Tag: art
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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,…
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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…
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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,”…
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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…
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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.…
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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…
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Musings
Most of what I draft is a conceptual placeholder–in one of my books, I cut out 67% of the drafted material, going from 435k words to 143k words. In the first draft, there’s some gems here and there, but it’s mostly just dirt that keeps the gems in place, and highlights their shine so I…
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Yet another weird ad for my novels
Goddamn…why am I staring down at my face? No, don’t tell me… “HE’S DEAD!!!” A horde of milfs crowd my body, obstructing it from my aerial perspective. “This award-winning Man Whore deserves to be in a museum!” They all burst out in murmurs of assent. “We only have so much ice, which means we can’t…
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Give my books a read and a review!
What the Fart Pact is happening, all you covenant-breakers who’re sitting in a group of mildly-well-acquainted folks who are all wrinkling their noses and pretending not to notice because one of you—ONE OF YOU—just tried to sneak a silent one past the group but it fell fucking short and now all of you are trying…
Kent Wayne 