UP IN ASGARD:

“Look at this fucker.”  Odin narrows his one remaining eye, peers over a cloud and stares at the disgusting being known as Kent Wayne.  “What a piece of shit.”

Thor walked up to his father, casually swinging Mjolnir to either side of him.  “What’s wrong?”

Odin flings a disbelieving hand down toward Midgard.  “All he does is jerk off and watch Justice League Unlimited!  Sometimes he jerks off TO Justice League Unlimited!”

Thor wrinkles his brow, puzzled.  “JLU was an awesome show.”

“That ended TWELVE years ago!  Fucking Kent Wayne still can’t stop humming along to its opening theme!  It’s driving me INSANE!”

“What are you going to do to him?”

“I don’t know.”  Odin’s eye narrows again.  “Something.”

 

DOWN ON MIDGARD:

Doo bee doo bee doooo….doo bitty doo bitty dooo…..

DOOBIT!

(I’m a self-proclaimed master of the Art of Doo Bee)

Hmm…I think I’m in the mood for some more Justice League Unlimited!  I love that one where Batman tells Superman to go fuck himself with a giant horse cock!  (actually, I think the exact words he used were “You don’t get to joke,” and “I just took a bullet for you” but whatevs)

Anyways, I’ve arranged my pizza and mountain dew in a careful semicircle, ready to get Dark Knight AF, when suddenly, a yoked-ass old man materializes in my living room.  His arms are crossed, and he’s got a patch over his left eye.

“I am going to fuck you up, Kent Wayne.”

“Uh…what?”

Then he extends a lightning-wreathed hand at me and shoots jagged bolts of energy out from his fingertips.  I’m enveloped in excruciating arcs of electric fire; my hair dances like Miley Cyrus after an all-night coke-binge, while my balls jiggle and flail like Chris Farley when he went astral in Beverly HIlls Ninja.

“NNNNNNNNNNN!!!!”

No options left.  I reach over to my eReader and open it to Echo, activating its reality distortion powers.  Magic flash.

Sperm begins erupting from my wiener, coating my entire studio in vast swaths of white gunk.  The smell is overwhelming—due to my all-pizza diet, my seed smells like Gary Busey’s sweaty asscrack after he’s spend a full day rubbing it up against Whoopi Goldberg’s.  Odin’s one eye bugs out of its socket as he clutches his neck, sputtering and hacking.

He manages to yell, “FUCK YOU, KENT WAYNE!” before he dematerializes into a drift of sparks.

 

UP IN ASGARD:

Thor stumbles back in shock, watching Odin rematerialize on his throne.

“Father!  What happened?”

“Nothing,” Odin manages.  “Forget about it.”

“What about Kent Wayne?  Did you get him to stop watching Justice League Unlimited?”

Odin turns haunted eyes onto his son.  “There’s no stopping him.  I didn’t get any on me, but sweet Christ, the smell alone…”

He cups his face with his hands, and begins sobbing uncontrollably.

 

Is some cranky old bastard trying to get you to stop watching your favorite show?  Never fear!  Get Echo Vol. 1 on Kindle here:  Vol. 1 on Kindle.  Vol. 2 on Kindle here:  Vol.2 on Kindle  Vol. 3 on Kindle here:  Vol. 3 on Kindle  Echo Vol. 1 & 2 Combined Edition here:  Combined Edition  Also, my buddy Jumar Balacy has made a supercool microsite at kentwaynebrain.com!  Go check out his computer-based wizardry  🙂 🙂 😀

Hold on!  I just got approved to be an Amazon affiliate!  If you’re going to buy ANY product from Amazon, and you’d like to support my efforts for absolutely free, then simply click on one of the Echo links I’ve provided—they’ll send you to Echo’s Amazon page—and THEN buy whatever product you wish.  Amazon gives me a small referral fee each time this happens!  In this manner you can support my books, musings, podcast, zany ads, or my adventures along the noble path known as The Way of The Man Child WITHOUT spending any more money than you were already going to!  Should you do this, I vow to send you a silent blessing, causing your genitals to adopt the optimum size, shape, smell, and death-ray attachment of choice that paralyzes your enemies with fear and envy!  Entire worlds will bow before your nether parts!  😲💪 😜

FIFTEEN MINUTES AGO:

“By the Force!”  Obi Wan waves his hand in front of his nose, wrinkling his eyes in disgust.  “Padawan Wayne—must you fill my starfighter with your inner foulness?”

“I’m sorry!” I blurt, my cheeks flushing bright red.  “Going into hyperspace makes me gassy!”

“It’s fine,” he grunts, activating the canopy release.  “We’re here.”  The Sun Skipper’s cockpit raises up and we both hop out.

“Where exactly is ‘here?’ ”  I glance around, taking in the vast, towering walls made of colored crystal.

“Lindelthi.  Me and a few other Jedi formed a secret club so we could blow off steam when no one’s looking.”

We start walking across a bridge made of glowing basalt.

“Secret club?  So you’re offering me membership?”

Obi Wan grins at me from over his shoulder.

“Kent Wayne…today is the best day of your fucking life.”

 

NOW:

“DRINK!  DRINK!  DRINK!  DRINK!”

My eyes bulge as foaming liquid spills from my lips, courtesy of the beer bong Mace Windu is holding over my head.  I gulp down the last ounce, throw my head back, and let loose with a triumphant roar:

“I AM ALL THAT IS MAAAAAAANNNNN!!!!”

Yoda, Anakin, Ahsoka, and Obi Wan start pounding their chests like meth’d up apes, celebrating my accomplishment with their own party cry:

“WHOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!”

I get up from the Beer Throne and start bumping chests with them.  “Uh!  Uh!  THA’S what I’m talking about!  YEAH!”

Obi Wan encircles my neck and gives me a friendly noogie.  “That’s my Padawan—THAT’S my Padawan!”  He starts leading me around the party lounge, his arm circled around my neck.  “What do you think, Kent?”

“Man…” I glance sideways and watch Yoda snort a line of coke off a Chagrian hooker’s buttcheek.  I look back at my master.  “I don’t know WHAT to think!”

Obi Wan chuckles.  “Sometimes these stupid-ass robes get a little tight, know w’um sayin’?  Every now and then, us Jedis need to get a little high and get our fuck on.”

Ahsoka takes her third hit off a DMT pipe, and her eyes go wide with apocalyptic wonder.  She collapses back onto a beanbag, yelling, “I AM ALL THAT WAS AND ALL THAT EVER WILL BE!”  She shoots both index fingers at me, her all-seeing pupils twitching and quivering.  “YOU MY JEDI, KENT!”

I shoot my fingers right back at her, returning the gesture.  “No—you MY Jedi!”  Then we both bust out in maniacal laughter.

We all start dancing to a remixed version of Kool and the Gang’s Jungle Boogie when suddenly Anakin, our impromptu DJ, cuts off the music and screams:  “DARTH SOCCER MOMS HAVE LANDED!  FLUSH IT OR EAT IT!”

Yoda starts galumphing down psychedelic mushrooms, grunting and squealing in panic.  “No!  Evilest of enemies they are!” while Mace chows down on a sheet of brownies, taking in like 10,000 milligrams of THC in less than a minute.  He vomits, bursts into tears, then forces himself to keep going, blubbering and sobbing as he forces down edible after edible.

Obi Wan’s nowhere to be seen.  “What’s so bad about soccer moms?” I ask, looking from side to side.  “I happen to like them, especial—”

A Star Runner docks right outside the party lounge.  A ramp extends from its belly, and a quartet of armored soccer moms walks out.  A second later, the door bangs open, and they look around disgustedly, their hands on their hips.  Soccer Mom Prime issues a command, her voice threaded with Dark Side energy:

“STOP!”

Her Force-augmented command takes hold of our minds and we freeze in our tracks.  Soccer Mom Prime starts walking through the lounge, her sphincter-puckering steps echoing in the silence.

“You bunch of low-down, fuckfaced deviants.  You think you can hack into my consoles and leave anonymous dick and pussy pics on them without repercussions?”

High-as-fuck Mace clutches his head, looking around in sheer panic.  “I’m gonna die.  I’M ALREADY DEAD!”  Yoda can’t stop giggling, while Anakin keeps rubbing his belly, moaning like his asshole’s being eaten by a two-tongued Tyrax.

Soccer Mom Prime scoffs, shakes her head, and turns to her crew.  “Saber the fuck out of them.”

PSSSHHH-VMMMmmmmm.  Four lightsabers blaze into existence.  Oh SHIT!

No options left.  So I reach into my robes and open my eReader to Echo, activating its reality distortion powers.

My clothes disappear in a blinking twitch, and my giant cock suddenly becomes prehensile.  Me and Wiener twerk our way over to the DJ table and turn the music back on.  The disco ball overhead lights up and starts spinning again.  A hip-hop remix of Taylor Swift’s “Style” blasts through the air.

At first the soccer moms look at me with slight smiles, their feet tapping the floor in time with the rhythm, and then before I know it, we’re all bumping and grinding on the dance floor, taking hits off the beer bong and singing as loudly as we can.  WHOOOOOO!!!!

 

THE NEXT MORNING:

Obi Wan leans against me, his red-veined eyes fixed on the ground.  We make our way over to the Sun Skipper and get in the cockpit.  As he fires up the thrusters, he stares straight ahead and utters seven words in a deadened monotone:

“Let us never speak of this.  EVER.”

 

Has your interstellar get-down been interrupted by vengeful soccer moms?  Never fear!  Get Echo Vol. 1 on Kindle here:  Vol. 1 on Kindle.  Vol. 2 on Kindle here:  Vol.2 on Kindle  Vol. 3 on Kindle here:  Vol. 3 on Kindle  Echo Vol. 1 & 2 Combined Edition here:  Combined Edition I’ve started a podcast:  Logical Idiots!  If you want to check it out on YouTube, see it here:  Logical Idiots on YouTube and help two complete morons out by subscribing, liking, and commenting!  Here’s the iTunes page:  Logical Idiots on iTunes.  Also, my buddy Jumar Balacy has made a supercool microsite at kentwaynebrain.com!  Go check out his computer-based wizardry  🙂 🙂 😀

Hold on!  I just got approved to be an Amazon affiliate!  If you’re going to buy ANY product from Amazon, and you’d like to support my efforts for absolutely free, then simply click on one of the Echo links I’ve provided—they’ll send you to Echo’s Amazon page—and THEN buy whatever product you wish.  Amazon gives me a small referral fee each time this happens!  In this manner you can support my books, musings, podcast, zany ads, or my adventures along the noble path known as The Way of The Man Child WITHOUT spending any more money than you were already going to!  Should you do this, I vow to send you a silent blessing, causing your genitals to adopt the optimum size, shape, smell, and death-ray attachment of choice that paralyzes your enemies with fear and envy!  Entire worlds will bow before your nether parts!  😲💪 😜

The hunchbacked, bugeyed receptionist gives me a yellow-toothed grin.

“Will you be paying in flesh or currency, young master?”

I look nervously from side to side, taking in the large cobwebs looming in the corners, the dusty oak, the tarnished filigree, and adjust the tote bag hanging from my shoulder.  “I’m sorry—what did you just say?”

“Cash or credit?”

“Credit.”  I hand him my card and he takes hold of it between his rickety, black-nailed fingers.  After he swipes it, his old-school, black-and-green monitor flashes with the message:  TRANSACTION APPROVED.

He hands it back to me along with a notched key.  “Room 1313.  Mind your step—it’s a bit behind on…renovations, shall we say.  Heh heh heh!”

I glance at his name tag.  “Thanks Sam.”

“It’s Samael.”

“Mm hm.  I’ll see you around, yeah?”

As I walk away, Samael clutches the air and throws his wispy-haired head back, erupting with maniacal laughter.

What a weird motherfucker.

I make my way up to 1313, avoiding the fist-sized spiders that skitter furtively across the ground (one of them is big enough to squeal after it bumps up against the wall).  I put my key in the door, turn it, and step into my room.

As the door swings wide, I spot someone sitting in a chair, staring out the window.  Due to the faint reflection from the rain-spattered glass, I can see he’s tented his fingers over his chest.  Lightning flashes outside, carving a brilliant jag into the unforgiving night.

KRAK-A-BOOM.

The guy gets up, smoothing the front of his tuxedo with a pale, withered hand.  He turns and faces me, his lips split open in a sallow smile.  Oh FUCK.

Emo-poet!

He spreads his arms.  “What do you think of my new digs, Kent Wayne?”

“I think it’s an unholy breeding ground for Twilight-loving fucksticks that have exceeded their sigh-quota by a billion percent.  Do you have fun sighing in here, you sighing piece of shit?”

He chuckles softly and begins pacing.  “Funny.  You sir, are a funny guy.  I’m going to enjoy unraveling your mind.”

“I will pull your spleen out your starfish, you gungy-cocked piece of—”

He shakes his head, tsk-tsking.  “Not going to happen.  Want to know why?  I’ve brought a friend this time—you may know him as Grammar Nazi Prime.”

The shadows gather on the floor, and congeal into a hairless, bespectacled nerd.  My nuts shrink into a thimble-sized wrinkle that would look right at home at the end of a witch’s wart-ridden nose.

Emo-poet grins maliciously.  “You work for us now.  And should the mood strike me, your asshole will satisfy my anal proclivities.”

“Like FUCK IT WILL!”  I reach into my pocket and open my eReader to Echo, activating its reality distortion powers.  Magic flash.

Grammar Nazi Prime reaches up to his forehead and unzips his skin.  Chuck Norris wriggles out of it, his bowflexed muscles bulging in his armless, 1980s-powered denim outfit.  He hop-skips forward and bends the laws of physics by throwing a perfect roundhouse kick in the tightest jeans imaginable, hitting Emo-poet square in the kisser.

“ ’MERCA!”

Emo-poet stumbles back, crying and moaning through his dislocated jaw.  He tries to say something, but Chuck rushes forward and—

“KIAI!”

—snaps the dude’s neck.  As Emo-poet’s lifeless body collapses to the floor, Chuck dusts off his hands, nodding to himself like a satisfied handyman.

“Attemptin’ to corrupt Kent with yer god-hatin’ Commie speech, eh?  That’ll be seven Hail Mary’s and a go fuck yerself while I cornhole yer mother!”  He puts his hands on his hips and looks me up and down.  “How’s it goin’ pussy?  Wanna lift some weights, then jerk off to ourselves while we look in the mirror?”

“Uh, that’s not really my cup of—”

He flaps a dismissive hand at me.  “Ah, get out of here with your weak sauce bitch-speak!”  Then he charges toward the window and launches into a somersault, crashing through the glass beard-first.  He disappears from view, but I can hear his trailing victory-scream for nearly a minute.

Craziness!  But whatevs—just another day in the life of Man Child and author Kent Wayne!  😀

Are you trapped in a creepily cliche house of horrors where you’re about to be assaulted with some bunk-ass poetery?  Never fear!  Get Echo Vol. 1 on Kindle here:  Vol. 1 on Kindle.  Vol. 2 on Kindle here:  Vol.2 on Kindle  Vol. 3 on Kindle here:  Vol. 3 on Kindle  Echo Vol. 1 & 2 Combined Edition here:  Combined Edition I’ve started a podcast:  Logical Idiots!  If you want to check it out on YouTube, see it here:  Logical Idiots on YouTube and help two complete morons out by subscribing, liking, and commenting!  Here’s the iTunes page:  Logical Idiots on iTunes.  Also, my buddy Jumar Balacy has made a supercool microsite at kentwaynebrain.com!  Go check out his computer-based wizardry  🙂 🙂 😀

Hold on!  I just got approved to be an Amazon affiliate!  If you’re going to buy ANY product from Amazon, and you’d like to support my efforts for absolutely free, then simply click on one of the Echo links I’ve provided—they’ll send you to Echo’s Amazon page—and THEN buy whatever product you wish.  Amazon gives me a small referral fee each time this happens!  In this manner you can support my books, musings, podcast, zany ads, or my adventures along the noble path known as The Way of The Man Child WITHOUT spending any more money than you were already going to!  Should you do this, I vow to send you a silent blessing, causing your genitals to adopt the optimum size, shape, smell, and death-ray attachment of choice that paralyzes your enemies with fear and envy!  Entire worlds will bow before your nether parts!  😲💪 😜