“Help! HELP!” Kent Wayne’s scrotum yells.
“What? Huh?” I snuffle-snort awake. “What the hell?”
His nuts try and suck up into his speedo, but it’s no use—they’re pendulous as hell, they’ve plopped out of the hammock, and there’s no way they’re gonna shloop back inside. “This fucker fell asleep in the sun! I’m burnt as hell man! Now I sound as crinkly as I look—like a goddamn handful of char-grilled cellophane!””
Figures. This dickhole treats his genitals like disposable commodities. Never uses lube, tattoos me like a lightsaber (yeah, it’s as stupid as it sounds—the shaft is grungy sci-fi cool, with all the buttons and ridges inked in painstaking detail, while the glans are colored in neon green. Who the fuck has a goddamn lightsaber where the plasma blade is nothing but a rounded green nub?)
“Don’t forget me!” his butthole chimes in. “He tattooed a goddamn apple around me, then a worm coming out with a book in its mouth! What idiot thinks ‘bookworm,’ and decides to get it tattooed coming out of their ass???”
“Agh!” His balls twist and flinch. “HELP!”
Fuck it. No options left. I rocket out of his undies and open his eReader to a Kent Wayne novel, activating its mind-bending reality distortion powers. Magic flash.
I double in size and become full-on prehensile. That allows me to descend on his unsuspecting noggin and envelop his skull in the remains of my foreskin. He wakes up and starts screaming into my folds. He tries to pry me off, but I trap his hands in wads of penis-flesh.
As we sprint past sunbathers, they stare at Kent in open-mouthed shock. It’s not every day that you see a dude who’s been human-centipeded onto his own wiener, hands trapped in its smeg-sticky depths.
That’s what you get, Kent Wayne! HEH heh heh!
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Dirty Sci-Fi Buddha 