I stop throwing gang signs and rise to my feet. “What is it? What’d I do wrong?”
Porn director Lickems McSmegman buries his face in his hands and lets loose with a long, protracted growl. “What is WRONG with you?”
“What?” I look around, still puzzled. My costar walks off-set and lights a cigarette. The glow of her lighter reflects off her pink-sheened nails.
“Someone get him a towel.” McSmegman slouches in his director’s chair and flaps a disgusted hand in my direction. “Call the agency. Tell ’em I’m about to lose my fucking mind. In fact, tell ’em I quit.”
An assistant wraps a towel around my waist and I step into a pair of flip-flops. They make sticky slapping noises as I walk toward McSmegman. “Come on boss, why are you so—”
He gets out of the chair and starts walking away. “Don’t talk to me, Kent. Don’t even LOOK at me.”
“But I still don’t know what I did wr—”
He turns on his heel and levels a quivering finger at my face. “YOU SANG ‘WHO LET THE DOGS OUT’ DURING YOUR CLIMAX!!!”
“Yeah, but everyone loves that song!” I start twerking and singing, “Who let the dogs out; woof, woof, woofwoof woof! Who let the dogs ou—”
“AND YOU SAY ‘80S CATCHPHRASES DURING YOUR COSTAR’S ORGASM!”
I straighten up, place my hands on my hips, and look as solemn as I possibly can. “And now you know..and knowing is half the battle!”
“AAAAARGH!” McSmegman throws his arms up in the air, screams in rage, and starts tromping away. “I got you a new director, Kent. It’s obvious we can’t work with each other.” He opens the door and slams it shut behind him.
“New director?” I scratch my head, puzzled.
“That would be me,” a voice rasps.
I piss my towel right then and there.
Because that voice belongs to a prison-hardened, Food Network trained domestic goddess.
Martha fucking Stewart.
I don’t even bother turning around to look; I just take off sprinting. I make it about two steps before the air in front of me blurs and warps. Next thing I know, she’s launching a flying side kick into my chest. Something cracks and crumples inside my torso, and I tumble back head over heels, coughing and spitting up globules of blood.
“How did…how did…” Another fit of coughing takes hold of my body.
She steps out of the darkness and onto the well-lit set. As the divide between shadow and light travels back across her face, I lock eyes with her grinning visage. It’s like staring down the Joker…if the Joker had spent twenty years training under Emperor Palpatine.
“A woman like me? In prison? What’d you think would happen with all that free time, Kent? I earned thirteen PhDs in the hard sciences, along with several dozen others in varying subjects. Oh yeah—I also managed to acquire twenty three black belts.”
Then she disappears. Oh SHIT! I just made a critical mistake—I blinked!
Suddenly she’s got me bent over her knee. Somehow, through her martial arts genius, she’s managed to fish-hook my mouth and spread my legs open like a Thanksgiving wishbone about to snap.
“No!” I let out a terror fart and she stumbles away, coughing and sputtering.
“GET HIM!” she screams.
As I run across the set, dozens of roided-out porn stars fly at me from every direction. One of them dives at my legs, intending to bring me down with a double-leg shoot. I post a hand on his back and—
—hurtle over his body. Another tries to bear hug me. I head-fake right, spin left, and squirt past him. Three others pile atop me but it’s too late.
Because I’ve managed to grab my eReader and open it to Echo, activating its reality distortion powers. Magic flash.
Gary Busey—grossest man alive and Protector of the Crazy—plunges through the ceiling, landing in an anime-style crouch. He’s dressed in nothing but a speedo, sporting a giant tattoo of his own grinning face atop his bulging, jiggling belly.
The squad of beefed-up cock-monsters pinning me down lock eyes with him. They haven’t forgotten me, but for the moment, they’re refraining from filling me with enough semen to make my pores bleed white.
He straightens up, clapping the dust off his hands. “How y’all doing?”
Martha crosses her arms, giving him a disdainful once-over. “And exactly how is Gary Busey supposed to thwart my plans?”
Gary starts digging around in the depths of his speedo. “Funny thing about me—people avoid me because of my crazy conspiracy theories and wild-ass bug-eyes. But that’s not the problem. THIS is the problem.” His hand emerges from his speedo holding a giant gray gob of dripping matter.
“Gary Busey’s undergunk,” he announces with unmistakable pride.
Martha Stewart’s eyes widen in horror. “KILL HIM FOOLS! BEFORE HE—”
Gary Busey flings his arm out, splashing my attackers with a giant swath of Gross. Several of them scream that they’ve just gone blind. One of them gets splashed on the legs, and everything below his waist melts into a blackened, pock-marked skeleton. Martha Stewart tries to run, but a drop of undergunk hits her right shoulder, eating away everything with the exception of her humerus bone.
“AAAAHHH” she screeches. She stumbles off the set, tears streaming down both cheeks. She turns around, almost falling in the process, and runs out the door.
Gary continues massacring porn stars with his unspeakable undergunk. After all my oppressors have been reduced to steaming, yellow-boned skeletons, Gary Busey puts his hands on his hips and shoots me a grin.
“Pretty cool, huh?”
“Uh, yeah…I guess.”
WHEW! I’m just glad this undergunk-slinging motherfucker is on MY side!
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! 😲💪 😜