“You and me!” I yell as we bungee-jump off the bridge. “Best buds for life!”
“For LIFE!” my penis yells back.
We re-declare our bond with each new adventure: skydiving, jet-skiing, snowboarding, crocheting…then, as we’re dancing the night away at an Ibiza rave, sharp pain erupts from his glans.
“What—who the hell?” I look wildly around, but his attacker has vanished into the crowd.
I cradle Wiener in my arms. “You’re gonna make it, I promise!” I scan his shaft, zeroing in on a small pair of holes near the top of his frenulum.
“Hurry…” he mumbles. Then he passes out.
FOUR WEEKS LATER…
I’ve tried everything—EVERYTHING. Regenerative therapy, top-tier urologists, the best acupuncturists in the goddamn world…nothing works. All he wants to do is sleep in a coffin-shaped fleshlight.
“Come on,” I beg, tears streaking both my cheeks. “Best buds for life, man—best buds for life!”
Wiener remains unresponsive. Before I can voice another plea, glowing mist swirls under my door, forming into an unmistakable cape-limned figure.
“I have come for what’s mine,” Dracula intones.
“You!” I fix the vampire with a furious glare. “I should have fucking known!”
“Muurrrghh…” Wiener stirs in my arms. “So…hungry…”
Dracula flares his cape, raises his fingers in a classic oogie-boogie gesture, and gives me a fang-heavy, red-eyed snarl. “Surrender to the inevi—”
As I give him the finger, I open my eReader to a Kent Wayne novel, activating its mind-bending reality-distortion powers. Magic flash.
Wiener elongates in a burst of flesh, punching straight through the roof and ripping it clean off the walls. The full moon glares into my bedroom, highlighting the vampire as he cranes back in shock.
That’s all he gets out before Wiener plummets downward, slamming Dracula’s head into his undead torso. One moment he’s a recognizable human-shaped figure, the next he’s a mess of bone-skewered organs. Wiener pumps up and down for good fucking measure, making the Hulk-Loki beating look like G-rated weak sauce.
Once he’s done, Wiener rears back into the full moon sky, unleashing a triumphant roar from his gore-strewn dicklips. I wince and cover both my ears, but rest assured—I’m smiling on the inside. Who needs stakes or silver bullets, amirite?
Kent Wayne wins again! HEH heh heh!
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