Echo: A Dystopian Science Fiction Novel [Reblog]

Has some fake-ass eighties martial arts star attempted to draw you into an evil nest of odorous underboob?

Not me, but reading this promotion piece for Kent Wayne’s Dystopian Novel, Echo, makes me wish I had…

My lower lip trembles.  My right eye wells with a tear, threatening to spill over and wet my cheek.

I’m staring down at my two-years-in-a-row, Didn’t-Pee-Your-Pants Coin.  On one side, it’s got Billy Madison (ironic, I know—he’s the one who said: “Peein’ your pants is the COOLEST thing to do!”) giving me a cheese-eating grin, a wink, and a double-thumbs up.  On the other, it’s got an emblazoned GOOD JOB, KENT! in big bold letters.

All that hard work was definitely worth it. Saved thousands of dollars on dry-cleaning bills, as well as TENS of thousands on extraneous medical bills (constant exposure to ammonia isn’t the best thing for your skin).  Now I get this beautiful golden coin. Thank the motherfriggin’ Maker that—

And then Steven Seagal ruins it in less than a second.  He bursts through the wall like a perverted version of the Kool Aid Guy, but instead of saying “Oh YEAH!” he lifts his right titty up and looks me dead in the eye.  But that’s not what causes me to drench my pants with terror-urine.

It’s when he says, “Smell my underboob.”

No—NO! I turn and run, but somehow, through his perversion-borne, fake-martial-arts powers, he rips his clothing off (dude’s now dressed in an over-strained speedo) and blurs in front of me, blocking the way forward in an anime-style crouch.  I turn around to run the other way, but he grabs my ankle and I flop to the ground.

“Finger’s going in the butt,” he says in a deadpan voice.  “Four knuckles deep.”

Ahhh! AHHHHH!!!!  I claw at the floor, but he holds me fast.  Fucking Steven Seagal—I always suspected he was a super-powered deviant!

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

A big-ass Hummer—it’s got pictures of big-ass cupcakes and steam-wreathed pies drawn onto its doors, as well as a giant Food Network logo emblazoned on its front and back—crashes through the wall, causing me and Steven to duck reflexively back from a blast of drywall.

“HE’S MINE, SEAGAL!” Martha Stewart blares from an external, ceiling-mounted bullhorn.  “GET YOUR FAKE-ASS AIKIDO HANDS OFF MY MAN WHORE!”

Steven Seagal rises to his feet.  He voices a sinister chuckle and his giant belly jiggles a single time, causing a wave of blub to roll across his skin.

“Not gonna happen.  My underboob needs smelling.  And Kent’s the one to do it.”

Martha’s eyes narrow in disgust.  “You’re out of your fucking mind.  You have been for the last two decades.”

He cricks his neck to either side.  “We talking?  Or fighting?”

“RUAAAAHHHH!!!” Martha charges, letting loose with a Punisher-worthy scream.

Steven meets her charge, chopping the air with both hands.  “REX KWON DO!”

I take off running, crying like a bitch and peeing my pants again.  Fuck the challenge coin—I NEED TO GET OUTTA HERE!

*Theme from ‘Requiem for a Dream’*

For more awesome stuff like this, head over to Kent’s site, dirtyscifibuddha.com and find out more about the dystopian world of Echo, as well as musings from an overthinker…

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