I bit back a terse response that this was not something documented in anything I’d read. Bryan wasn’t trying Can’t touch this Buffalo shirt mean. I didn’t need to be taking my frustration out on my employees. Instead, I took it out on the mushrooms. I kicked the nearest one, uprooting it and sending it smashing into a tree, where it exploded into a shower of pulp. This felt rather satisfying, so I kicked the next one too.I can’t say I’d recommend destroying a fairy ring, normally. However, on my campground there is only one fairy and they predate fairy rings.
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So I smashed the Can’t touch this Buffalo shirt to pieces, a cold fury in my heart. Cruel, perhaps. These abominations – the remnants of a dead people – sought only what was familiar. A home, perhaps. And here I was, destroying it, because I wanted them off my land much as you’d seek to drive gophers out of your yard and termites out of your house.I’d almost destroyed all the mushrooms when Bryan urgently called my name. I turned to look and saw that the soil near my feet had started to bubble. Hastily, I retreated. The soil’s red sheen deepened and the earth turned to mud. Pockets of gas erupted as it boiled and slowly, the assorted bones sunk into the morass. The goat’s skull went down into the ground as well, only to rise a moment later. The broken halves floated inside of a thin layer of gelatinous flesh, formed from the bloody earth.