Nothing beats an afternoon nap. Stretch my arms overhead, big ol’ yawn, and—
Directly above me, a bleached asshole spasms and dilates.
“What the—NO!” I scrabble downward just in time. As Amber Heard expels a foot-long dook, I fall off the bed in a tangle of sheets. Craggy shit steams from my pillow, marking the spot where I lay a second prior.
She yanks up her pants and gives me a raspberry. Two quick strides, then she dives through my window and rolls onto the lawn. I run to the window and yell, “What the FUCK?!?!?!”
Before she can answer, funnels of smoke pour from her ears. She jigs in place, flailing and twitching, then collapses on my lawn in a crumpled heap.
Holy shit! A robot!
I sprint out my door and onto the lawn, crouching beside her as electric bolts fritz across her skin. “Who sent you?” I demand, shaking her by the arms. “WHO?”
She opens her mouth wide, projecting a wide blue cone of holographic light. A dick-like head blinks into existence, mocking me with a sinister grin.
“Bezos!” I gasp. “You’re sending evil robots to shit on peoples’ beds? Why?”
Jeff shrugs. “Went to space, saved some whales…only so much I can do before I get bored.”
“You won’t get away with this!” I sputter. “As Batman is my witness, I swear I’ll—”
“Yeah?” he sneers. “What are you gonna do, writer-boy? I command an army of beautiful shit-robots—the newest models are ten times hotter, ten times shittier! No one escapes my shit-tinged wrath—NO ONE!” He slashes the air with an angry backhand, his features twisting with lunatic rage.
“We’ll see about that,” I hiss. Then I open my eReader to a Kent Wayne novel, tapping into its reality-distortion powers. Magic flash.
“What the—” Bezos looks around, stunned and surprised. “How’d you teleport me into the back of a cop car?”
“Don’t know and don’t care. All that matters is that you can’t get out.” I reach over to the console and crank up the heat.
He laughs disbelievingly. “You think uncomfortably high temperatures will break my will?”
“That’s only part of it,” I reply, lifting a buttcheek and silently releasing a hissy fart. “You wanna sic shit-robots on the innocent masses? Reap what you sow, asshole, reap what you sow.” Then I pause and cock my head. “Smells like bread, doesn’t it?” (People love the smell of fresh-baked bread—it’s the perfect way to ambush ’em with farts).
Bezos takes a reflexive sniff. “Bread? What are you—” Then it hits. As he breaks into a series of violent coughs, necrotic black veins crawl across his skin. “You FUCKER!” He lays on the seat and tries to kick out the window, but it ain’t gonna happen—the glass is reinforced. “Oh God, the heat makes it so much worse! I can’t—” He stops talking, wracked by another fit of savage coughs.
“Please!” he gasps, slamming up against the grill between the front and back seats. The vessels in his eyes start to burst, speckling the whites with hellish red. “PLEASE!”
“Oh, look.” I nod at the filthy brown cloud formed from my gasses. “You’re in for a treat—this only happens with omega-level breakup farts. The forecast for today is melted faces and death-ravaged bones.”
As the rain begins to fall, skin sloughs off Bezos’s frame, congealing into a gory puddle across the back seats. Pretty soon, all that’s left is a hollow-eyed skeleton.
That’s what you get for shitting on my bed! Kent Wayne wins again!
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