Sometimes, my writerly daydreaming takes over my brain, and I end up wandering into unintended places (physical places). That’s what happened earlier today. I was deep in a fantasy about interdimensional robo-fights when I suddenly realized I’d somehow meandered into a nearby Container Store. One of my go-to choices for picking up Soccer Moms.
And I’m wearing sweatpants. Dickprint? 100% visible.
Typically, this isn’t a problem. Advertising the goods, right? But right now, I’m dehydrated from a hard lifting sesh followed by a grueling jiu-jitsu class, so…
“GET HIM!” A Soccer Mom looks away from an astonishingly clever selection of receptacles and points at my knee-length womb-hammer. “DRAIN HIM OF SPERM!”
“NO!” I cry. “I’M DANGEROUSLY LOW ON FLUIDS! YOU’LL KILL ME!!!”
They couldn’t care less. They sprint toward me, their SUV keys jangling in their purses like a suburban death knell. I try to flee but one of them launches her cart across the shopping floor. It slams my ribs, blindsiding the fuck out of me. I glimpse a confusing jumble of ingeniously built organizers and ergonomically designed storage bins before I tumble to the ground, gasping in terror. I may know a little bit of grappling, but I’m no match for an army of hands, each one strengthened from years of pulling away markers, paste, and various forms of rancid filth from their infant hellspawn. They tear off my shirt like cheap tissue paper.
No options left. I reach in my pocket and open my eReader to Echo, activating its reality distortion powers. Magic flash.
My knee-length wiener telescopes outward, until it’s roughly the length of a pool-cleaner’s rod. A twist of my hips, and—
—I jam the other end into the crack between a display case and the floor, allowing the rebounding tension to vault me high into the air. As my feet leave the ground, I bicycle my arms and legs to max out my distance, screaming triumphantly like an ‘80s action star who’s just killed hundreds of cheesy villains and is now escaping via the time-honored Flame Jump (slow motion, of course). As I collapse into a roll and dash into the parking lot, I look over my shoulder and catch a glimpse of the Soccer Mom Leader. A single tear rolls down her cheek. The wind carries her voice to my ears.
“Fly free, Man Whore,” she whispers. “Fly free.”
Kent lives to write another day! Ha HA!
Is your body too dehydrated to keep up with the demands of your sexed-up admirers? 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! 🙂 🙂 😀
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