to tell the FBI everything I knew and all charges were dropped. I arrived back home via the US Marshall services last Wednesday with nothing but the clothes on my back and Tecumseh’s blanket, prepared to start my life anew.
So if I offended anyone with my religious ramblings, I apologize. Hopefully, this won’t happen again.
