Now that the CIA has made it known that astral projection is real and the universe we live in is an energy hologram (https://www.cia.gov/library/readingroom/docs/CIA-RDP96-00788R001700210016-5.pdf), it’s time to get to fucking work. I sit down in my chair, bite down on my mouthpiece (it makes me look extra cool, like Neo before he jacks into a cyberpunk wonderland), and utter my neuromemetic key:
“Six inches long (that’s measured PROPERLY from the top for all you fucking cheaters out there), five and a half inches in circumference, diamond hard, with a distinct upcurve.”
(I’m talking about bananas silly—you’s NASTY! 😁)
Oh daaaaaAAANNNG!!!
I go rocketing out of my matter-tethered body, flying through existence at the speed of intention. Time and space appear in their true form: as a toric loop bound into a two-way flow. The illusion of solid matter disappears, allowing me to perceive everything as consolidated grids of vibrating energy, connected by the Absolute known as Love, Laughter and Dreams.
I’m about to trip a set of psychogenic circuit-breakers (they’ll wind down the virus and allow us to get back to our regular lives), when suddenly—
“OOH HOO HA HA! MWAHAHA! TOO LITTLE TOO LATE, KENT—I’VE ALREADY INFECTED THE MULTIVERSAL SUB-MIND!”
Oh no! It’s Grammar Nazi Prime—He of the Checklists and Red Pen Corrections! He’s blocking my access to an astral reset!
“FUCK OFF!” I scream. “THINGS ARE GETTING WORSE BY THE GODDAMN DAY! KANYE’S RUNNING FOR PRESIDENT, FOR FUCK’S SAKE!!!”
“A small price to pay to thwart your designs, Kent! I’ve had enough of your sci fi rubbish! And now you have the temerity to write YA fantasy? Children need outdated literature, dammit! Your dashing tales of robots and swordplay have no place in the annals of writing!”
I can feel his prudishness pulsing and throbbing, filling the aether with Small Dick Energy.
Fuck it. No options left. I open my eReader to Kor’Thank, activating its reality distortion powers. Magic flash.
Big Dick Energy erupts from my thought-form, counteracting Grammar Nazi Prime’s withered excuse for a microscopic phallus. As he goes hurtling into the depths of Void, he curses me with all his nerdish might:
“Damn you, Kent Wayne! DAAAAAMMMMNNNN YOOOOOUUUuuuuu…”
Ha HA! Kent Wayne wins again!
😀
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