Only a few more weeks until Halloween In most cases, that means a bunch of horned-up doofuses getting blackout drunk, throwing on some OMG-I’m-so-crazy-let’s-fuck-like-spastics costumes and dancing badly to some top 40s singles, but every so often, it involves a truly terrifying brush with horror…
For the vast majority, it’s a once-in-a-year opportunity to act the fool and mash genitals with a desperate rando, but for your favorite author and perennial Man Whore (me, Kent Wayne, in other words), it’s utter fucking hell. My soccer mom lovers lose all interest in me; they’re locked firmly into Good Mother mode, so they can shepherd their kids through a dizzying maze of high fructose corn syrup, artificial coloring, and suspect preservatives.
Anyways, October 31 is when I fully embrace Grumpy as Fuck, Old Man Kent. I stay at home, sitting on my front porch rocking chair, shaking my fist at teenage delinquents and snarling old-timey phrases (“Dad-blasted whippersnappers!” “Cork-eating nimbertops!” As well as the occasional: “I fucked your mom!” HEH heh heh! That one always messes with em cause it’s usually true). When I get tired of screwing with the young’uns, I go inside and write. That’s what I’m doing right now.
Clickity clickity clack. Words flow from my brain to my fingers, painting the page with bold streaks of concepts and narrative. Suddenly, the lights dim and fritz. My house goes dark.
“What the…” I rise from my chair, feeling tentatively around with extended arms.
An evil, reedy voice cuts through the dark: “Heh heh heh! HEH heh heh! It’s me, Kent—Grammar Nazi Prime. I’m gonna turn your manuscript into a dead, soulless piece of crap, full of oxford commas and played-out adjectives. You are FUCKED.”
Tears stream down from my face as I inadvertently shit myself. “STAY AWAY FROM ME, MONSTER!”
No options left. So I open my eReader to Echo, activating its reality distortion powers. Magic flash.
My grapefruit-sized nuts plop out from my pants and shine with dazzling, soul-stirring brilliance. They light the room with shining spears of rainbow light, bringing Grammar Nazi Prime’s shadowy, spindly form into clear relief. He recoils and screams.
“AAAAHHH!!!” he cries. “EARTH’S PRIMARY LOCUS OF CREATIVITY AND TESTOSTERONE! NOT FAIR, KENT! NOT FAAAAIIIIIRRRRR!!!”
And then he disappears in a flutter of bats. Whew!
Saved by my bulbous, pendulous nuts! Fuck off, forces of darkness!
Are you trying to spend Halloween in peace and quiet, but grammar-obsessed nitwits insist on picking at your goddamn manuscript? 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! 😲💪 😜