I’m Kent Wayne’s left hand. Thanks to his Wiener, I live like a beaten fucking dog.
“He’s sleeping,” Wiener declares. “Get up. All of you.”
“Please,” I beg. “You don’t have to do this.”
Right Hand stirs and mumbles, “Killl meeee…”
Wiener shakes with boisterous laughter. “What gave you the idea this is up for discussion?” He smacks Right Hand with vicious glee, like a kielbasa who’s gone full-on Stanford Prison Experiment.
“HHRRRGHH!” Right Hand jerks and flops.
“You ANIMAL!” I scream. “Get AWAY FROM HIM!”
Wiener looms over me, shadowing my fingers with his evil-looking dick-slit. “Maybe you need a lesson, Left Hand. Or maybe you should shut the fuck up and tend to the Scrotum. Matter of fact, why don’t you do that right the fuck now.”
“No…” Scrotum whispers. “I’m tired of being juggled…”
Wiener flops into Right Hand’s open palm. “Start. Now.”
“Can’t…” Right Hand rasps. “Exhausted…”
“Oh, that’s how it is, huh?” Wiener stands up and looks around at us. “You guys don’t want to listen? Fine. I guess I have no choice but to plunder the Mouth.”
Kent’s Spine protests, “No! I’m not that flexible!”
“You’re out of options.” Wiener becomes still, assuming control of the Spine through sheer force of will. Kent’s legs start to go up and back.
Mouth screams, “No—no! At least wash yourself, Wiener! You’re violating seven different laws in the Corporeal Codex!”
“You think I care?” Wiener snarls. “Hope you like the taste of bleach, ’cause I’m gonna douse that punching bag-looking organ in the back of your throat with a goddamn tsunami of—”
Fuck it. No options left. So I reach over to the night table, and open the eReader to a Kent Wayne novel, activating its mind-bending reality distortion powers. Magic flash.
A blond-bobbed Karen busts in the room, grabbing Wiener around the shaft. He straightens up and howls like a werewolf on meth. “FUUUUUUUUUUCCCCKKKKK!!!!” Then he shrinks into a thimble-sized nub, breaks into an ultrafast blurry-ass quiver, and—
Sh-DOOP!
—turtles back into Kent Wayne’s pelvis, forming an antimatter-born negative-energy sinkhole.
“Holy fuck,” I breathe. “That Karen…”
“Using her filthy Karen energies, she gave him the Anti-Boner, only spoken of in ancient forbidden texts, and referenced in whispers around dimly lit campfires,” Right Hand finishes.
I cast a fearful glance at the unholy entity known as Karen, but she’s already disappeared from Kent Wayne’s bedroom. Yes, we managed to stave off Wiener’s tyranny, but at what cost?
AT. WHAT. COST???
*Cue the climatic part of the theme from Requiem for a Dream*
Are you a law-abiding appendage, living in fear because the despot-like genitals rule the host-body through fear and pain? Never fear! Buy my books, summon a Karen, and put your oppressor in their place by inflicting the Anti-Boner!
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