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.
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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