THREE GALAXIES OVER…

Supreme leader Zorpak telepathically beams to me:  [There is a dearth of fuckos inhabiting Earth.  What gives?]

I place my tentacle over my torso, giving him the Bizangian salute, and reply, [Evolutionarily speaking, they’ve only recently developed a prefrontal cortex.  Most of their vile behaviors are still in service of the hindbrain, though many of them are loath to admit it.]

Zorpak disgustedly gestures at the tele-mind display, a sneer darting across his reptilian face.  [Look at these thralls who pledge allegiance to clan Kardashian.  And check out these other fucksticks:  those who let the orange fat man wield the keys to nuclear power…and Blop’s ovaries, look at these!  A vocal population who advocate using the full power of the law to coerce the populace into memorizing and utilizing over seventy gender-neutral pronouns.]

I shake my head.  [They need to get hobbies.]

Zorpak snorts.  [They need to get laid.  These simian fuckfaces need to stop fighting over this stupid bullshit and focus more on fixing their own Blop-damned lives instead of complaining about—]

Suddenly, an alarm starts sounding through the throne room.  A disembodied intelligence begins blaring into our skulls:

[INSECTOID INVASION HAS COMMENCED!  ALL REPTILIANS REPORT TO YOUR BATTLE STATIONS!  I REPEAT:  ALL REPTILIANS REPORT TO YOUR BATTLE STATIONS!]

Zorpak commands, [FORTRESS!  DISPLAY ALL ENEMY INCURSIONS!]

The tele-mind manifests a shimmering globe covered with craters—our home world Bizangi—and I’m horrified to see that giant swaths of red are blinking across its surface.

[Blop save us…] I murmur.  [They’re everywhere!]

Zorpak shuts his eyes, resigned and defeated.

[Man our seed-ships,] he projects.  [Launch them towards the nearest habitable planets.]

[Wait!] I protest.  [There’s still hope!  Kent Wayne—a sci-fi author and Man Whore extraordinaire—possesses the power to defeat these chitinous scum!  All we have to do is teleport him over here!]

Zorpak looks doubtfully at me.  [We were saving that teleport for a special occasion—]

[If we don’t use it now, there won’t BE any occasions, special or otherwise!]

He nods grimly.

[Do it.]

 

EARTH.

Doo be doo be dooo….oh hello there, cheeba chew!

GULP!  Down the hatch!

I chase it with a long swill of mountain dew and let loose with a resonant belch.  BRAPPP—yummers!

And then it happens:  my body become limned with upward-drifting light.  Each time a mote of shining radiance flies off me, I become less substantial.

(this is what I get for fucking with edibles)

An instant later, I find myself teleported from the confines of my studio into a raging battleground.  Lizard and insect-people are clashing ferociously, firing lasers into each others’ ranks with circuitry-threaded halberds.

One of the lizard-warriors projects into my mind, [SAVE US MAN WHORE!  YOU’RE OUR ONLY HOPE!]

A laser singes my ass, crisping a hole into my booty shorts.  Shit!  Another one slices through the air an inch from my nuts, burning off the peach fuzz.

No options left. I reach into a secret compartment sewn into my booty shorts and withdraw my eReader.  I open it to Echo, activating its reality distortion powers.  Magic flash.

Muscles begin rippling across my frame, and in a matter of seconds, I’ve grown a thick pelt of fur, transforming into none other than…

Me Kunt Wog!  Me long-distant Gigantopithecus ancestor of puny Kent Wayne!  Ook ook AWK!

Me charge through insect-men and break their shells!  Foolish bugs!  So ugly!  So evil!  Koo koo kachoo!  The walrus says FUCK YOU!

I beat beat beat…enough beat-o for everybody!  Beat your face!  Beat your stomach!  Beat your meat!

ALL HAIL THE MASTER OF BEATINGS!

Soon, stupid insect-men lie on ground, moaning like weak bitchlings!

Kunt Wog pound chest and roar in triumph.

Ook ook AWK AWK!  Monkey King wins again!

 

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