“HAAAaaaay Kent…” A trio of stroller-pushing soccer moms give me a flirtatious look and wave their hands, beckoning to me. And since I’m the typical proto-guy, I wander over with a sloppy grin plastered to my mug. They’re all smiles; fingers run through my hair and trace my chest….suddenly they slam a switch next to their brake pedals and the babies in their strollers screech like demonic gibbons. They sprout leathery bat-wings and take to the skies, unholy light pouring from their mouths and eyes. The soccer moms are now cackling and giving me the finger. “This is for constantly making fun of our office-bound husbands, writer. NOW IS THE WINTER OF YOUR DISCONTENT!” The babies above begin spitting out blasts of giant flames. Holy Shiz! As Admiral Ackbar said in Jedi: “It’s a trap!” I begin running through the woods, arms held overhead in a vain attempt to protect myself from eldritch hellfire. Trees begin exploding around me. Only a matter of time before I become a Crispy Fried Kent. I open my eReader to Echo. Magic flash. A fleet of pterodactyl-riding barbarians rises above the treeline, all with shoulder-length hair, all wailing away on the finest of electric guitars. MenemeneMEH! MenemeneMEH! They nock arrows, sight in, and in a brutal flurry of merciless shafts, take down my infernal pursuers. A War Ptero snatches me up. As I fly past the angrily shrieking soccer moms, I give em a huge smile, the finger, and make the gesture for them to gimme a call sometime.