“AND I SHOULD’VE BEEN GONE, AFTER ALL YOUR WORDS OF STEE-EEL…”
Eyes still closed, I start bobbing my head in time with the rhythm. “Oh I must’ve been a dreamer (must’ve been a dreamer, oh)”
My eyes pop open, and I blink dazedly. My English class is staring disgustedly at me.
“It is NOT acceptable to sing Steve Perry while others are speaking!”
“Uh…yeah.” I rub my neck. “Singing along to eighties classics is my involuntary reaction to cloying mind-vomit.”
“WHAT?” My professor shoots out of his seat, his chinless jaw quivering in rage.
“Sorry!” I raise both hands, palms out. “Reflexive moment of brutal honesty! I didn’t mean to say that—”
“DROWN HIM IN EMO!” The professor levels a finger at me, and the rest of the class rise to their feet, all busting out in interpretive dance while chanting some crazy-ass shit that doesn’t make a damn bit of sense, but they’ve somehow riddled with verbiage like “cashmere evanescence,” “blood-spangled mind-meld,” and “mellifluous iridescence.”
I feel my nuts shrink into my abdomen and start butting up against my lungs, voicing tiny screams of terror as they try to retreat from the Ragnarok-level horror that is emo-poetry. I burst into song in a desperate, instinctive attempt to stave off the madness:
“Some day somebody’s gonna make you want to turn around and say GOODBY—”
“The undying flow of black-shimmer veins, wrapping tightly about my animus reaching down into my photosynthetic—”
“UNTIL THEN BAY-BAY ARE YOU GONNA LET THEM HOLD YOU DOWN AND MAKE YOU CRY—”
“THE MYCELIUM OF PAIN ARISES WITHIN OUR COLLECTIVE SOUL-DRONE; WE WORSHIP ITS ETERNAL BECOMING—”
Fuck this. I open my eReader to Echo, activating its reality distortion powers. Magic flash.
Whitesnake—in all their mulleted glam-rock glory—bust through the wall like the motherfucking Kool-Aid guy and start wailing away on their guitars.
“HERE I GO AGAIN ON MY OWN, GOIN’ DOWN THE ONLY ROAD I’VE EVER KNOWN, LIKE A DRIFTER I WAS BORN TO WALK ALONE…”
Giant, dinosaur-mounted barbarians burst from their instruments and run amuck through the class, lopping off emo-poet heads in a glorious frenzy of broadswords and great axes. As Whitesnake finishes playing their American classic, the barbarians bust into an impromptu game of velociraptor polo. Limbs and skulls ricochet off the walls, crash through the windows, and splatter against the overhead neons in giant blow-outs of brains and jawbone.
Barbarian dino-polo where the balls are emo-poet heads…AND a live performance by Whitesnake? You can’t beat that! 😀
Is your mind being torn and shredded by an unending onslaught of emo? 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! 😲💪 😜