FIFTEEN MINUTES AGO:
“By the Force!” Obi Wan waves his hand in front of his nose, wrinkling his eyes in disgust. “Padawan Wayne—must you fill my starfighter with your inner foulness?”
“I’m sorry!” I blurt, my cheeks flushing bright red. “Going into hyperspace makes me gassy!”
“It’s fine,” he grunts, activating the canopy release. “We’re here.” The Sun Skipper’s cockpit raises up and we both hop out.
“Where exactly is ‘here?’ ” I glance around, taking in the vast, towering walls made of colored crystal.
“Lindelthi. Me and a few other Jedi formed a secret club so we could blow off steam when no one’s looking.”
We start walking across a bridge made of glowing basalt.
“Secret club? So you’re offering me membership?”
Obi Wan grins at me from over his shoulder.
“Kent Wayne…today is the best day of your fucking life.”
“DRINK! DRINK! DRINK! DRINK!”
My eyes bulge as foaming liquid spills from my lips, courtesy of the beer bong Mace Windu is holding over my head. I gulp down the last ounce, throw my head back, and let loose with a triumphant roar:
“I AM ALL THAT IS MAAAAAAANNNNN!!!!”
Yoda, Anakin, Ahsoka, and Obi Wan start pounding their chests like meth’d up apes, celebrating my accomplishment with their own party cry:
I get up from the Beer Throne and start bumping chests with them. “Uh! Uh! THA’S what I’m talking about! YEAH!”
Obi Wan encircles my neck and gives me a friendly noogie. “That’s my Padawan—THAT’S my Padawan!” He starts leading me around the party lounge, his arm circled around my neck. “What do you think, Kent?”
“Man…” I glance sideways and watch Yoda snort a line of coke off a Chagrian hooker’s buttcheek. I look back at my master. “I don’t know WHAT to think!”
Obi Wan chuckles. “Sometimes these stupid-ass robes get a little tight, know w’um sayin’? Every now and then, us Jedis need to get a little high and get our fuck on.”
Ahsoka takes her third hit off a DMT pipe, and her eyes go wide with apocalyptic wonder. She collapses back onto a beanbag, yelling, “I AM ALL THAT WAS AND ALL THAT EVER WILL BE!” She shoots both index fingers at me, her all-seeing pupils twitching and quivering. “YOU MY JEDI, KENT!”
I shoot my fingers right back at her, returning the gesture. “No—you MY Jedi!” Then we both bust out in maniacal laughter.
We all start dancing to a remixed version of Kool and the Gang’s Jungle Boogie when suddenly Anakin, our impromptu DJ, cuts off the music and screams: “DARTH SOCCER MOMS HAVE LANDED! FLUSH IT OR EAT IT!”
Yoda starts galumphing down psychedelic mushrooms, grunting and squealing in panic. “No! Evilest of enemies they are!” while Mace chows down on a sheet of brownies, taking in like 10,000 milligrams of THC in less than a minute. He vomits, bursts into tears, then forces himself to keep going, blubbering and sobbing as he forces down edible after edible.
Obi Wan’s nowhere to be seen. “What’s so bad about soccer moms?” I ask, looking from side to side. “I happen to like them, especial—”
A Star Runner docks right outside the party lounge. A ramp extends from its belly, and a quartet of armored soccer moms walks out. A second later, the door bangs open, and they look around disgustedly, their hands on their hips. Soccer Mom Prime issues a command, her voice threaded with Dark Side energy:
Her Force-augmented command takes hold of our minds and we freeze in our tracks. Soccer Mom Prime starts walking through the lounge, her sphincter-puckering steps echoing in the silence.
“You bunch of low-down, fuckfaced deviants. You think you can hack into my consoles and leave anonymous dick and pussy pics on them without repercussions?”
High-as-fuck Mace clutches his head, looking around in sheer panic. “I’m gonna die. I’M ALREADY DEAD!” Yoda can’t stop giggling, while Anakin keeps rubbing his belly, moaning like his asshole’s being eaten by a two-tongued Tyrax.
Soccer Mom Prime scoffs, shakes her head, and turns to her crew. “Saber the fuck out of them.”
PSSSHHH-VMMMmmmmm. Four lightsabers blaze into existence. Oh SHIT!
No options left. So I reach into my robes and open my eReader to Echo, activating its reality distortion powers.
My clothes disappear in a blinking twitch, and my giant cock suddenly becomes prehensile. Me and Wiener twerk our way over to the DJ table and turn the music back on. The disco ball overhead lights up and starts spinning again. A hip-hop remix of Taylor Swift’s “Style” blasts through the air.
At first the soccer moms look at me with slight smiles, their feet tapping the floor in time with the rhythm, and then before I know it, we’re all bumping and grinding on the dance floor, taking hits off the beer bong and singing as loudly as we can. WHOOOOOO!!!!
THE NEXT MORNING:
Obi Wan leans against me, his red-veined eyes fixed on the ground. We make our way over to the Sun Skipper and get in the cockpit. As he fires up the thrusters, he stares straight ahead and utters seven words in a deadened monotone:
“Let us never speak of this. EVER.”
Has your interstellar get-down been interrupted by vengeful soccer moms? 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’ve started a podcast: Logical Idiots! If you want to check it out on YouTube, see it here: Logical Idiots on YouTube and help two complete morons out by subscribing, liking, and commenting! Here’s the iTunes page: Logical Idiots on iTunes. Also, my buddy Jumar Balacy has made a supercool microsite at kentwaynebrain.com! Go check out his computer-based wizardry 🙂 🙂 😀
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