Palamades Publishing: Get your fix of poetry, ghosts, and soon…giant robots. That’s right: Giant robots motha duckas!

Time for a pee break.  I leave my cubicle and head for the bathroom.  My boss and his three cronies are up and about, loosely trailing me, but I think nothing of it.  I pick a urinal, unzip, and stare at the wall in silent stoicism as I drain the lizard, just like a Man should.  The lights dim like I’m in an eighties love scene, and I cast an annoyed glance over my shoulder.  “What the hell?  Who’s turning down the—”  Suddenly a foot thrust-kicks my lower back and jams me up against the urinal.  My first thought is the same one any of you would have, something along the lines of:  TREACHERY!  THE URINAL IS A PLACE OF HOLY SILENCE AND EVERLASTING PEACE!!!  I squeeze down (and let it be know that it is a sin to cause another man to do this, ‘cos relieving a full bladder is—whether you want to admit it or not—one of the greatest joys in life), and cut off the flow.  My boss and his cohorts are all chuckling as my face presses up against the cold, cold mini-tile of the mens’ room wall.  Boss says, “We know about the writing, Kent.  Couldn’t just fall in line like the rest of us, could you?  Is it too much to ask of you to binge-watch, binge-eat, and wallow in first world pleasures like your peers?”  I whisper under my breath:  “Palamedes Publishing.”  A surge of arcane energy floods through me, causing the monster between my legs, Second Kent (can’t call him Little Kent; it ain’t little when I leave pee stains in my socks instead of my undies) to twitch and stir.  My boss leans close and asks, “What was that?  What are you trying to say?”  The foot shoves harder against my back.  “Say what you need to before we give you a chunky swirlie.”  (not gonna elaborate on that; the grosser among you can use your imagination to figure it out).  I give him a vicious grin, my face still pushed up against the wall.  “Here’s what I wanna say:  I’m prehensile, bitch.”  I see him cock his head in puzzlement.  Suddenly Second Kent snakes between my legs and uppercuts the crap out of him.  I whirl around—take momentary pleasure in the shocked faces of his three goons—then Second Kent entangles idiot #2’s legs like it was Dr. Jones’s bullwhip.  I whip my hips back and send him twisting/flying into a stall.  “AAAAAHHHHH!!!”  I scream as I fake a wheel-kick and send Second Kent’s head slashing into goon #3’s face, knocking the bejesus out of him.  #4 tries to run, but Second Kent wraps shoots out, wraps around his throat, and begins to squeeze.  He makes gurgling sounds as he clutches at his throat, his face turning purple.  After he passes out, I will Second Kent back into my trousers and down my right pants leg, head by my sock, where he belongs.  I pause for a moment, breathing heavy, and seriously weigh whether I should become a superhero.

Palamedes Publishing:  The bane of all restroom villains.  Check out their poetry here:  Machu Picchu Me  They will soon offer Echo Volume 1 in paperback.  For now, 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


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