“Flight of the Bumblebee” cues up, AAAAAaannndd….
My handlers unlock my cage and let me loose onto the dance floor. Beautiful Soccer Moms (they’ve all paid six-figure sums to participate in this tawdry little debacle) run every which way, squealing delightedly as I throw ham-handed swipes, “trying” to grab them so I can give em a kiss. Meanwhile, they dart in and goose my butt, or cop a feel on my big ol’ package.
I can’t complain. Sure, I’d rather be a best-selling novelist, but I gotta pay the bills, and being a greased-up Man Whore is one way to do it. It may be undignified, but since when does life give a shit about your goddamn dignity? I’m just trying to earn some cheese, man.
One of them grabs my underwear (Me Undies, in case you’re wondering. I can’t wear boxers because I hate when my nuts stick to my thigh) and snaps it like a giant rubber band. OUCH! I leap into the air and grab my butt.
They don’t care—they just keep running around, screaming and giggling. Suddenly, the music cuts off.
“Mom? What the FUCK???”
Oh SHIT—it’s their bratty as hell, douchebag sons! I turn my head from side to side, backing up as a legion of douche-bros walk toward me, smacking their fists against their palms.
Mother of PISS. They’ve popped their collars—that’s a bad fucking sign. I can’t die at the hands of rabid douche-bros. So I reach in my—
—and open my eReader to Echo, activating its reality distortion powers. Magic flash.
A bag of rice appears in my hands. I stare at it, puzzled, until I remember who I’m fighting.
Douche-bros: roided up ape-monkeys who wear spaghetti-strap tank tops to the goddamn gym.
I spin around in a circle, opening the bag and letting the rice fly. Their reaction is instantaneous:
“Oh FUCK—it’s a motherfucking carb!”
“I can’t let it touch me! I can’t let it—”
“Get away get away GET AWAY—”
They all burst into flames, courtesy of their unreasoning fear of refined carbohydrates. In a matter of seconds, the club is filled with howling douche-bros, all trying to find something that can smother the fire crawling across their bodies.
I run out the back and hop into my car. Vr-vr-vr-VROOM! Fuck you, douche-monkeys! As I drive away, my lips spread wide in a cheese-eating grin. Kent Wayne escapes again! Ha HA!
Have you accidentally pissed off a bunch of douche-progeny by flirting with their hot-as-balls parents, and now need to beat feet? 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! Here’s the miscellaneous gear that I use to try and become an uber-human: Optimization! 🙂 🙂 😀
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! 😲💪 😜