Steven Seagal, aka the Grossest Man Alive, steps up to an adjacent urinal and demands, “Look at me, Kent.  Look at me.”

“What?  No!  Why the hell are you—”

“If you defeat me in this here pissing contest, I’ll buy you a lifetime subscription to MyFriendsHotMom dot com.”

Shit.  He must’ve accessed my browser history—that’s too good an offer for me to pass up.  “All right,” I grumble.  “Pissing contest it is.  What if I lose?”

“I smother you in my chest hair.  And just so you know, my diet consists of sewer pizza and urban foraging.” 

“Oh GOD.”  I wince.  “You eat tainted shit on roadside medians?  Don’t you know it feeds off pollution?  Fucking disgusting.”

“Step to the side.  Square up with me.”

“Can’t we just turn our heads?”

“No.  I want to make this as awkward as possible.  Look at me—I’m the goddamn master of making things weird.”

“Can’t argue with that.”  I shuffle sideways and lock eyes with Seagal.  “What happens when my stream cuts off?  I’m not working with an unlimited supply.”

“You blink, you lose.”

“So…just keep staring with our dicks hanging out?”

“All the way out, baby.”

“I’d really appreciate it if you didn’t call me ‘baby.’ ” 

He doesn’t respond.  We keep staring into each other’s eyes, engaged in an epic battle of wills.  If this were a movie, the camera would alternately zoom in on his iris and mine, while the theme from “Requiem for a Dream” rose to a powerful bone-shaking crescendo. 

A few minutes in, my eye starts twitching.  A drop of sweat slides off my lashes and forces me to blink.  “Aah!”  I clutch my face.  “Wait, DON’T—”

“Come to papa.”  He grabs my head and pulls me close, grinding me in his fetid unkempt chest hair.  Horrors flash before my eyes—tiny villages inhabited by six-legged creatures, Chinese takeout with a greenish-gray hue, and a caterpillar with a face painted like a demented clown, a thousand times worse than the one from Terrifier 3.

Fuck it.  No options left.  So I open my eReader to a Kent Wayne novel, activating its mind-bending reality distortion powers.  Magic flash. 

Gary Busey rolls through the door, dressed in nothing but a pair of yellowed whitey-tighteys.  He grabs Steven from behind and starts climbing up his back.

“We trying to gross each other out?  I’m yer guy—I’m fucking gross as hell!”

Steven yells, “No, you fool, you’re going to—”  The rest is muffled by Gary’s unwashed perineum.  “MFFFF!!!”  Blood pours from Steven’s ears.  His arms and legs twitch in spastic waves.

I get the fuck out while the getting’s good, cupping my mouth as I hold back vomit.  What a couple a’ nasty motherfuckers!

Kent Wayne wins again!  😀

Have you lost a pissing contest to a gross-ass weirdo?  Never fear!  Buy my books, use their reality-distorting powers to summon a dude that’s just as gross, then let them destroy each other while you make your escape!

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