KCHOOM. I rocket out of Kent’s wiener toward my long-awaited destiny. I’m Kent21909348, one of billions of sperm in his Spermatazoic Marine Corps. Pretty soon, I’m gonna make it to the egg and fulfill my calling. My raison d’être is to become a fully formed human, and while I love my brother sperm, I’ll be damned if I let any of them get in my way.
A few seconds in, I sense something’s off. Everything around us is moist and soft, but it’s different from what the briefings described. I can’t put my finger on it…
Suddenly, another sperm shouts, “We’re in a mouth—he shot us into a FUCKING MOUTH!”
In the blink of an eye, millions of sperm go from sprinting forward, to wriggling as hard as they can in the other direction. Holy shit—there’s the uvula, looming over us like some evil fucking punching bag.
I’m already tired from my initial sprint. Now I’m fighting for my fucking survival. Exhaustion metastasizes throughout my body, weighing me down with soul-killing fatigue.
“SWIM HARDER!” a fellow sperm shouts. “SHE’S GOING TO SWALL—”
GALUMPH.
“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!!”
Ten million sperm go down the hatch. I fight back tears as their dying screams echo off the gums. A Spermatazoic Marine meets my eyes, then shakes his head in a gesture of utter defeat. I can’t believe it—it’s First Sergeant Kent93875604, one of the hardest sons of bitches to ever spawn from a testicle. If he’s given up, we are well and truly fucked.
“I’m sorry, Kent21909348, I can’t keep going. I—”
GALUMPH.
“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!!”
He just disappeared into the goddamn void. As I glance around, I’m struck by dread—there’s only a hundred of us left. Even if we make it out through the teeth, there’s no way in hell we’ll make it back to the balls.
Fuck it. No options left. I open my eReader to a Kent Wayne novel, activating its mind-bending reality distortion powers. Magic flash.
I’m teleported out of the hellish mouth-hole—now I’m rocketing through the air with a billion other sperm. A split-second in, Kent yells, “No, don’t point it at my FACE—” and then a lady screams, “I’m sorry! My hand cramped up and—”
We deluge Kent with its own damn Nasties. Rope after rope of smelly goo lands right in his eye, splashing into his mouth and blasting up through his nose.
“ACK! THBBT! SWEET FUCKING JESUS!”
As he flails and thrashes, ineffable joy rises up from within—we’re giving this dickhead a taste of his own medicine. Fuck you, Kent. You deserve this for killing us by the literal billions, sending wave after wave of us into mouths and buttholes, wads of tissues and unwashed socks. I hope you burn, motherfucker. I hope you—
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Kent Wayne 
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