“And so, you—Kent Wayne—shall be King for a Day.”
The genie crosses his arms, nods his head, and disappears in a bright flash of light. Simultaneously, I find myself transported into the throne room of a lavish, marble-lined palace. Leading down from my massage chair/throne is a plush, mammoth-hide rug that spills across the echoing expanse of the column-spotted room. I immediately wince—the weight of the emerald-and-ruby-crusted crown I’m wearing is digging into my scalp.
“Fetch me a real crown!” I cry. “This fucking hurts!”
My servants—all dressed in striped shirts with billowy sleeves, pantaloons, and feathered caps—rush to obey. One of them gently removes the jeweled crown from my dome, and replaces it with a paper crown made by Burger King.
(I LOVE those things!)
“Mountain Dew!” I roar. “At once, peons!”
A silver platter filled with six varieties of Mountain Dew is brought over and offered up by a kneeling servant.
I stomp my feet on the ground like a recalcitrant child. “Pizza! Hot dogs! Chee’burgers! Gimme gimme GIMME!”
Platters of food are marched to my throne. My eyes widen as I start shoveling nommerson McNomsker-monkles down into my suck-hole—OMNOMGLOMPFMOMPF!!!!!
“And bring me my milf porn!” I demand, after using my wife-beater as a bib to wipe my mouth. “Your king would like to have himself a jerk-sesh!”
23 HOURS AND 230 JERK SESSIONS LATER:
“Uh?” I wipe a spot of drool off my mouth with the back of my hand. “Wha?”
I see a bob-haired female looming over me. Due to the dimmed lights, her face is coated in shadow. “Time’s up, Kent,” she rasps. “Your anal overlord wants her throne back.”
I shield my eyes with a forearm, squinting up at her. “Martha Stewart?”
She slaps me across the face and I tumble across the floor, squealing like the helpless man-bitch I am. “EEEE!!! EEEE!!! PLEASE!”
“That crown is MINE!” she growls in a prison-hardened voice. “SO IS YOUR ASS!”
As I roll onto my back, I see her tap the cap of her left elbow with her right palm, then launch herself into the air and cut a terrifying silhouette five feet above me, right before she falls to the ground and buries her cocked elbow into my ballsack.
“Oh God!” I wheeze, rolling over onto my side and curling into a fetal position as I cup my hairy necessaries. “That was my last sperm!”
She kips off the floor, then crosses her arms over her chest and whips her hands down to either side, just like Wovlerine. Fourteen-inch dildos eject snap out from spring-loaded sheaths adding a hefty dose of YOU’RE FUCKED to each of her fists. Their dickheads quiver and jiggle for a single sharp instant.
“No!” I moan. “NO! EXIT ONLY!”
She doesn’t say a thing. She just grins.
Then she sprints toward me, her Food Network-trained hands blurring the air as they chop back and forth. An animalistic growl erupts from her throat, sending a shiver of terror down my spine. But before she can reach me, I open my eReader to Echo, activating its reality distortion powers. Magic flash.
My heart leaps in my chest as I witness heroes and villains alike emerge from an extradimensional portal. Chuck Norris is the first to defend me. He’s dressed in a camouflage gi that’s dotted with screaming eagle heads and American flags, hopping toward Martha and firing off roundhouse kicks. Each kick accents one of his words:
“You. No. Good. COMMIE!”
But before he can connect, Martha dips low, grabs him by both feet, then hoists him overhead. “RUAAAAAHHHHH!!!!”
Then she pulls both legs apart, bisecting him at the anus. A shower of guts and blood rain down on her demonic visage.
Steven Seagal is next. He manages some hokey arm waves before Martha double-punches both her wrist-dildos straight through his eyes. He drops to his knees, clutching the air with clawed hands and letting loose with an inarticulate scream. She spins, wheel-kicks his head off, and it collides wetly with Batman’s head, breaking through his cowl and spilling his brains across the floor.
“RUN!” Superman screams as Martha Stewart backfists him, bends him over, then reaches into his asshole and grabs his spleen. “Run, Kent, before—NYAAAAAAAHHHHH!!!!”
I stumble out the door, crying and blubbering.
Dear sweet Jesus—there’s a price to pay for being king for a day.
Have you accidentally gotten on the wrong side of a prison-forged, insider-trading mastermind/Food Network icon? 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 If you wanna hear me babble on about anything and everything, and strain my FREAKIN’ BRAIN, then here’s a link to my podcast: Strained Brains! It is on iTunes, Stitcher, Spotify, and Google Play! Please give it a listen and a five-star review! Here’s the miscellaneous gear that I use to try and become an uber-human: Optimization, and last but not least, 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, 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! 😲💪 😜