“What’s the verdict, sir?”  The question is being asked by Snerdles, my boss’s right-hand middle-manager and chief ass-kisser.  I’ve been carted out to the desert and I’m walking the plank, standing over a sarlacc pit monster.  My boss rubs his dad-bod belly and does an uncannily accurate Jabba laugh.  “Cast him in!”  I’m walked out,…

My Ex is running after me, blasts of hurricane force jetting from her lips.  She’s taken my money, my stuff, damn near my sanity…now she wants my loyal 10 lb. terrier-buddy Bitefighter.  Me and Bitefighter are scrambling through the streets, wide-eyed, gasping for air.  “DOWN!” I yell, covering Bitefighter with my torso.  The Ex lets…

For a split-second, the Bolstrom helmet lifts off my face.  I’m in a giant, steel-paneled lab, surrounded by corporate eunuchs/scientists.  One of them—yellowed-teeth, receded hairline, coke-bottle thick glasses—smiles at me and lowers the helmet.  The last words I hear are, “Sleep.  Dream.  BWAHAHAHA!”  Suddenly, I’m inhabiting a wasted dadbod, complete with microphallus, trudging back to…