My Lasagna

There he stood in his Brooklyn apartment, headband wrapped tight around his forehead, tucked under his manbun. His eyes were closed, breaths slow and deliberate.

The steel blade of his authentic Tokugawa Shogunate katana sat mere millimeters from his nose.

Okay, no, it wasn't authentic Tokugawa. The guy at the trade show said it was like authentic. The guy who forged it did it the same way the smiths in feudal Japan did. Because I all know none of you believe Felix Mullen had those kinds of connections.

He didn't.

Because a man who'd allow himself to be bullied into cutting off his own phallus would never have the kinds of connections you'd need to get a sword like that.

Still, it was pretty sharp.

"OUCH!"

The blade touched his nose again, and he jumped back startled.

"Yeah, this will definitely cut through. All 12 inches."

Somewhere in Mexico, Miranda Dos Casas just got the urge to laugh hysterically. Why would he lie in his own apartment?

And why was he there alone? Fred Dick had Rob Williams to do the work for him. Everyone knows it's a two-man job. The only people who told him were the ones on Jabber goading him on. He was too scared to tell anyone in real life, but he wasn't scared to do the job himself.

"I'll show my coworkers who's brave enough to join Lasagna Club! Fred Dick said I could be President of it. PRESIDENT! Take that, DSA!"

Somewhere a few blocks away, a bespectacled and bearded man put up another poster with Felix's picture on it saying "Do not allow entry!" on the door of the Brooklyn DSA headquarters.

He closed his eyes again, and in a spastic, sudden motion, he raised his arms high with the sword clutched in both hands. What happened next was most likely not in his plans, because he forgot there was a ceiling fan overhead. The blade smashed into the fan, fumbling out of his hands, flipping 180 degrees and landing right on the top of his left foot.

Tenants in the surrounding apartments described the scream as "blood-curdling" to EMTs who'd arrive later on.

⚔️

"Aww nuts," he mumbled as he noticed a man in a white coat bedside.

"Ah, you're awake. That was quite a sharp blade that went through your foot. Unluckily for you, it hit some blood vessels, but overall, I think you'll be fine."

Felix looked at the doctor with loopy eyes.

"What were you trying to do anyway?"

He shook his head awake and answered, "trying to cut off my peener."

The doctor stared at him for a moment, mouth agape.

"You WHAT?"

Felix no-sold the doc's shock.

"Did I do it? Did I cut off my peener?"

"No! You just put a hole in your foot! I would stay off it for a couple of weeks."

"Aww man," he muttered, knowing full well he couldn't stay off his foot for a couple of weeks. You know, due to the match with Crash.

"Anyway, you sit tight and recover. Once you're awake enough, we'll talk about your insurance information."

Shit, he thought, as the only member of the PRIME roster without health insurance.

"I guess I gotta do ANOTHER GoFundMe," he muttered under his breath.