Reese and Morgan 3

Reese was so stressed, he didn't have his heart in his stomach—he had it in his heels.

The pressure was getting up.

The last drawing round was the most important. The most significant and that by far.

"Here we go, hang on, child." Morgan said. He obviously didn't feel like laughing at the time either.

Without further ado, without further pranks or unconcerned jokes, Morgan spun the wheel.

In the mood, the atmosphere doused with anxiety, the spinning transmigration device turned before finally stopping at a place that only the god with the appearance of a famous actor could decipher.

Smiling, even before opening the last envelope, Morgan stated jovially, "You've got some cuckold's luck boy... It's really strange when we look at the kind of life you've led."

"..." Boggled, Reese didn't reply or argue.

He didn't know if he should be happy with the assessment or not.

Being a cuck was one of his No-nos. A bottom line.

The biggest, in fact.

He couldn't be one.

Not because it was impossible to create that problem for him, but because he'd go to great lengths, such as embracing his end, rather than accepting that pathetically abject condition.

… In a few words, Reese hated those hentai where cuck husbands jerked off to their wives getting drilled while they knelt down behind a gaping door. Often voluntarily opened by cheating rabble for their ad hominem cucking thrill.

He called it cuck gay, snowflake author's wet dreams… Most of them believed in peace and pacifism. No matter the amount of disrespect thrown at characters, they're supposed to build up to make a sad story great at the end.

He didn't.

He neither thought that violence was never a solution, neither that cucks should remain cucks until the end of a hentai.

Hollywood believed in happy stuff and happy endings. Unlike some people living in a certain geographic region. A culture of dense protagonists and small dicks trying to look blonde, blue-eyed, or wholly European in fiction.

A complexed culture.

Reese was raised on that big cock energy, that Rocky and that Terminator good stuff.

He'd read some nice revenge hentai. Such as one where the cuck abandoned his simping ways and trained his cock inside some magic vase before he came back for the garden hoes.

Reese couldn't recall the name. But dumb fetishes had their own karma…

It wasn't even specific or personal. Global extermination needed to start somewhere when something ridiculous became democratic.

Or worse, the main trend…

Democracy wasn't built for or supposed to land in the hands of cucks.

Whoever invented NTR was probably hellbound, if hell was a thing.

The vermin and his raccoon brothers needed their own cuck planet where they could spread their love for that idiotic fetish freely. They should even cuck each other and raise each other children's if possible.

That was if they were men. According to a secret but indisputable study, most people who loved that fetish were women.

In history, whether there was loyalty or not in a dating relationship or a marriage, women never had to worry about raising someone's else child.

This was their anti-cuck capital, despite how the gaslighting cunts claimed men cheated more…

… In truth, some of the great kings in history, in all likeliness, were illegitimate children—bastards born out of wedlock.

… Whatever the case—with that dumb fetish taking relationship retardation to new levels, the main advantage of fiction—it was difficult to tell.

After all, some fetishes wouldn't have been born if people couldn't hide behind screens.

Cowards made for and wrote outstanding household comedy.

They didn't necessarily love such comedy, however. Oscars slapping Will Smith was the best example.

When Reese remembered how some of those goofy-driven, misery-proud, and doo-doo stubborn authors turned dramatic with their complaints after getting a dose of reality with death threats on their social media pages, Morgan announced the result.

"The power you just got yourself is smart as a whip, but it can also be a load, child..."

"It comes with mind reading."

"Thankfully, you can cut it off for about ten months a year. Good luck for the two last ones when Christmas comes."

"... But then again, with your personality you might not care... Your mind is en vogue with that grim shit, my boy."

Attentive, Reese stayed silent, when Morgan got to the point and said something in a straightforward but disorienting way.

Reese was getting reborn with some kind of Santa Claus power, giving him sexually linked wages after he fulfilled open or secret wishes.

Material or immaterial rewards.

He only had time to ask and look into some basics before he was sent down.

With a chuckling reminder from Morgan about the wishes.

Without his Santa powers—Santa influence growing—from the start, the wishes wouldn't just come from his new crossover cartoon world.

And how some of the wishes, unbent but gloomy ones, probably wouldn't bother him with the personality he had. Maybe it'd actually be revenge for people who died the way he did.

He wasn't country born, born in Indiana for nothing.