Grammar Nazi Prime grabs my shoulders.  “I need…to enter…a VAGINA.”  He bores into my eyes with a haunted gaze.

“Um…why do you have to say it like that?”  I delicately remove his hands from my shoulders.

“We’ve been lifelong enemies, but now I come to you in a spirit of penitence—I will no longer hound you with grammatical strictures.  But please, for the love of God and all that is holy, help me consummate a sexual union!”

“That…is not an improvement.  I’d prefer the word ‘fuck’ over either of—”

He drops to his knees and sobs into his hands.  “AHGODPLEASE!”

“Jesus!  All right, I’ll help you!”

“Thank you, Kent Wayne.”  He wipes away snot with the back of his wrist.  It forms a bubble, then trails from his nose to the edge of his hand.  (Gross).  “Thank you.”

Over the next few weeks, I make him work out, practice small talk, and shift his focus onto relaxation, positivity, and fun.  Then, on the third week of training…

“MMMFF!”  I thrash in place, but no dice—he duct-taped me to the back of a goddamn chair.

GNP yanks the tape off my lips.  “Ha!  You actually thought I desired your tutelage?  Not a chance, Wayne—I’ll never stop picking at your unholy stories!  NEVER!”

My hazy vision sharpens and resolves.  We’re in a bare concrete room, lit by a naked, industrial-strength bulb.  “This whole time…”

“Yes!” he crows.  “You fell prey to my simpering wiles!  Do you really think I care about sex?”  He drops trou in front of my face, revealing his shriveled, atrophied penis.  It looks like a freakish mole-rat worm, completely devoid of length, girth, and melanin. 

“HOORRRKKK!!!”  Projectile vomit spews from my gob.  He ducks as it rockets past his face, coating the wall in green-brown chunks.  “Please…” I whisper.  “Put it away…”

He zips up and chuckles.  “So now you understand.  No sane woman would insert this phallus between her labia.  My true quest has always been—and will always be—to enact revenge against my greatest enemy:  Kent Wayne, prolific author and award-winning Man Whore.”

I sag in place, drool yawing down from my parted lips.  “Stop…stop talking about sex.  Every time you do it, you somehow make it worse.” 

He nods at my crotch.  “Much like Delilah, I will sever the source of your fortune and strength, albeit in a more far more gruesome and unseemly manner.”  He snaps on a latex glove, then brandishes a pair of oversized scissors.  “Prepare yourself, Wayne—now is the winter of my discontent!”

Holy.  FUCK.  He wants to cut off my award-winning womb-hammer!  Ain’t no way.  So I reach in my pocket and open my eReader to a Kent Wayne novel, activating its mind-bending reality distortion powers.  Magic flash. 

My wiener untucks from my sock, uncoils from my leg, and punches through the front of my pants.  “YOU WANT MY BLOOD????” it roars.  “COME AND TAKE IT!”

GNP blurts, “DON’T—” before it smacks him twice across the face, coils itself across his torso and limbs, then lifts him up and stretches him into a painful crucifix.  “HRRRNNGHH…”  Blood leaks from the corner of his lips.  “Mercy…”

My wiener shloops down onto GNP’s dome, encasing his skull in the remains of my foreskin.  Dear God…it looks like he’s being eaten by a giant veiny diving helmet.  “MMRFF!  MMRFF!”  He thrashes in place, trying to escape a prison made of dickskin and smegma.  It slowly leaks around the edges of the seal, oozing down his pencil-thin neck.  Seconds later, he passes out and goes limp.

Welp, that’s what you get for trynna cut off my womb-hammer!  Kent Wayne wins again!  HEH heh heh!

😀

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