“Oh Christ,” I mutter to my coworker Jake. “Do you see that? Do you see what they’re doing?”
“I see it,” he mutters back. “The ‘children are our future’ my ass.”
Right now, we’re staring at a pair of fifteen year olds who are tossing dried snot pellets into the air and catching it in their mouths as if it was theater-style Jumbo Pop. I feel a dim flash of dread; a distant part of me knows that I’m bearing witness to humanity’s devolution. It begins not with nuclear winter, but with the complacent tolerance of our most simplistic desires. Douche-bros, beta-males, and Grammar Nazis were only the first wave; soon we will be completely bereft of critical thinking and eating our own boogers, like these two suburbanized daemon-spawn. It’s only a matter of time.
Why are we here? Our boss—regional director of sales Herman Snerdbert—has made Jake and I hapless participants in his son’s birthday party. It’s clear from the get-go that we’ve been summoned to shore up this sad shindig with more bodies. Much like the rest of the world, Herman favors appearance over function and capability.
A harried female voice calls out: “Garret! Come get your adderall!”
Herman’s son Garrett turns wide, clueless eyes toward the sound of his mom’s voice, and a dopey smile breaks out across his face. Garrett charges toward her in a four-limbed gallop, expelling a primitive grunt each time his hands or his feet push off the ground. His mom throws a white pill at him and he bounds into the air with single-minded purpose—it’s a like watching a pimply shark breach the surface of the ocean—and gulps it down mid-leap. After he lands he keeps charging. His mom’s eyes widen in horror.
“No Garrett—that’s all you get! That’s all you—”
But he pays her no mind; he continues galloping at her, his tongue slipping from the corner of his mouth and speckling the air with random droplets of spittle. He powers toward her in a full-body leap, blurting out a stream of trendy inanities as he bowls her over and devours the bottle in her hand. He doesn’t even bother to shake out the pills; he just eats them shits down, cap and all.
“RUAAAAHHHHH!!!” Garret straightens up and pounds his chest. Jake and I take a step back as we see pulsing red veins begin to throb on his eyeballs.
“Come on!” I yell, smacking Jake on the shoulder as I turn to run. “We need to get out of here!”
But Jake doesn’t move; he’s complete transfixed, staring at the mouth-breather as he goes straight-up Dr. Jekyll and gallops toward us, grinning like Heath Ledger’s Joker. I take off running, and throw a glimpse over my shoulder as Jake’s scream reaches my ears. Garrett has brought him to the ground, and is feasting on his innards like a starving zombie.
“Oh JESUS!” I cry in a high, breathy scream. I feel my bladder release; my thighs run dark with smelly piss.
Only one option left. I reach into my pocket and open my eReader to Echo. Magic flash.
Bitefighter—10 lb. Terrier Extraordinaire, 83rd level intellect, and my loyal little buddy—screams by in the Dog Wing, a tiny little WWI-style bi-plane with pictures of bones and stuffy toys emblazoned on its sides. Just like Snoopy, he’s wearing a prominent pair of aviator goggles and a little scarf that reads “Dog is my copilot” across its wind-whipped length. He comes in for an attack run, teeth bared in a small yet ferocious snarl as he unleashes a .50 cal firestorm at Garrett the psycho-powered idiot.
BUDDABUDDABUDDA! Garrett snarls and swipes the air, roaring like King Kong as the giant ordnance plinks harmlessly off his pharmaceutically enhanced body. “RUAAAHH!!! RAAAAHHHH!!!”
Bitefighter pulls into a steep climb, barely avoiding Garrett’s semen-crusted hands as they claw viciously at the little dog-plane. My heart drops in my chest as Bitefighter comes in at chest-height; Garret throws a wide, swinging hook that seems impossible to evade. But at the last second, my buddy jerks the controls and spins into a spectacular sideways-dropping barrel-roll, pulling out of it just in time to buzz an inch above the deck. I can’t help it; I punch the air and whoop with joy.
Bitefighter runs his plane through some more acrobatics, then proceeds to lead the incensed booger-eater away from the party, saving all our asses with his aerial heroics. I sink to the ground and sigh in relief.
You may be asking yourself if there’s a moral to this story. I assure you there is.
Dogs are better than kids. 😉
Have you been forced to attend a social gathering where you’re beginning to suspect that humanity’s doomed? Never fear!
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 Echo Vol. 1 & 2 Combined Edition here: Combined Edition I’m starting a podcast: Logical Idiots! If you want to check out the trailer, see it here: Logical Idiots Trailer and help two complete morons out by subscribing, liking, and commenting! Also, my buddy Jumar Balacy has made a supercool microsite at kentwaynebrain.com! Go check out his computer-based wizardry 🙂 🙂 😀
Hold on! I just got approved to be an Amazon affiliate! If you’re going to buy ANY product from Amazon, and you’d like to support my efforts for absolutely free, then simply click on one of the Echo links I’ve provided—they’ll send you to Echo’s Amazon page—and THEN buy whatever product you wish. Amazon gives me a small referral fee each time this happens! In this manner you can support my books, musings, upcoming podcast, zany ads, or my adventures along the noble path known as The Way of The Man Child WITHOUT spending any more money than you were already going to! Should you do this, I vow to send you a silent blessing, causing your genitals to adopt the optimum size, shape, smell, and death-ray attachment of choice that paralyzes your enemies with fear and envy! Entire worlds will bow before your nether parts! 😲💪 😜
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