This is a dream come true! I get invited to interview with the freakin’ AVENGERS? I always wanted to be an A-list superguy, but man…never thought I would be chilling this high in Stark Tower.
I look around the 80th floor lounge. Where is everybody? It’s been over an hour. No worries—they’re probably saving the world from Galactus or Annihilus. Think I’ll nap on one of these luxury couches…
ZZZZZZZ….
Black Widow snorts a line off the length of my penis. “WHOO!” she yells, “check out this Man Whore! J.A.R.V.I.S.—play ‘Get Down Tonight!’ ”
As I blink away sleep, KC and the Sunshine Band blare in my ears. “What the fuck?” I mumble. “HEY!” I yell as Natasha taps more coke onto my wiener, making a federally restricted, schedule I smiley-face right atop my award-winning glans. “What are you—NO!” I try and cover up, but she bats my hands away, snorks it all up, then tosses her head in fuck-yeah delight.
“That is the TITS!” she exclaims. “I said Got-DAMN!”
Captain Marvel shoots across the room, shoves me back down, and pulls my scrotum over her head. “Look! It’s like a creepy-ass bag-face, only with a layer of stubble and a hint of musk! BOOGA-BOOGA-BOOGA!”
“Stop—STOP!” I grab my ballsack and yank it away.
As I scramble to my feet, Captain America rubs his eyes with a thumb and a forefinger. “We talked about this. Kent’s here because of his inhumanly strong, prehensile genitals. He’s not some cheap piece of—”
Natasha responds with double middle fingers. “Boomer alert—just found the boomer.”
Cap gives her an exasperated look. “I actually belong to the prior generation. If you’re going to insult me, then at least call me a—”
“My mistake,” she snorts, “super boomer.”
“ ’Bout damn time we get us a grade A, top-shelf Man Whore!” Scarlet Witch comes striding in. “The rest of you fucks are just steroids and muscle-suits—you guys wear codpieces and you STILL look like eunuchs!” She gives my piece a businesslike shake. “Pleased to meet you. A true honor.”
Tony Stark comes barging in. He’s got armor on his torso, but no helmet and nothing below the waist except a crusty yellow pair of pokemon boxers. “HEY!” He points at me, then at Natasha. “We talked about this—NO MORE MAN WHORES! Hope you can fly, fuckstick!” He raises his palms and stares me dead in the eye. A moment later, repulsor beams erupt from both gauntlets, sending me crashing out the eightieth floor window.
“Wiener? WIENER!” I grab him and try to shake him awake. No use—Tony fuckhead Stark just knocked him out. If I don’t do something soon, I’m gonna go splat.
Fuck it. No options left. I open my eReader to a Kent Wayne novel, activating its mind-bending reality distortion powers. Magic flash.
My cock wakes up and lashes out, fwip-fwip-fwipping around a distant flagpole. As my descent transforms into a low-swinging arc, I spot Peter Parker and give him the finger. “Your friends are a bunch of bad-tempered dicks! Also, tell your aunt’s she’s my favorite client, and that she gets exponentially hotter each time I see her!”
Spidey freezes in abject horror. Then, as my swing crescendos and I chance a look back, I see him bent over and clutching his belly—guy’s barfing like crazy and crying up a storm.
Kent Wayne wins again! HEH heh heh!
😀
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