Holy balls, I fucking LOVE being a dark wizard! I make homonculi, cast magic missile, use Tenser’s Dancing Sword to flay my enemies’ nut-skin off their testicles—YEE-UH! All day, EVERY day, baby!
Being an evil mage is like being a Sith lord, only I don’t have to worry about my master or apprentice fucking me in the ass with a hot laser sword when they think I’m not looking. I get to hang with dracoliches, converse with Cthulu, and watch Keeping Up with the Kardashians to my heart’s content.
(I know you all watch, but you guys have to keep your addiction hidden. How sad.)
Not the case with me. I watch ALL them shits—the Bachelorette, Real Housewives of Wherever the Fuck, Britney on Coke, Lohan on Crack, Meth Whores with Babies…OH yeah! When you’ve sold your soul to the Eternal Shadow, you can go buck-nuts ape-shit on all the tawdry, low-down reality TV you could ever dream of.
And don’t get me started on the bomb-ass sex. Anal, oral, aural, nostril…all holes are open for business, know w’um saying? Contrast with the good mages—ninety percent of those finger-waggers are angry virgins. And when they DO have sex, it ain’t that KA-KA-KA-KA machine-gun pumping that really scratches the itch; it’s that 1980s gasp-y shit where you expect a cheesy AF, mullet-headed dude playing a wince-inducing saxophone tune in the moonlit background.
What an utter and complete bag of lice-infested horse balls—how the fuck are you gonna cum as hard as humanly possible without that raw-dog, SUNDAY-SUNDAY-SUNDAY!-style fucking that includes any and all activities from rimming to felching to the Hot Goddamn Carl? Shaking my head. Shaking my FUCKING head.
Right now, Imma bout to take the Dark Arts to the next freakin’ level. I insert my skeleton key into the bone-fashioned lock on my Necromonicus Grimoire (the keyhole looks like a butthole with teeth), and turn it clockwise. A glimmer of evil green light flashes up from the lock, and deep-voiced laughter sounds from nowhere: “OOH HOO HA HA! OH HO HO—MWAHAHAHA!” I’m about to graduate to Full-on Evil. The Dark Arts are pretty bad, but they’re nothing compared to…
The Dark Farts.
The spell calls for me to drink a horrendous beverage. I start throwing ingredients in the blender: twelve spicy sausages, big ol’ handful of refried beans, three different kinds of hot sauce, a three year old to-do list from my Ex (it’s a little over three hundred pages long), and a picture of Gary Busey and Steven Seagal making out.
GALUMPH! I drink it all down. For a long moment, nothing happens.
Then my stomach twists and squeals. Oh God—it’s like my belly’s grown five sets of testicles, and the Mountain from Game of Thrones is purple-nurpling them as hard as he can. This might have been a mistake, this might have been a little prematu—
My asshole explodes with eldritch light, ejecting a hell-powered hurricane comprised of phantom skulls, insect-lizard hybrids, and the reincarnated souls of Grammar Nazis. Holy FUCK!
The hurricane-fart begins tearing through my lair, ripping everything apart with complete abandon. I manage to avoid one of its spine-covered dicks as it slices the air an inch above my head, and scrabble desperately toward the door on my knees and my hands.
But the hurricane swats me sideways with Charlie Sheen’s bleeding asshole, sending me tumbling across the deck. I manage to fend it off with some desperate slaps, but it’s a close thing; for a horrifying instant, my head almost goes inside the pucker.
Game over, man! GAME FUCKING OVER!
So I open my eReader to Echo, activating its reality distortion powers. Magic flash.
Superman flies into my lair and rears back, sucking the hell-fart into his Kryptonian lungs. Once he’s inhaled all the buttholes, scrotums, monsters, and miscellaneous manifestations of evil, he shuts his eyes and squints.
“You okay?” I ask tentatively.
“Can’t…talk…” Sweat springs out across his forehead. “You…really…fucked…the pooch…on this one…Kent.”
“Anything I can do to help?”
“Must…focus…must…” His eyes slit open. “Can’t…hold it…have to…release it…IN THE FARTHEST REACHES OF SPACE!” He rockets away, breaking the sound barrier with a hair-ruffling BOOM!
I pull my collar, baring my teeth and sucking air in through a that-didn’t-turn-out-like-I-intended-AT-ALL grimace.
Maybe I should just stick with the Dark Arts. The Dark Farts are a little too advanced for me.
Have you accidentally unleashed a world of unheralded evil from the depths of your colon? 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 Vol.4 on Kindle here: Vol. 4 on Kindle Echo Omnibus here: Echo Omnibus 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! 😲💪 😜