Stevie Boot-Liquor #3

The Mushroom Effect

Stevie Boot-Liquor sat stiffly at the gilded dining table in Maga Logo’s most extravagant suite, his notepad and pen resting neatly before him. Across from him sat President-elect Donold J. Grump, wearing only a gold-threaded diaper and grinning like a toddler who’d just smashed his birthday cake. The table between them was lined with 12 neatly labeled brown paper bags, each containing an unidentified pair of shoes.

Stevie cleared his throat nervously as lunch was served. A silver tray was placed before him, revealing a large burrito stuffed with sautéed mushrooms, their earthy aroma wafting through the room.

Grump picked up his own burrito, barely pausing to breathe as he devoured it. “Eat up, Stevie,” he said between bites. “Big test ahead. Big. You’ve gotta be sharp for this.”

Stevie hesitated. His family had always been proud of their sensitive noses, tracing their lineage back to the first Boot-Liquor to sniff out foot fungus during the Great Depression. Disease detection through shoe sniffing was their legacy, and Stevie had turned it into an art form. But disloyalty? That was uncharted territory.

“Mr. President-elect,” Stevie began cautiously, “I’m honored to be here. Truly. But, uh, I don’t normally—”

“Big bites!” Grump interrupted, pointing at Stevie’s burrito. “Be a man. Big bites!”

Stevie suppressed a sigh and took a tentative nibble. The mushrooms had a strong, earthy flavor that lingered on his tongue. He took another bite, then another, each larger than the last, hoping to appease Grump.

By the time he finished, the room had started to tilt.

Grump clapped his hands together, startling Stevie out of his daze. “All right, Stevie! Time to prove your worth. Let’s see if you can sniff out loyalty. These shoes represent the soul of the wearer. If disloyalty is a disease, you’ll find it.”

Stevie adjusted his notepad and pen, nodding dutifully. “Of course, sir. It’s what my family has done for generations. Disease, disloyalty—same principle, right?”

“That’s the spirit!” Grump bellowed, settling back into his chair.

Stevie leaned forward and opened the first bag, carefully removing a pair of polished black dress shoes. He held one shoe up to his nose, inhaling deeply.

“Hmm,” he muttered, scribbling notes on the tag. “Slightly musky. Clean overall. Loyal. Rating: 8 out of 10.”

Grump nodded approvingly.

As Stevie worked through the bags, the mushrooms began to take hold. The colors of the room grew brighter, the dried paint streaks on the walls shimmering like molten rainbows. The shoes in his hands seemed to vibrate with energy, their scents transforming into vivid sensations—one smelled like fire, another like a thunderstorm.

By the time he reached bag five, Stevie was fully immersed in the experience.

Mushroom-Fueled Chaos

The fifth bag contained a pair of scuffed sneakers with fraying laces. Stevie sniffed tentatively, his brow furrowing.

“This one smells... conflicted,” he muttered. “Like wet grass and... regret? Rating: 5 out of 10. Borderline.”

He waved the shoe dramatically in front of his face, as if trying to capture its essence. Grump, barely paying attention, leaned back in his chair, muttering to himself.

Stevie moved on to bag seven. The shoes inside—a pair of sleek leather loafers—emitted a strange, metallic scent. Stevie sniffed deeply, then staggered backward, nearly toppling over his chair.

“Whoa!” he exclaimed, blinking rapidly. “These are... icy. Like a blizzard. Disloyalty confirmed. Rating: 2 out of 10.”

As he continued, the shoes seemed to come alive in his hands. One pair of red heels wiggled like worms, their scent hitting Stevie’s nose with a wave of intense floral perfume. Another pair of muddy work boots released a burst of earthy, spicy warmth that made Stevie sneeze violently, sending him tumbling into the table.

Grump laughed, clapping his hands. “Good form, Stevie! Keep it up!”

By the time Stevie reached the last bag, the mushrooms had completely taken over. The room swirled with vibrant colors, and faint giggles echoed in the distance. He opened the final bag and removed a pair of white sneakers.

As he brought them to his nose, a tiny pink bunny hopped onto the table.

Stevie froze, staring at the bunny in disbelief. “Mr. President-elect... do you see that?”

“See what?” Grump asked, raising an eyebrow.

“The bunny!” Stevie exclaimed, pointing.

Grump shook his head. “Focus, Stevie. You’ve got shoes to sniff.”

But the bunny didn’t wait. It bounded off the table, giggling mischievously, and Stevie sprang to his feet, chasing after it.

“Come back here!” he shouted, stumbling over a chair.

The bunny darted toward the couch, where it joined a herd of pastel-colored rabbits hopping playfully across the room. Stevie lunged for the pink one, tripping over a throw pillow and landing face-first on the carpet.

“Stevie, what are you doing?” Grump demanded.

“The bunnies!” Stevie cried, scrambling to his feet. “They’re everywhere!”

He vaulted over the couch, knocking over a lamp in the process, and skidded into the coffee table, sending a tray of silverware clattering to the floor.

The commotion drew the attention of the Secret Service agents stationed outside the suite. Three agents burst through the door, weapons drawn.

“Sir, is everything all right?” one agent asked, scanning the room.

Stevie, oblivious to their presence, dove under the table, shouting, “They’re under here! Get them before they escape!”

The agents exchanged confused looks. “Who?”

“The bunnies!” Stevie shouted.

“Bunnies?”

Grump sighed, gesturing dismissively. “ Just get him out of here.”

The agents approached cautiously, but Stevie was faster. He darted out from under the table, tripping over a chair and sending it flying into one of the agents.

“Stop resisting!” another agent shouted, lunging for Stevie.

In a flurry of limbs, Stevie and the agents tumbled to the ground, rolling into the paint-splattered wall.

“Don’t let them get away!” Stevie yelled, pointing at thin air.

“Get him out!” Grump bellowed, red-faced.

Finally, the agents managed to drag Stevie to his feet and escort him toward the door.

“Don’t forget the bunnies!” Stevie called over his shoulder as they hauled him out of the suite.

Stevie’s Post-Test Reflections

As Stevie sat in the back of a Secret Service SUV, his head still spinning with colors and giggles, he clutched his notepad tightly.

“I did it,” he muttered to himself. “I sniffed out disloyalty. Disease and disloyalty—it’s all the same.”

He glanced out the window at the shimmering world outside, a small smile playing on his lips. The bunnies might have been imaginary, but the results were real. Stevie Boot-Liquor had done his job.