It’s been three years since I’ve been caught and assigned to a Grammar Nazi internment camp. I’ve been manacled to a steel desk welded to the floor, and forced to correct essay after essay after essay. Blood pours from my eyes on a daily basis, and with increasing frequency, my anus as well. There is one activity, however, that keeps me sane. I’m about to do it right now, since they’ve escorted me back to my cell and left me to my own devices.
I peel off my crusty underwear and wave my hands above my crotch like a professional stage magician.
Nothing. My wiener twitches in place and gasps out a weak puff of dust.
I clutch the air with clawed fingers and scream like Vader in the third, shitty prequel. “NOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!”
ONE WEEK LATER:
No pizza. No mountain dew. And now?
No jerking off.
One week has gone by. I have approximately one more before the lack of wiener-stroking eats at my mind and breaks down my soul. In a few days I’ll be just like my captors.
Unacceptable. So I’ve hatched a plan to get the fuck out of here. They’ve already seen me fake a couple of seizures in order to spend some downtime over at sick bay, so I know that ain’t gonna cut it. This time, it’s gotta be the real deal.
I click the tip of the red ink pen I’ve stolen from the one of the work pods. A few measured, diaphragmatic breaths…then I arc it toward my neck, ensuring that I don’t hit the artery.
“Guuuhhh…” I stagger up to the bars of my cell, blood spurting from the side of my neck.
“Huh?” My guard turns around, his mouth full of a chunk of tuna sandwich. His eyes widen. “Holy SHIT!” He fumbles with the keys and opens the door. As I stumble out, I grab him by the lapels and throw a vicious headbutt. My brow collides with his and he pitches back, grabbing at his face.
I yank the pen out of my neck and stick it up his bung. Before he can howl in pain I knock him out with a People’s Elbow, and take the opportunity to rasp out an ’80s one-liner:
“That’s the thing about Grammar…it’s a real pain in the ass. HEH heh heh!”
(Come on—you know you would do it too. 😉 )
But then, as I sprint down the corridors sporting a mile-wide grin, an intercom-boosted question rings out from everywhere:
“DID YOU THINK YOU COULD ESCAPE ME, MAN WHORE?”
My brow wrinkles in puzzlement. That voice…I’ve heard it before…
A sexy-ass figure plunges through the ceiling, stopping in an anime-style crouch a dozen yards ahead of me.
Oh my God.
It’s Soccer Mom Prime.
I hold up both hands, offering up my palms. “We were lovers, SMP. We could still—”
She rises from her crouch, breaking my heart with a cruel smirk. “Whatever we shared…it’s dust in the wind, Kent. I serve Grammar and nothing else.”
“No…” I whisper. “NO!”
Her hands chop the air as she charges toward me. I know some dirty tricks but I’m no match for a fully trained soccer mom—have you SEEN these ladies? Not only do they manage to watch over a deuce or trio of bratty kids and supply with them with GMO-free organic home cooking, they also manage to run billion dollar companies and earn their black belts in jiu-jitsu while going to hot yoga three times a week!
I don’t have a chance. I manage to parry a single punch and check a low-kick before she spins me upside down like Zangief from Street Fighter, and pile-drives my face into the unforgiving cement. She flips me over, puts me in a headlock, and fish-hooks my mouth.
“Give in to Grammar,” she hisses.
Tears stream freely down my face. “Agl aaagg…” I can’t speak—her fingers are pulling my face off my fucking skull.
So I open my eReader to Echo, activating its reality distortion powers. Magic flash.
The burst of light causes her to roll off and assume a fighting stance. “You think that David Copperfield bullshit can stop me? Better think again, Kent, because—”
But I cut her off with my age-old war cry: “Boner…ARISE!”
My rejuvenated wiener bursts from its pants, all thick and luscious and sporting my one-of-a-kind upcurve. Her eyes narrow in suspicion, then widen in shock.
“I…I…come here, Man Whore!” She flies into my arms and plants a wet one on my lips. After she flings some explosive shuriken at the wall, breaking it into a scatter of flames and fragments, she hoists me over her shoulder and carries me off into the warm, windy night.
Man Whore Kent Wayne and Soccer Mom Prime are back at it again! Hi-yo freakin’ CUNTPUNTER! 🙂 🙂 😀
* ’70s porn music*
Have you been accosted by the evil forces of Grammar, and now need to remind their brain-washed henchmen where their true loyalties lie? 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! 😲💪 😜