Who would have thought I’d compete in the Great British Baking Show, much less get to motherfucking Bread Week???  The audition was tough as all get out, but I’ve been killing it since the season began.

Unfortunately, my newest bake, an olive and garlic sourdough loaf, has just shit the bed inside the oven.  Black smoke erupts from the door, prompting Paul Hollywood to scream, “WHICH OF YOU MORONS ENDANGERED OUR LIVES?”  After he douses it with a nearby extinguisher, he gives me a blue-eyed dick-shriveling glare.  “Get it together, Wayne.”

I mouth, “Get it together, Wayne,” under my breath in a mocking, pissed-off tone.  What.  A.  DICK.  I’ll reflect on that later; right now, I have to save my bake and—

Noel yells, “Bakers, you have THIRTY SECONDS!” 

FUCK!  What-do-I-do-WHAT-DO-I-DO…

“Step away from your bakes!”

FUCK!!

“Wayne!  You’re up first!”

Fuckety-fuck-fuck FUUUUUUUUUCKKKKK!!!!

I look at my competitors, who are all regarding me with amusement, triumph, and dude-you-are-FUCKED.  I swivel back and forth, whimpering like a frightened bee-yotch when Paul barks, “WAYNE!  STOP WASTING MY TIME, YOU DESPICABLE PYROMANIAC!”

I shuffle up to the judge’s table, trying not to wring my hands. 

“Nothing to show, eh?”  Paul snorts.  “From the very beginning, I knew you weren’t a serious competitor.” 

Sweat rolls off my brow.  I’m fucked and everyone knows it. 

UnLESS…

“Behold!”  I whip out my loaf-size dick and slam it onto the table.  Ka-THUNK.  “Tastier than any of your hoity-toity bakes!” 

Paul reddens and levels a finger at my face.  “You’re a disgrace, Wayne!  Take your disgusting genitalia and GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE!”

Meanwhile, Prue stares at my piece and plays with her neckline.  “It’s…”  She clears her throat into her fist.  “Oh my.”  She also reddens, but for a completely different reason.

“What???”  Paul swivels toward her.  “Are you seriously giving this an iota of consideration?”

I reach in my pocket for a spray-can of salted garlic-butter.  “Look!”  I give my wiener a couple of spritzes.  “It’s got loads of flavor!”

Prue licks her lips and whispers, “Yes…loads…”

“Oh that is IT!”  Paul grabs her shoulders.  “Snap out of it woman!  He’s ruined the show!  You need to—”

“Hands off!”  I stride between them and shove him back.  “Calm the fuck down!”

Paul snarls and tries to uppercut my nuts.  I see it coming and pivot sideways.  Unfortunately, Prue gets it in right in the crotch.

“OCH!” she hollers.  “YE PUNCHED ME IN ME FLAPS!”

The entire tent breaks out in a fight.  Paul versus Prue, baker versus baker, staff versus staff.  I scramble around, trying to find my way out of the ferocious melee.  A few seconds in, I spot Paul charging at me, hands extended in absolute rage. 

“C’MERE YOU!”  His fingers close around my throat.

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

Prue, lying on her back in a disheveled heap, wipes her lips with the back of her wrist.  Star-core glimmer lights in her eyes, tracing outward from her pupils to her temples and cheeks, engraving her neck, torso, and legs with brilliant shining lines.  In a matter of seconds, she’s enveloped in an array of multicolored circuits.  They form into a series of launchers and ovens, coating her in a mech-suit of Baking Show armor. 

She levels an oven-hand launcher at Paul Hollywood.  “Stand.  Your.  Ass.  DOWN.  Let the Man Whore go.”  Her shoulders sound with whirs and clicks, erecting smaller launchers that ring with upbeat dings.

“Now Prue…”  Paul raises his hands and chuckles nervously.  “You know I always mean the best.  Deactivate the armor and we can—”

Fuh-DOOMP!  A bun flies from her shoulder into his mouth. 

“HGGHLPHH!”  He spits it out and shouts, “Now wait just a minute!  WAIT JUST A—AAAGHHH!!!”  He shields his face, protecting himself from rapid-fire muffins and donuts.  The Baking Show host turns and runs, but Prue isn’t fazed.  She tracks his position with a servo-powered gun-arm. 

Holographic reticles light up in her bubble-helm, shining with tic-marks and rotating symbols.  Right as they condense around her eye, she deadpans, “Gotcha, motherfucker.”  A penis-shaped loaf of crusty French bread shoots from her weaponized, mech-suited launcher-hand. 

It sails through the air, on a bullseye course with Paul’s fleeing anus.  Fifty yards away, he shrieks, “GOD IN HEAVEN!” as it pierces his jeans, slides into his rectum, and tickles the base of his skull with its tip.  He lands face-down, ass up in the field.

Prue turns toward me, mechanized joints clunking and hissing.  “Call me, he-slut.”  She jerks her head and throws me a smile.  “Now get the hell out of here before he comes to his senses.”

Don’t have to tell me twice!  I sprint away from the tent, cackling like the cat that got the motha’fuckin’ cream.  Kent Wayne wins again!  HEH heh heh!

😀

Has Paul Hollywood turned into a complete fucking asshole?  Never fear!  Buy my books, summon a baking-themed mech-suit for sweet old Prue, and devastate his rectum with a phallus-shaped loaf!

Get A Door into Evermoor on kindle here: A Door into Evermoor. Paperback here: A Door into Evermoor, paperback.  Get Weapons of Old here: Weapons of Old Get Kor’Thank here:  Kor’Thank:  Barbarian Valley Girl.  Get Echo Vol. 1 on Kindle here:  Vol. 1 on Kindle.  Vol. 2 on Kindle here:  Vol.2 on Kindle  Vol. 3 on Kindle here:  Vol. 3 on Kindle  Vol.4 on Kindle here:  Vol. 4 on Kindle  Echo Omnibus here:  Echo Omnibus  Echo Vol. 1 & 2 Combined Edition here:  Combined Edition  Musings, Volume 1 is available here:  Musings, Volume 1 

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