Under normal circumstances, I glide through life as a freewheeling Man Whore, delighting Soccer Moms with my lariat-capable womb-hammer. (Use your imagination—the visual is right there for you to laugh at).
That all changed a few months ago, when a virulent malady swept the Earth and finally accomplished what COVID never could. It has been called many names on many worlds. The Heartreft Curse, the Joy-Drain Pestilence, and Boner Slayer are just a few of them. But here on Earth, it is simply referred to as…
Feelings.
“Holy FUCK!” I duck down as I run through the woods, barely avoiding an electrified net.
My former lovers (all super-hot Soccer Moms) crash through the foliage, demanding I get rid of my futon and hammock and replace them with respectable furniture, diamond rings, and a mewling whelp that’ll steal my sleep and devour 99% of my spare fucking time. Say goodbye to the lovable Man Whore known as Kent Wayne and say hello to a lifeless, gerbil-dicked shell of a man that couldn’t have sex if his life depended on it.
“GodDAMMIT!” I hurdle a log as several dozen needles fly past me, juiced with fifty thousand volts of limb-jiggling current.
There’s a trail up here that twists and bends around heavy thicket. If I can make it in there and hide in the underbrush—
“HHHNNGHHH!!!” My right butt-cheek explodes with pain; they just fired a tuft-capped tranquilizer dart into my hairy ass. Everything below the waist instantly goes numb—I drop to the ground like a sack of potatoes.
“Well, well well.” I shield my eyes with the flat of my hand, trying to make out my matrimony-minded pursuers through the harsh glare of helicopter floodlights. “Kent Wayne, the most desirable Man Whore in all of existence. I’m gonna put you to work in a gray-walled cubicle until your balls wither and shrivel into disgusting little raisins. Your scrotum will exist as a hairy flap of unresponsive skin.”
“No.” My eyes widen in dawning horror. “PLEASE!”
“Oh yes, bitch.” Her lips spread into a predatory grin. “Time to start Adulting.”
Fuck it. No options left. So I open my eReader to Kor’Thank, activating its reality distortion powers. Magic flash.
My clothes disappear in the blink of an eye. My ankle-length wiener unravels from around my calf and stands at attention, capped by a bead of glistening pre-cum.
“No!” She takes a step back as her face goes from jeering to fearful. “The seven-time award-winner of most beautiful genitalia in the Milky Way Galaxy! Must…hang on…to FEELINGS…”
She can’t do it, but I don’t blame her—NO ONE can, HEH heh heh!”
Dozens of Soccer Moms tear through the forest, descending on my piece like a ravenous pack of just-turned fast-zombies. I throw my head back and burst into song: a wordless, opera-worthy melody.
Kent Wayne wins again! Ha HA!
😀
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🤣🤣🤣 Awesome post! I’m going to be laughing for the rest of the afternoon.
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Yes! HEH heh heh!
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Deep!!! 😂
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Thanks, LOL!
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