I’m a grown-ass dude, but that don’t stop me from jorkin’ it like a madman. I’m talking enough kinetic energy to start a damn fire, using a bow-and-drill setup during a once-in-a-century, tropical downpour. If it weren’t for the lube, my wiener would look worse than Vader’s burnt-ass—
Suddenly my heart seizes and abruptly flatlines. Crap, I knew it—I KNEW IT! I knew this was how I was gonna shuffle off this mortal coi—
Oh daaaaAAAAANNNNGGGGG!
…
……..
………………………………………….
ONE HOUR LATER, IN THE LIMINAL DIVIDE…
Holy shit, there’s my body, dick in hand…goddammit. Couldn’t I have bled out in the pristine snow, or against a backdrop of Zen-styled nature? Always wanted to go out like a tragic 90s action hero…
Obi Wan Kenobi telepathically shouts, [Oh shit, wassup WASSUP! It’s Kent fucking Wayne, award-winning Man Whore and genre-crossing author!] Obi W daps me up, then clinches it with a welcoming bro-hug. [Let me introduce you to some good astral dudes.] He turns sideways and waves at an expanse of beings. [Got some Grays, Bigfeet, the sleep paralysis hag…she typically just scares the piss outta people, but she said she had a positive relationship with you.]
I lock eyes with a withered old lady. She mimes a wiener in hand, holds it up to her open mouth, pushes her tongue against her inner cheek, and simulates an in-and-out, beej-induced bulge. A second later, she accompanies it with a salacious wink.
[WHOA!] I jump back in shock. Then I rub the back of my neck and offer a tentative smile. I mean, I am a Man Whore and most of my clients aren’t spring chickens, so…
She grabs a fistful of hair on the back of her head, vigorously pumps her noggin up and down, and makes a bunch of wince-inducing gagging noises. OH-kay—THAT’S a little much. So I turn back to Obi and ask, [What do you guys do around here? I imagine there’s a lot of flying…] I turn to either side, watching various entities floating through the ether.
He claps me on the shoulder. [What DON’T we do, motherfucker???] He pulls out a kilo of sugar-white cocaine from the depths of his robe. [Let’s start you off with this kilo of booger sugar, then tease Luke about kissing his sister in Episode IV!] He shakes his head in abject disgust. [Nasty motherfucker. Oh, don’t worry—this one’s for you.] He thrusts the kilo at me, digs in his robe, and produces a second kilo of blow. [I got my own.]
I raise both hands in polite demurral. [Not really my thing.]
[All right.] He shrugs. [Your loss.] Then, with a Force-assisted headbutt, he pierces the kilo with the tip of his noise, and snorfs it all up with jet engine force. [WHOO!] As he rears back and screams in party-bro triumph, his eye-veins pop into stark relief. [Ah said GOT DAMN!!!]
I focus my attention onto the Earthly realm. The aether by my feet parts into a six-foot ring, forming a crystal-clear interdimensional viewing circle. What the fuck…I peer at a naked, walrus-like Elon, nursing a diapered Bill Gates on his swollen right teat. That’s not what concerns me…they’re in some kind of factory…
[Holy SHIT!] I exclaim. [They’re building an army of giant gold robots!]
Coked-out Obi waves a dismissive hand. [Figures. They’re always up to some weird-ass shit—eating human bacon, or worshipping the wart on the head of a demon-cock.]
[I gotta get down there!] I grab Obi-Wan’s shoulder. [We gotta stop them!]
[From doing WHAT?] he asks irritably. [That’s their thing—gold robot armies, human-animal hybrids, pineapples on cheeseburgers…]
Fuck this. I will NOT stand by while they deploy their oligarch-serving gold-robot army! So I open my eReader to a Kent Wayne novel, activating its mind-bending reality distortion powers. Magic flash.
A second later, I find myself reincarnated in a Bigfoot body, rocketing through the ceiling of their gold-robot factory. As I bust through beams and wood and glass, I thunder, “GET OFF THAT TEAT, GODDAMMIT!”
Bill squeals in fright and scampers away on all fours, Gollum-style. Elon sputters in outrage, and bellows, “ALL MUST TASTE MY DELICIOUS MILK! YOU JUST FUCKED WITH THE WRONG BILLIONAIRE, ASSHOLE! YOU—”
That’s as far as he gets before I unwind my giant smelly Bigfoot dick from around my thigh, twirl through the air, and—
“Hi-yo fucking SILVER!”
—mushroom stamp his cheek with the quill-coated head. As he flees. ugly-crying like Will Ferrell at his mid-2000s best, I run between different consoles, trying like hell to figure out how to dismantle the gold robot army. After a minute, I go full 80s action hero, hollering, “FUCK IT!” and smashing controls with my big furry mitts. And what do you know—that does the trick! Explosions and flames erupt behind me, incinerating my body and ejecting my spirit back into the aether.
Kent Wayne wins again! HEH heh heh!
😀
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