Now that the Demarcus Ganaway Era has begun, we will begin seeing changes.

My cousin is a roadie in north Jersey. His equipment transport was stopped at a diner in Eatontown this morning, and as they were leaving the place he says he witnessed something marvelous.

Two old women were fighting in the parking lot. Quite near the transport actually. When I say 'fighting', I do not mean a verbal altercation. Fists were thrown, and wrinkled breasts were bared.

As my cousin and his roadie friends stepped forward to break the fight up, they realized that the roll-up door of their transport was rising, and glowing green smoked was escaping as it did.

Both women noticed it as well, as they stared up at the leather-clad countenance of a dark and intimidating man. Looking down upon them with a curious smile. Strapped around his shoulders was a guitar fashioned from the pelvic bones of African gazelles. And the strings were aged and cultured pubic hairs of prehistoric mammoths.

As all gazed at this new development, the man began to brush his fingertips across the strings; the world first darkened, then brightened, and both elderly woman simultaneously experienced their first orgasms in a decade.

By the time the spectacle had ended, there was a literal orgy in the parking lot at the A&P in the adjoining strip mall.

The dark man stepped softly from the transport and began to saunter from the area. My cousin lifted his face from a sagging elderly breast and asked in earnest, 'What is your name? We must know.'

The man turned, flipped a platinum-plated guitar pick at my coz, and said, 'I am Demarcus Ganaway, and I am about to have sex with your third grade history teacher.'

My cousin fainted.

 

One night, young DaMarcus stepped into the moonlight and saw sitting next to the fountain his weeping mother.

''Momma? Why are you crying?''

His mother seemed startled to hear his voice, but then her posture resumed it's previous anguish-laden slump.

''Baby, I have a dark secret that I need to tell you.''

''What is it, Momma?''

''Before you were born, I traveled to an island in the south Pacific where I met a spirit. A giant man of immense powers. One night, our love overflowed and he planted you in my belly. He spoke to me afterward, only once.''

"What did he say?"

"He said, 'One day, when this child's power is at it's peak, and he wears armor and a standard of green and white, all men will know him for his true name. DeMarcus.'"

"But..."

"But I could not read or write."

 

Karl was jogging across the soccer field when something caught his attention. A group of trucks were parked at the tree line, some with police beacons flashing.

The next thing he saw would stay with him for the rest of his life. There was a man standing in the branches of the tallest tree. He was urinating. A gold and white guitar hung askew across his right shoulder. It dangled most obscenely.

The small conglomeration of law enforcement officials below were struggling to maintain position to catch the droplets of the mystery person's water in their parched mouths.

Karl strode forward uncertainly. The man's gaze lowered until Karl could swear he saw into this being's soul.

Karl saw many things in a short amount of time, but the image that remained most prominent was a POV shot of a dill pickle pleasuring the infamous little person stripper, Sassy Cassie.

Karl fainted. Then woke up and saw a custom made pair of ostrich boots planted next to his head. There was a mauve inscription into the nearest boot.

"DeMarcus Ganaway Ass-Kicking Utensil"

Karl began to comprehend the events as they unraveled, then felt a sharp impact from that same DeMarcus Ganaway Ass-Kicking Utensil.

Darkness.