BACK IN THE DAY, WHEN KENT WAYNE WAS BUT A HORNY TEENAGER AND THEY STILL SAID THE PLEDGE IN PUBLIC SCHOOL…
I place a hand over my heart. “I pledge allegiance, to my Insidious Indoctrinators: those who call themselves teachers and incept our psyches with nonsensical beliefs under the guise of Adulting…”
Oh shit—Ms. Janowski is having none of my rebelliousness!
I run out of class, screaming, “SIC SEMPER CLOTHING!” while ripping off my pants. I nod and wink at some of the girls who throw me an approving look as my ginormous piece jumps and bobbles in my heart-dotted boxers.
“KENT GET BACK HERE!”
Head in the game, Kent—this isn’t the time to flirt with girls, not when the Forces of Adulting are doing their damndest to cram you in a cubicle and strip you of testosterone! I break right into the hallway.
My six o’ clock floods with Adults, chasing me with angry hoots, pointing fingers, and shaking fists. God knows what they’ll do if they get their hands on me. Probably something vile like a five-hour powerpoint presentation.
Cut right into another hall, take a right, swerve left…
Freedom! I burst out of the building, running like a bat out of hell. My elation vanishes as I scan the horizon—I exited onto Myers Field, a vast stretch of east-facing ground which is bordered by a swath of chain-link fence. There’s nowhere to go. Nowhere to run.
So I reach in my shirt pocket and open my eReader to Echo, activating its reality distortion powers. Magic flash.
Arcane lightning streaks down from above, striking my chest and forming into a nexus of interdimensional light. My eyes white out with blazing energy, my limbs ripple with cabled muscle. “RUAAAAHHH!!!” I drop to all fours and start galloping, transformed into the apex of my future potential.
Kent Wayne, Sci Fi author and perennial Man Whore, at your service.
As I approach the fence, I flex my pelvic floor, forcing blood into my incomparable wiener. It’s weighty head boings out in front of me, drives into the deck, and—
—I go pole-vaulting over the chain-link fence, thanks to my prodigious wall-widening womb-hammer.
I hit the ground and continue galloping, chancing a backward look over my shoulder. Most of the Adults are banging the fence with clenched fists, demanding I come back here right the hell now. But Ms. Janowski simply stands there, a single tear trickling down her right cheek.
A trick of the wind brings her whispered words to my ear: “Fly free, Man Whore.”
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