Earth has fallen to the dead-eyed, pedantic strictures of Grammar Nazi Prime. He’s released a psychic mycovirus that’s infected the minds of writers, composers, chefs…everyone. Probably the shittiest time in all of history to be a Muse, but them’s the brakes.
I’m Fiction—my specialty is creative writing.
Me and my coworkers survey each other across an astral expanse. The aether is filled with eddying swirls of ideas and epiphanies. That may sound like a good thing, but it’s really not; if these concepts don’t take seed in someone’s head, they’ll start turning toxic. We’ll be deluged with an unending flow of douche-ified trends and corporate non-speak.
“What do you think, Fiction?” Music locks eyes with me. “You got anything up your sleeve? I’m all out of ballads, percussion, ditties…”
Poetry raises a hand. “I still have some—”
“OH SHUT THE FUCK UP, YOU FOAM-FACED IDIOT!” Martial Arts roars. “YOU HURT OUR WILL TO LIVE!”
I suppress a grin, then direct my attention back to the matter at hand. “I do have one holdout against Grammar Nazi Prime…a pizza-addicted doof who’s always writing about giant robots and psionic weaponry…he falls a bit short in the hygiene department, and he’s not what I’d call ‘morally sound,’ but—”
“FUCK morals,” Breakdancing says. “If we don’t do something, all of Earth will fall prey to limp-dicked essays and red-ink corrections.”
I express a heavy, resigned sigh. “Very well.”
DOWN ON EARTH:
PKEW PKEW PKEW!
Goddamn! I duck into an alley, flinching away as a scatter of 9mm tears into the concrete. My face and neck are peppered with stings.
I sneak a glance around the brick-wall corner and spot a squad of Grammar Nazi Prime’s black-ops enforcers, armored up and lined across the lip of an adjacent rooftop. Their rifles plink out a steady series of shots, keeping me pinned. Across the street, a capture team maneuvers behind a dumpster, tasers at the ready.
“SURRENDER, KENT WAYNE! NOT EVEN YOUR ONE-OF-A-KIND, LUSCIOUSLY THICK, UPCURVED WIENER CAN SAVE YOUR ASS!”
He’s right. Unless I pull off an honest-to-goodness Hail Mary, I’m about to shipped off to one of Grammar Nazi Prime’s nut-shriveling internment camps, where my testosterone levels will lower to single digit ng/dl, and I’ll be forced to correct essay after essay.
A bolt of multicolored lightning jets down from the clouds, entering into my crown chakra and filling my mind with a dark, dystopian tale replete with robots, psionics, and dope-ass archetypes given fresh life through seven-mind gestalts.
My mind aligns with the science fiction epic called Echo, activating its reality distortion powers. Magic flash.
A giant, robotic Ernest Hemingway rises from the building to my rear. A rocky, ear-splitting rumble rings through the air as he shrugs off several tons of drywall and wiring. He cants his thirty-foot head down toward me, his eyes glowing a steady, burning blue.
“I AM HERE TO ASSIST YOU, AUTHOR WAYNE.”
A segmented catwalk sections down from his ankle, and a circuitry-lined portal opens in his calf. I break from cover and run toward it, hunching over and protecting my head with my arms as bullets snap and crack all around me. After I slip into Robot Hemingway’s calf, haptic tentacles slide across my body, guiding me up to the chest cavity and linking my mind with his neural interface. In the next instant, I’m looking out from Robot Hemingway’s eyes.
Holy fucking bareback bdussy—I AM Robot Hemingway! 😀
A glowing scrawl of data streams across my vision. Thirty feet below, Grammar Nazi Prime’s black-booted troops increase their fire. I turn my gigantic fists up in an old-timey boxing stance, just like the real Hemingway would have done.
“COME GET YOU SOME, FUCKFACES.”
Then I proceed to pummel the shit out of Grammar Nazi Prime’s jerkoff goons.
In the following months, I form a resistance movement, build an army of lesser Robot Hemingways, and make love to many a soccer mom.
And THAT, ladies and germs, is the story of how Kent Wayne helped Earth throw off the evil shackles of Grammar Nazi Prime. Ha HA! 😀
Are you the last holdout against an evil regime which seeks to crush the last dregs of your creativity? 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! 😲💪 😜