“Oh, that’s interesting, Kent.”  My fifth-grade teacher studies my play-doh sculpture.  “A cross between a star destroyer…and a penis.”  Her brow wrinkles in consternation.

“SUPER star destroyer,” I correct.  “This is an Executor-class Dreadnought.  They were present at the Battles of Mako-Ta, Jekara, and Yavin.  Most of the manufacturing took place at Kuat Drive Yards, during the reign of the Galactic—”

“Nerd!”  Tanner Aken, class bully and pubescently-accelerated douchebag, points a finger at my play-doh masterpiece and looks around at his cronies.  “Minions—now is the time!” 

A horde of kids rush my teacher, forcing her out the door and locking it behind her.  Then they close in, darkening my starfighter craft with their encroaching shadows. 

I rise to my feet, holding up my hands in a conciliatory gesture.  “Easy, fuckers—nobody has to die today.  Stand down before I pull your large intestines out from your mouth, small intestines out from your ass, and use your bodies as a bunch of fucked-up jump ropes.”

Tanner brays out laughter.  “We have you outnumbered a dozen to one!  What are you gonna do, asswipe?”  His neander-fuck friends burst into giggles, as if he just delivered a world-class insult, and start giving each other high-fives and chest bumps. 

I point at the shitstain to his left.  “Qris Norvell.  Your dad gets pegged while he’s wearing a wolf suit.  I taped it from my bedroom window.”  Then the one on my far right flank.  “Odyssey Whittle.  Your mom’s been dipping into your Adderall.  When she can’t fill the scrip, she blows the local dealer and scores a little extra.”  Back to the left, three douchebags over.  “Tackle Jefferson.  The bank’s foreclosing on your soulless Mcmansion.  In a couple of months, your parents’ effort to keep up with the Jones’s will lead to a giant fiscal shit in their budgetary mouths.”  Qris, Odyssey, and Tackle start hitching and sobbing.  I shoot them all a malevolent grin.  “Only a matter of time before your moms start banging their big-dicked tennis trainers.  And for the love of fuck, change your names.  You all sound like a church-grown boy band that failed at their debut and turned into a bunch of roofie-slinging frat bo—”

“ENOUGH!”  Tanner levels a finger at my face.  “RIP HIM APART!”

No options left.  So I open my eReader to a Kent Wayne novel, activating its mind-bending reality distortion powers.  Magic flash. 

All of existence opens before me.  I direct my intent through some different possibilities, collapse a series of quantum potentials…

Voila!  I’ve aged twenty five years in the span of a second.  Not only that, but my enemies’ moms have materialized before me, groping my big ol’ peen as it bounces between my knees like the dude at the end of an extra-springy bungee rope. 

“I’m sick of you brats!”  Qris’s mom drops to her knees and smacks my girthy upcurve on her outstretched tongue.  “Gonna get me a much-deserved widening from this grade-A Man Whore!” 

As my enemies burst into hysterical tears, I give them an it-is-what-it-is, that’s-the-way-the-cookie-crumbles type of shrug.  “Shouldn’t have made fun of me for my Executor-class Star Destroyer.”

Kent Wayne wins again!  HEH heh heh!

😀

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