Notes:
While driving through sleepy, Stephen Kingy, early autumn corners of the state of Maine, a car carrying three mushroom hunters happened upon a yard full of phalli. Wasting no time, they took to the shoulder, unloaded, shutterbugged and marveled to each other. Just then, a witch emerged from inside the phallus house, and began hissing and spitting words like ‘property’ and ‘police’ from betwixt her Coffee Brandy-soaked teeth. No strangers to this sort of unfriendliness, the mushroom hunters left the woman to her stinky penis garden, and happily carried on along Maine’s most mushroomy Route 9.