I’m at a hot dog eating contest and I’m shoving weiners down my throat as fast as possible (take all the cheap shots you want; that’s the reason I wrote that line). Everyone’s cheering, sweat’s pouring down my neck, and I swear that I just felt my face bubble up with three new pimples. These same hog parts are probably swarming through my organs, creating new level 4 superviruses as I sit and write this. The billion-year half-life wonderbread buns ain’t helping either. I glance quickly up at the scoreboard; I’m in the lead for now. Then I look at my opponent. He tips me a wink, and my stomach rumbles with menacing urgency. Wait a second…I split one of the sausages with my fingers and see…GHOST PEPPER SEEDS???? YE GODS!!! I don’t have long before the flames of hell come jetting out from my behind. I jump up from my seat, looking frantically around for porta potties. There are dozens of ’em, but each of them has one of my opponent’s goons halfway in their plastic doorways. As I lock eyes with these modern-day Brutuses, they smile, wave, and climb in the porta potties, snicking the latches over from “vacant” to “occupied.” In sheer desperation, I open my eReader to Echo. Magic flash. Hans Zimmer’s score crashes through the air, and I see the Batwing coming in low. The Dark Knight flies toward me, dangling from a winch line that extends from the bottom of the ‘Wing. He scoops me up without slowing, then reels me into the cockpit. I’m momentarily lost in wonder as red-lit displays shine all around me, but Bats is having none of it. “GO GO GO!” he screams, hustling me into his onboard bathroom. I raise the bat-themed toilet seat back, sit down, and Aaaaahhhhh….you could kill me right then and there and I’d consider it the perfect death.
Are you SURE that the food you’re eating hasn’t been handled by a gastronomic saboteur? Save yourself a trip to Brown Town. Get Echo Vol. 1 on Kindle here: Vol. 1 on Kindle. Vol. 2 on Kindle here: Vol.2 on Kindle Vol. 3 on Kindle here: Vol. 3 on Kindle