I know I should write, but there’s a bunch of new clips on myfriendshotmom dot com! Yep, you guessed it—time to man-handle the ham candle!
Big squirt o’ lube and it’s off to the races. To help with the vibe, I hum the Star Wars Battle Theme whilst burping the worm (It’s also a fun tune when you’re squeezing past carts at the local grocery store, or airplane-ing a treat around before giving it to your dog). A couple minutes in, I realize something’s horribly wrong. This isn’t lube, what the…
GORILLA GLUE???
My screen lights up with a jawline-devoid face. His thin-lipped mouth stretches into a smile. “Hello, Kent. I see that adhesive has made its way into your lubricant.”
“Grammar Nazi Prime!” I fume. “You won’t get away with this!”
“You defile literature with atrocious syntax, disgusting adverbs and supposed ‘creative’ punctuation.” Below his severely receded hairline, his pasty-white forehead crinkles with rage. “To add insult to injury, you’re extremely well-endowed and attractively muscular. No one gets it all—writers are meant to look like George R.R. Martin!”
“Gatekeeping fuckgobble!” I scream. “Martin triggered a wave of incest porn—he deserves a hell of a lot worse than his resemblance to a cranky Hobbit wizard! Also, I can’t help it if my dick is girthy and deliciously curved, while also being blessed with the perfect amount of eye-pleasing melanin! I bet yours resembles an evil baby mole-rat that burrows into people’s skulls so it can feed off the nutrients in their unguarded brai—”
“Shut up shut up SHUT UP!” GNP roars. He jumps out of his chair and runs off screen. For the next few seconds, I hear him striking a punching bag and howling, “Hate you hate you HATE YOU!” Then he plops into frame, slightly disheveled and breathing noticeably heavy. “Now is the winter of my discontent. I’ve exposed you to a series of subliminal QR codes. You can shut off your computer, but the milf-porn will keep playing inside your mind. Due to your brutish need for release, your hand will fall prey to your baser urges—it’ll move up and down without conscious direction, while still being glued to the skin of your genitals. Farewell, Kent. Your penis will soon be a mutilated lump.” The screen goes black.
I can already see it. My vision is flooded with translucent porn, equivalent to an augmented reality x-rated overlay. Just like he predicted, my hand starts twitching and jerking.
I’m about to lay waste to my milf-fucking dick.
So I open my eReader to a Kent Wayne novel, activating its mind-bending reality distortion powers. Magic flash.
The glue disappears, allowing my hand to burst into action. Right as I bust, the screen lights up, showing Grammar Nazi Prime erupting with maniacal laughter. At the same time, an interdimensional portal teleports my nut and deluges him across the face neck and chest. In less than a second, he goes from clutching the air and howling like a cartoon villain, to projectile vomiting and spinning/slamming against all four walls, courtesy of my ridiculous ejaculatory force. He ricochets off the floor and the ceiling before I pin him against the far left corner. He screams unintelligibly (also cries and barfs) while flailing and thrashing like he’s fighting for his life.
Ha! That’s what you get for trynna injure my womb-hammer! Beautiful-genitaled writers unite—take no shit from these low-down Grammar Nazis!
Has a mean-spirited nerd made it their raison dêtre to shit on your writing? Never fear! Buy my books and teleport your gametes onto their face neck and chest!
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