The guy in front of me shuffles away, sobbing quietly while clutching a “Welcome to Hell” booklet. Satan looks up from his desk and gives me a disinterested once-over.
“Kent Wayne, right?” He licks his thumb, then pages through a sheaf of papers. “Let’s see…”
“This is a mistake!” I wail. “How the fuck did I end up HERE? Come on, man!”
His brow furrows as he examines my file. “Got a lot of complaints from multiple Karens…”
“That should work in my favor!” I argue.
“You’re right,” he cedes. “Those are bonus points.” He continues scanning my earthly deeds.
I point at a page, filled with water emojis next to graphic pictures of my sexual exploits. “See those orgasms? I serviced a veritable army of horned up soccer moms!”
“Yeah,” he cedes. “Those are bonus points too…don’t really see why—aha! Here we go.” He waves a page in front of my face. “You were blessed with the ability to write a story.”
He points at a chart on the middle of the page. “Look here: time spent writing versus time spent jerking your dick. The disparity is enormous. It says here…” He flips the page and studies the data. “You could have ushered in the Age of Aquarius, had you not spent countless hours on myfriendshotmom dot com.”
“They have the best production value!” I protest. “A perfect mix between POV, full-frontal doggy, and—”
“I’m sorry, Kent. This is where you belong.” He closes my file and thumps it with a big red stamp that leaves the phrase YOU’RE FUCKED emblazoned on the cover.
First stop is the infernal mess hall. I follow the others into a regular-looking dining room and take a seat. Huh…this doesn’t seem so bad…
That changes when the waiter takes my order. “What kind of dick would you like to eat?”
I cock my head, puzzled. “You’re giving me a choice?”
He gives a shrug. “It’s gonna be raw and uncooked, but yeah, you get a choice. Bull dick, horse dick, elephant dick…what’ll it be?”
Ha! They left me a loophole! If I’m gonna eat dick, it’s gonna be the smallest possible one. “Gerbil dick!” I proclaim triumphantly. “Bring on the gerbil dick!”
“Okey doke.” The waiter scribbles my order down and walks away.
Minutes later, he returns with a giant bowl the size of a sofa cushion. He plunks it down and removes the cover, revealing a mounded pile of severed gerbil dicks. “There you go. Gerbil dick. Eat it all or we’ll use your balls as a goddamn speedbag.”
I stare unbelievingly at the heap of dicks, then turn my hands up and scream at the sky.
After I finish my bowl of dicks, I shuffle off to the bathroom, hanging my head in utter dejection. Is that what I’m eating every night? Fuck my life. Oh well, at least I get to shit in peace. I pick a stall, drop trou, and stare at the floor.
Not one second later, the door bangs open. Steven Seagal walks a couple feet forward, unzips his pants, and pulls out his wiener.
“Whoa!” I exclaim. “I am NOT gonna suck that!”
“Not why I’m here,” he deadpans. “I’m gonna piss between your legs into the toilet. You move the wrong way or poop too hard, and you’re gonna get splashed by some Eau de Steven.”
“No!” I shout. “NO! You’re holding me hostage with your goddamn piss? During the one activity that brings me peace???”
“That’s the idea.” He starts peeing into the toilet.
Fuck. THIS. I reach in my pocket and open my eReader to a Kent Wayne novel, activating its reality distortion potential. Magic flash.
As globs of smegma pour off my wiener, I snatch up a handful and throw it into his mug. He stumbles away screaming with half his face melted completely off, like a horror-movie version of the T-800.
Satan appears in a cloud of brimstone, demanding, “JUST WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON AROUND HE—” before spotting the yellow-gray smegma dripping from my fingers.
“Whoa.” He raises both hands, palms out. In less than a second, his demeanor changes from angry to terrified. “Whoa, Kent. Take it easy. Don’t be a hero.”
“You’re sending me back,” I hiss. “Or I burn your face off your motherfucking skull.”
Uncertainty flashes through his eyes. “Uh…well…I don’t know if…”
I take a step toward him, hefting the concentrated evil in my hand. “Face it is.”
“DON’T!” he screeches. “Fine fine—we’ll let you go!”
He snaps his fingers, causing reality to fragment and reconfigure. I’m hit by an overwhelming twist of nausea, then…
Hot damn! I’m back in my condo!
I take a seat at my desk and open Microsoft Word. Gotta start writing, before they make me eat another bowl of dicks. Then I’m struck by a flash of curiosity.
I wonder…who’s on the latest episode of myfriendshotmom dot com…
One peek. Just one little peek. HEH heh heh!
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