Weekend with a Fungi

Reproduction

     Sunny Saturday smiles slipped my squeaky strobili star struck smooth lips. What a great day that Saturday was. It was so full of.. change. The Saturday I speak of solicits memories of sanguine special scenarios.

     The run. The nun run. The nun run for fun. The nun run for fun spun into Mon.Day. The nun run for fun spun into mundane Monday puns. The nun run for fun that spun into mundane Monday puns was gunned down. For nuns, fun on the run with puns is no gunny matter. This has nothing to do with Chicago Saturday in the park, I just like rhyming. Been working on that one for a poetry slam.

     After I finished my poetry sesh down at the ol rec, I returned to the lab to check on my mushrooms I was growing. As soon as I walked into the dark room with no windows, I heard the door shut behind me. Immediately I felt a sharp moist breath on my spaghetti strapped shoulders. I felt a large set of arms wrap around my waist. My mouth knew screaming would get me no where in the essential cave of a research lab I was in. I looked down not to see a furry man ape arm, but instead a very soft spongy white arm. Not from that of an Otaku chubby man, but of something that brought me back to that river all those years ago. Something I knew and loved. I turned and was forced to look up at an impressively tall mushroom man. He said nothing, for athropomorphized mushrooms do not have developed vocal chords. But I knew from his anamalistic mushstache he did not need speech to carry out his intentions.

     He threw me roughly on a lab cart and stripped my pants. But because mushrooms and their people lack penises, there was no sexual intercourse. But the mating was no less successful. He spent a mere two minutes jerking off his mushroom tip before releasing basidiospores within me. the fertilization was swift and decisive much like the French defeat at Agincourt. Yet unlike Henry the 5th, his gametes needed only one push into the breach.