Like many of you, I’ve been sucked into the phenomenon known as the Great British Baking Show (or the Great British Bakeoff in the UK).  For the last several years, I’ve worked day and night to get on my favorite television program.  And now…

“This is your showstopper, eh?  Paul Hollywood’s ice-blue eyes bore into mine.  “Simple…but stunning in its uniformity and mellow color.  It’s a golden-brown spiral that’s almost mystical in its consistency.  Let’s have a bite, shall we?”  He tears off a chunk and wrinkles his brow, exploring my creation with his sensitized palate.  “Structure’s good, texture’s amazing…” 

Meanwhile, Prue’s doing the same.  “I could eat this with every meal.”  She shakes her head in muted wonder.  “The cardamom comes through just right.  And the garlic is strong, but not overpowering.  Bravo, Kent.”

Paul extends his hand, offering me the famous Hollywood Handshake.  “I’d like the recipe once we’re done.”

“Oh my God.”  I grab the table for emotional support.  “I can’t believe…”  Then I give an embarrassed chuckle.  “Unfortunately, you can’t replicate it.  It was made in here.”  I pat my belly with both hands.

“You…”  His snowy white brows crinkle in fury.  “I ate your SHIT?”

“Liam and Lizzy deserved better than they got!” I snarl.  “This is what you get, you gastronomical tyrant!” 

Prue leaps on my back, clawing my face with her nails.  “I’LL HAVE YER EYES!”

“Ow!  FUCK!”  I peel off one of her hooked-in legs, leaving her vulnerable to a Judo-style throw.  As I grip her arm and roll her forward—

HUP!

—Paul Hollywood throws a body shot.  Instead of blasting my liver, it lands right in Prue’s exposed vajeen.

“BASTARD!” she screeches.  “YE PUNCHED ME IN ME FLAPS!”

Time to hightail it out of here!  I break into a sprint and run out of the tent.  I only make it a few steps before the rest of the bakers pile on top of me, weighing me down with punches and kicks.

“HOLD HIM!” Paul thunders.  “I’M GOING TO CASTRATE THIS WANKER WITH OUR DULLEST BLOODY SPOON!”

This is NOT how I pictured things going!  So I open my eReader to a Kent Wayne novel, activating its reality distortion powers.  Magic flash.

Giada De Laurentiis materializes in a crackle of blue-summer lightning.  “ ’TIS I!” she declares.  “THE OG FOOD NETWORK HOTTIE!  LET THE MAN WHORE GO, YOU THUGGISH UPSTARTS!”  Her eyes glimmer with extradimensional power. 

Paul and Prue promptly shit their pants.  As the others let me up, I grin at the two hosts.  “Too bad you don’t know what you’re doing.  If you did, you could blather on about your delicious feces, which I’ve noticed smells absolutely disgusting.”  I shrug dismissively.  “But there’s an argument to be made that you do that already.”

Giada beckons.  “COME, KENT.  YOUR UPCURVED THICKY IS REQUIRED FORTHWITH!”

OH yeah!  I get to shit in Paul’s mouth (literally and figuratively), and enjoy sexy-time with Food Network royalty???  Kent Wayne wins again!

😀

Has your revenge against the Great British Bakeoff hit a snag?  Do you need to be saved by a Food Network superstar?  Never fear!  Buy my books and make your escape! 

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