Weekend with a Fungi

College Life

     Though science was widely regarded as black magic in my hometown and the mere mention of the word was enough to incite an angry pitchfork wielding mob, my father noticed a special gift that I possessed. Intelligence. My pop's brightness could be measured in relation to about a 3-watt light bulb running on kerosene, but he knew his little girl was growing and held the best chance of making it in the modern world. My father was also a selfish hog pent on using me as a truffle hunting pig. He gave me all $100 dollars in the family piggy bank and told me to head due east to find my way to town.

     After about a day's walk I managed to make it to the outskirts of town. With the help of the native Concrete tribesmen I was able to find my way to the local university. After several attempts to find my way to the dean's office I was finally able to find this master of knowledge. As I sat at his desk I put all my money on the table in an attempt to negotiate the rights to an education. However, this stiff bargaining hustler would not take my bribe. He firmly turned me down saying until I mustered the funds to afford the school's facilities I would not be getting learned.

     I had come so far. A day and a half's worth of work was worth five and a half ears of corn on a farm. I couldn't let this opportunity spoil. The negotiations intensified for another full hour. But the stubborn man would not budge an inch from his position. He tried to spout numerical facts to me using percents and other fancy algebraic terms on me. The dean thought he had finally cracked through my thick hillbilly skull, but he had no idea I was secretly storing my trump card in my pants: cuntry pie. One heavenly slice of tasty indulgence and I was on my way to getting a degree.