I point my laser pointer at the various wieners I’ve drawn onto the Powerpoint slide. “So as you can see, according to my doodles, length is no longer the decisive factor in penile preference. Girth and color play a part as well. While being fucked in half is by no means pleasurable, folks enjoy a happy middle ground, which means they’re all about a vigorous widening. Growing consensus states that although color is purely an aesthetic factor, no one wants to accommodate a pale length of tissue that strikingly resembles a baby molerat.” I push my fake glasses up my nose and clear my throat. “Thank you for coming to my Ted Talk.”
A lady in the audience screams, “Enough of this bullshit! LET US SEE IT!”
I nervously adjust my tie. “Ah…I’m not really sure if…”
Everyone begins chanting, filling the packed auditorium with rhythmic demand: “Show us the COCK! Show us the COCK!”
I hold up both hands. “PEOPLE OF TED TALK!” The audience immediately quiets. “I will let you gaze upon my meat. But know this: you may require immediate rehydration, as your salivary glands and juiced-up holes will kick into overtime.” I unzip my pants, my wiener unravels—thwip-thwip-THWIP—then dangles and bounces between my knees. “Behold!” I proclaim. I follow up by humming Also Sprach Zarathustra, the iconic opening music from 2001: A Space Odyssey.
The audience goes wild, cheering and hooting. And just like I predicted, the seats are immediately drenched in bodily fluids. At first I’m proud, but then I feel a pang of vague alarm. The sea of fluid is ankle deep; it’s rising faster than it can exit.
“Security?” I look around as fearful murmurs ripple through the audience, now waist-deep in fluid. “SECURITY?” I laser in on a dead guard, floating face down in the ocean of Nasty.
Panicked screams erupt throughout, as people are swallowed by ripcurrents or thrashed by swells. Pretty soon, the stage is swamped—I’m flailing desperately around, trying not to drown.
I look up at the ceiling. Batman’s hanging from the rafters, extending his gauntleted hand.
“Can’t reach!” I shout. “Any grapnels left?”
“I used them up escaping from Clark! Lois was tired of missionary, so she called me, and…” He shakes his head, frustrated. “God DAMMIT!”
Fuck it. No options left. I open my eReader to a Kent Wayne novel, activating its reality distortion powers. Magic flash.
My club-like penis extends past my legs, growing dozens of feet in less than a second.
“Perfect!” Batman exclaims. “Throw me your wiener!”
“Soccer moms only, fuckface!” I retort. “This is 2022—you grab my wiener and I’ll see you in court!”
“Don’t be a fool! You’re about to drown!”
I shoot him a rakish grin and rasp, “You don’t know me, son.” Then I envision all the times I’ve boffed super hot soccer moms (if this were a movie, the camera would zoom in on my pupil and transition into a sex-heavy montage) and stab my boner into the stage, using my wiener like a giant pole-vault. Up, up I go and—
“—GOTCHA!” Batman grabs hold of my wrist and pulls me onto the roof. “Resourceful as ever, Kent.”
I put my hands on my hips and nod in agreement. “Thanks, man. Hey, I was wondering…maybe I could hit on some of your exes? A bunch of ’em have given me big-time fuck-eyes, so…”
Batman gives me a suspicious once-over. “Maybe…who are we talking about?”
Batman startles in place. “How did you know I—” Then a grin spreads wide across his face. “Abso-fucking-LUTELY.”
Kent Wayne wins again! HEH heh heh!
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