Breakfast of Champions... and by Champions I mean Stoners

"Come over to my house. We can do mushrooms," he said.
"Dude," I paused to check the time, "it is not even nine o'clock yet. I am not eating mushrooms before I eat my oatmeal."
"Don't be silly; You can eat the mushrooms with your oatmeal," he declared. "But seriously, come over and we will do mushrooms and watch Across the Universe. I have beer."
Oh yes, beer. Because if my delicate sensibilities are offended by the very thought of partaking in recreational drug use prior to 9 AM, it is highly probable that the idea of consuming alcoholic beverages first thing in the morning is likely to trigger a different response.
"I am not doing mushrooms and drinking again. Do you remember what happened last time?" I asked him. This was a stupid question, of course, because he rarely remembers anything, let alone the things I want him to. I decided not to wait for him to answer, "Everything was wonderful until we started watching that movie and I realized I had finished off the 750 mL bottle of amaretto all by myself, in addition to the mickey of rum. After that, things were not so wonderful anymore."
"Okay, so no drinking and no mushrooms before noon. Come over; I will make you an omelet."
His downfall is that I know him too well.
"First of all," I told him, "I would never eat anything you cooked because I am not even sure that you know what a kitchen is. And second of all, you are not tricking me into eating an omelet that is made with magic mushrooms. It's just not going to happen. They don't even taste like regular mushrooms and, on top of that, I don't think you are clever enough to rehydrate the mushrooms so that I there is not a noticeable difference in texture."
"Wait, what does rehydrate mean?"
"You just proved my point."

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