“I’m breaking up with you.”
“What?” I stop plinking away at my latest story. “Why?”
“My jaw is sore 24/7!” Ariel shouts. “In case you haven’t noticed, mermaids DON’T HAVE A VAJ! You’re the only merman with a goddamn wiener, and it just so happens that it’s FUCKING GINORMOUS! Oral’s fun, but my tongue and my masseters are working overtime—I’ve grown the jawline of a cartoon superhero!”
“It’s not my fault it’s the size of my fins!” I yell.
“I’ve been eyeing Prince Eric. Ursula says she can help me out.” She swims out of our two-bedroom sea cave.
“ERIC???” I sputter. “He looks like a fucking Ivy League rapist! Ariel! ARIEL!!!”
Too late. She’s already gone.
TWO DAYS LATER…
I pick up my sea-phone. “Hello?”
“Kent, you gotta help!” Ariel gasps.
My brows furrow in consternation. “Did he hurt you?”
“Not yet, but I opened his fridge and—” She sobs unintelligibly into the phone.
“Slow down, Ariel—talk to me!”
“Shrunken heads, dozens of them! They were all staring at me like—”
“Heads? What are you—”
“HE’S A FUCKING SERIAL KILLER!!!”
Right at that moment, a door opens in the background. “Arieeelll…I’m HO-ome…”
Shit. SHIT. I always knew that Armie Hammer-looking fuckhole was dancing to Goodbye Horses and jerking it to severed body parts. I need to help Ariel, but there’s no way I can get to her location, much less fight Prince Eric. He’s got the advantage on land; I’m a goddamn merman.
I open my eReader to a Kent Wayne novel, activating its mind-bending reality distortion powers. Magic flash.
I’m instantly transported to Eric’s douche-pad. I’ve also transformed into a two-legged Man Whore—a naked two-legged Man Whore.
“What the fuck?” The cannibal-deviant turns around.
Dammit—no weapons! Gotta improvise.
“Olé!” I jump into the air and whip my hips, smacking his face with my club-like peen. His eyes roll back, his dislocated jaw skews grotesquely to the left, and he collapses in a tangled jumble of limbs.
Ariel’s on him like stank on shit. She bludgeons his face with a chain of hammer-fists, pulping his handsome features into a gory mess. In less than a minute, his skull is reduced to a gaping red hole.
“Uh…okay, then.” I hiss through my teeth. “I’m gonna GO…”
“Bullshit!” she snarls. “You’re a goddamn Man Whore—come and service this murder-charged vaj!”
After a second, I respond with a shrug. She’s right. I’m a professional Man Whore—I can’t turn away a vajeen in need, even if comes with a side of murder.
Kent Wayne wins again! HEH heh heh!
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