Apparently this is about Golfing on Mushrooms?
Not long ago I was busy teaching you people how to build quality cabinets in your spare time. Of course, that's bullshit. The post had nothing to do with cabinets.
Thanks for being such good sports and playing along. That was fun...
If there's one thing I know:
It's that I know, one thing.
Some may have noticed I've been away on, vacation.
I think I was slightly bored here and frustrated because of that boredom, before departing. At the same time, I had this trip planned, long ago. I just don't tell you people everything.
Some of you know, I like to go places, and leave the internet behind. Like quitting cigarettes, one can extend their lifespan a few minutes every day, simply by not watching some boring news about the end of the world, then becoming distracted by cat videos for the rest of the morning.
Some say we only live once. As I sit on this device now I find it hard to ignore the fact kicking back like this with my feet up and a pillow behind me isn't much different than laying in a coffin.
Knowing the opposite of death, is life, makes putting the devices down or leaving them at home, one hell of a lot easier, for me at least.
And why pack a laptop when the plan is to go far far away somewhere, to be in the middle of nowhere, attempting to win an impromptu par 3 golf tournament, while under the influence of mushrooms?
Where does one even put a laptop in situations like those? Golf bags don't make slots for that.
And isn't a par 3 golf course in the middle of nowhere that's cluttered with old people wearing surgical masks, on their necks, trippy enough, on shrooms, without laptops? I'd say so.
The birds were already somehow mimicking the notification sound that often annoys me during my times glued to the internet.
That's how I knew the mushrooms were working.
At one point I noticed how the bird chirps were blending well with my heartbeat. Some kind of new remix I never heard before and I liked it. That was before I even put the ball on the tee for hole one. It sucked because while I was supposed to be busy using up my unaffected brain cells to select the right club, I was far too focused on things like random wonderment.
How did my heart get inside my head? This is like a throbbing headache, without the ache, but I'm nervous about geese? And how do the birds know I like music this much?
Eventually I smoked that first tee shot into the woods on the left which blew my mind because I was aiming for the woods on the right to account for the gusts of visible wind streamer things that would be difficult to explain in writing.
The ball hit one of the trees belonging to the woods on the left but the sound; the sound came from the right.
The ball bounced out of the woods on the left and rolled neatly into the sandy bunker closet to the pin on the right. I played it off like I meant to do that, then sat down on the golf cart next to my friend who was driving, grabbed a sip of beer, lit a cig, said, "You're up," looked over, and that's when I discovered my friend turned into a purple-faced old lady I never met before or even knew existed.
I just kind of stared at him for about ten seconds, allowing my thoughts to gather before deciding what my next move would be, all while wondering where I could get one of those cool purple transparent visor hat things like he had.
It turned out that wasn't my friend, which was a good sign highlighting the fact these mushrooms had not been laced with LSD. It was just some random old lady and the beer I drank wasn't mine. She kind of laughed at me but I felt it was forced due to her vibes.
Of course those vibes were just the mushrooms thinking and luckily I still had my sense of humor at this point so I apologized for placing my greasy unvaccinated lips all over that beer can. I then suggested she can drink it through her mask, just to be safe.
She laughed incredibly loudly in the direction of the woods to the left. The sound came from the woods on the right but I learned to ignore that particular phenomenon, plus it was no match for how the laughter somehow melted then converted itself into the sound of a few crows, then morphed into something about sandwiches that made me feel uneasy.
Taking in far too much auditory stimuli, all at once, under these conditions, meant it was time to simmer down, and recalibrate.
Buddy took his shot, we grabbed our clubs, then walked down to the hole. Once we got there we put our clubs down and walked back up the hill to grab our golf cart which we somehow forgot. Then dude asked me, "Where did you get that beer?"
There was nobody there.
So I just stared at the beer can for about ten seconds. Took a sip to see if it was still real. It was.
At that point it was just easier to tell him, "I don't know, but it tastes good."
Tasted so good plus I was really thirsty. Was finished that can of beer by the time we drove our cart down to the hole to make sure our clubs were still in the bush where sounds come from.
It was decided, since we were so close, and this was our only opportunity, we should drive back up the hill to the clubhouse and buy a six pack since they were on sale according to the banner flapping in the wind and sounding like someone slowly masturbating.
That all took about ten minutes and I mostly stared at the floor the entire time due to the fancy swirling motion only I could see. Had it not been for that floor and its unique characteristics, we'd have been back out near that green on hole one within five minutes, tops.
So now we have everything we'll need including a random ham sandwich with mustard meant to be given to the birds as a peace offering.
We finish the hole. Somehow I'm already two over par due to chipping out of the sand trap being far too intense. I'm collecting myself, trying to balance my ball on the tee for hole two.
And that's when the guy in the coat comes up and says we've been disqualified.
Probably for the best though because we didn't even pay the entrance fee due to the sign saying words like free, and it was only meant to be free for seniors. I made the guy in the coat chuckle with my old man grandpa Simpson voice but that still wasn't enough of the necessary identification needed to qualify.
I would have come in last place anyway so, no trophies for me...
It's nearing eleven bells, morning style.
Somehow and for some strange reason, this friend I convinced to call in sick to work for a few days because I have an ounce of mushrooms and felt like being crypto rich for a few weeks; dude notices I keep touching my ass.
It's those damn birds, man!
Like I said, they sounded like notifications so every few minutes I'd reach for that ass pocket thinking I'd find, messages.
Empty pocket. Didn't bring it. Stupid habits and muscle memory. But I'm hearing the sounds, it's not even noon, I'm fucked as fuck, on a golf course, for some strange reason, and now there's no reason to be there, other than bird sounds.
So we drove around golf cart style until noon. I named a muskrat Beatrice, after the old lady, because I assumed that's what her name would be had I asked. My friend still didn't believe Beatrice with the purple face was real but I decided there's no point in arguing.
Then he called his wife from "work" so I had to be real quiet.
They seemed to be talking for what felt like years so I wandered off into the woods on the left, hoping to find the source.
Source of what...
I'm not sure but I remember I went there for, the source, and that's all that mattered.
Those woods were thick. Spent much of my day there until I heard twigs snapping. Thought it was the beast I once dreamt up years ago after seeing a strange pyramid style pile of golf balls tucked away in the woods in a nest of sorts next to a different golf course hole.
Always wondered what kind of animal could do such a thing and why...
Those snapping twigs sent me in deeper with a pounding heart like bass and my ribs were that rattling rear spoiler they used to glue onto Civics back in the day to coincide with being a douchebag.
No neon lights though. It was just my buddy looking for me. Turns out I was only in there for about fifteen, maybe twenty minutes. He said he made a deal with the guy in the coat and we could golf as long as we paid a regular round fee and give way to all the old people.
Best fifteen bucks I ever spent.
This was a nine hole course and if you're unfamiliar with golf, a par 3 course is a challenge, but does not require much effort. One can reach the green with every tee shot.
But instead of golfing, since that was impossible, we simply pretended, and I even got a hole-in-one.
Buddy saw it go in so I just took his word for it plus why argue with the one with all the pencils?
Sure, we'd hit the ball around and stuff but if it went into the woods or excessively long grass that sounded like snakes, there was no way I was going in there again to find it.
Dude with the coat was impressed with our score when it came time to brag. We were both so messed up we believed everything we said to him and I think that's what made him believe us, and for that amazing effort we both got ham sandwiches on the house.
The ham tasted like that's the place where all the lost dogs end up though so I offered that one to the birds as well and said peace, started walking down the road.
Buddy pulls up in the golf cart and does one of those cool rear brake slides, asks me what I'm doing. Pretty sure I told him I didn't know.
That town had one taxi. I was in no shape to drive. Waited for what felt like nearly two hours on a patio but it was probably only another twenty minutes. About thirty cars drove past in that time and they all looked like taxis. New York style yellow ones, with cool tracers, and they sounded like ocean waves lapping the shore of some unique beach I'd probably get kicked out of for wearing socks in sandals, even though I don't because that's weird.
I probably just ruined a few lives...
I'm almost at two thousand words yet I haven't even covered the first big event fully, after being away for three weeks.
But I did hint at the fact you'd be better off shutting your device off and going outside instead of reading this, so don't act like I didn't warn you.
Spent much of the previous three weeks doing what some might call soul-searching.
Thinking. Vacationing. Surviving. Alone.
And microdosing the rest of that bag away...
Should be good now for a couple years at least. Nature's medicines aren't weak and designed to be taken daily and for long periods of time. Of course I don't recommend anyone else take this approach. Fixing or at least taking a break from dealing with this fucked up mind of mine that just wants to place me in a device addicted coffin forever but I keep saying no is just how I roll.