Tag: art
-
A zany and profane ad for upcoming changes to my website (yep, that’s what AI thinks I look like)
Bezos busts through the wall, sighting in on me with dozens of unnecessarily visible aiming-lasers, mounted on the shoulders of his billion-dollar mech-suit. “What the fuck?” I jump out of bed and cover my gigantic penis with a nearby pillow. A band of shadow descends on his eyes. “Penis…ROCKETS!” No time to think—I leap and…
-
Musings
I believe at a certain point along one’s journey, it becomes evident that external victories are predictable in their fleeting, temporary fulfillment. At this point, I believe the perspective begins to turn inward, and though not a lick of difference might be seen (even while the same or greater effort may be directed toward an…
-
Yet another weird ad for my novels
My ex kicks me out of her moving car. Asphalt bites into my shoulders and ribs—OW, FUCK, MOTHER OF SHIT—before I come to a stop in the ratty-ass weeds. It takes me an hour of wriggling and squirming, but I finally worm free of the ties around my wrists. Fuck, that hurt. I stand up…
-
-
Yet another weird ad for my novels
Wait—what? Men are spontaneously dropping dead? Wait—WHAT? I’m the last one alive? Hold on—ZZRP—I just got teleported into a stadium-full of women, and they’re swarming me like fast-zombies from World War Z, leaping through the air with their mouths fully open, in an attempt to encompass my girthy upcurve? ARE YOU KIDDING ME??? THANK YOU,…
-
Give my books a read and a review!
What the superspy-battle is happening, all you chic lethal assassins who’ve accosted your mortal nemesis in a high-rise elevator made of glass and steel and custom-built alloy, you’re exchanging punches/elbows/knees in the clinch and avoiding wild swipes with exotic knives while looking hella badass in your highly fashionable GQ businesswear, on pure instinct you hit…
-
Yet another weird ad for my novels
“What the fuck?” My soccer mom clients are seated on either side of me. Someone abducted us, assembled us in an otherwise empty theater, and tied us to rows of front-facing chairs. “Did you do this?” I shoot a glance at a soccer mom. “Why?” I strain against my ropes. “Don’t be an idiot, Kent,”…
-
Give my books a read and a review!
What the butt-card-swipe is happening, all you disgruntled mofos who have that ONE ANNOYING FRIEND who thinks it’s the HEIGHT OF FUCKING HILARITY to wait until your asscrack is exposed and jump in with their credit card so they can slide unforgiving plastic down your butt and over the bisected wrinkles of your fear-puckered dirt…
-
Yet another weird ad for my novels
“We found it,” Darth Maul hisses. “Your little black client book—it’s FUCKING FILTHY!” Darth Maul extends a hand, freezing me in place with his Dark Side energy. “HRRGH.” I try and fight it, but there’s nothing there for me to grab. Headrush-sparkles dance through my vision—pretty soon, it’s gonna start closing in at the edges.…
-
Give my books a read and a review!
What the spider-monkey doggy-style is happening, all you sexual black belts who’re hitting it from behind while hunched over like Gollum, clenching your teeth as your sack bounces off the clit and elicits a series of ego-spiking moans, suddenly your left hamstring cramps the fuck up, veins pop out on your temples as you grunt-scream…
Kent Wayne 