I run my hands frantically across a series of neurokinetic relays, desperately trying to maintain control of the Host Body. Don’t fucking do it, Kent. Don’t—
Ah, Christ. I slap the top of my forehead with my squidgy little palm, wincing in disgust as Kent Wayne (the Host Body) picks a giant boogey out from his panty-sniffer and jams it deep into his mouth.
Kent only possesses bits and pieces of a real brain. In lieu of a frontal cortex, he’s got me: True Hamster.
Motherfucker’s thirteen years old. Not only has he never been kissed, the extent of his poon-game is limited to a furtive “hi” as he passes by a rando girl in the hallway, in the breaks between classes. And as you just saw, dude still eats his own boogers. No excuse for this—none whatsoever.
What to do, what to do, what to do…hmmm…I sit back on my intrahaptic rig, folding my nubby left forepaw over my chest while tapping my lip with my right index claw. The irony is all too apparent. I’m an 83rd level intellect, able to circumvent twenty percent of the constraints imposed upon us by space and time, yet when it comes to this foam-faced doofus, I can barely manage to keep him from pooping his pants. His idiocy—don’t get me started on his lack of social acumen—knows no bounds.
On the HBM (Host Body Monitor—the crystal holographic that connects directly to his optic nerve) I see him popping the top on a fresh can of paste. What the…
And then the esophageal speakers crackle with: “Mmm—YUMMO!’
My paws kick into 7th gear, dancing across some burnt-out overrides. It’s no use—they’re at the end of their life, due to my constant efforts to keep him from eating dog biscuits, lip balm, and a shit-ton of other stuff that I really don’t want to talk about. FUCK!
My eyes steel over. No options left. I open my eReader to Echo, activating its reality distortion powers. Magic flash.
A surge of testosterone, HGH, and neurotrophic growth factors wash through the Host Body, transforming him from a spindly-wienered geek into a full-on Man Whore. (Good thing he’s wearing jeans and sneakers; he needs long pants to hide his girthy shaft, and he needs socks to secure his glans.)
Data streams across the HBM,
Then the audio starts up again: “I said GodDAMN! I’m a dick-slangin’ Man Whore–watch out, Soccer Moms!”
I breathe a shaky sigh of relief, but something in the depths of my mind tells me this is far from over. I’m now in charge of Kent the Man Whore…
Fuck my life.
*Theme from ‘Requiem for a Dream’*
Are you the beleaguered little rodent in charge of a dolty AF human Host Body? 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 Musings, Volume 1 is available here: Musings, Volume 1 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! And last but not least, here’s the miscellaneous gear that I use to try and become an uber-human: Optimization 🙂 🙂 😀
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