Jingle Me Balls

by Robyn Peterman

  “Dick parties?” Del asked with an eye roll right before he got taken down with a soft pretzel maker/cheese warmer.

  “Serve’s you right, boy,” I said as I yanked my Genie spawn to his feet and quickly put the pretzel maker into my diaper. “Don’t be dissing the Johnson.”

  “Won’t make that mistake again,” he said with a laugh. “Gotta save my brother.”

  My heart swelled with pride as my two boys battled the angry, hissing mob alongside each other. I’d clearly done something right.

  “We’re losing ground,” Bonar called out as he climbed a tower of male fragrances to get away from the fiendish females who were trying to pry the bacon bowl maker from his hands.

  “I told you we were going to die,” Cupid snapped as he was being choked by a gal who wanted the yogurt maker he’d been wily enough to pilfer.

  “Cut our losses and run,” I bellowed. “Grab as much as you can and haul ass out of here.”

  My boys worked like a well-oiled, battered and bloody machine. Made me proud.

  “The drag queens are getting away,” a particularly homicidal female human screeched.

  “Drag queens?” Keith asked as we sprinted out of Holes Department store like Hades was on our heels. “I love a good drag show. I didn’t see any drag queens.”

  “We’re the drag queens, idiot,” Del said as he snapped his fingers and summoned his magic carpet. “Everyone, hop on. NOW.”

  My boy didn’t have to ask twice. The cold-blooded, vicious, leggings-wearing mob was closing in. I was unsure if we’d pilfered enough self-cleaning crockpots to get laid, but we’d stolen an outstanding variety.

  However, the most important thing was that we got out alive. Not that any of us could die very easily, but those human females were sadistic.

  Flying on a magic carpet in thirty below weather wasn’t my idea of a good time, but getting decapitated would have really sucked.

  “So, boys,” I said with a grin as I searched my loaded diaper for a bottle of rum to celebrate. “Same time next year?”

  The language was so appalling, I laughed so hard I almost fell off the carpet. Black Friday was somewhat like getting racked. Once you had vomited, cried, and iced your Johnson, it wasn’t such a big deal. I was confident that my men would join me again next year.

  However, we were not coming back to North Dakota. My nuts couldn’t take it.

  4

  Is that a Christmas Tree, or are you just happy to see me?

  Mystical Isle was truly magical—hot sun, cool ocean breezes, and plenty of rum. Wally had been correct about spending the holidays here. I hadn’t felt so Christmassy in centuries. All that was needed was a little sprucing up and I had an outstanding plan.

  “So, my lovely ladies, I was thinking we could wrap all the palm trees on the island in twinkling lights,” I told my favorite Mermaids as we walked along the sandy shore on the glorious sunny morning. “We’ll wrap the bottom of the trees in pink lights and the leaves in white. It will be spectacular!”

  “That’s a very bad idea,” Petunia said, rubbing her stomach.

  The orange-haired Mermaid was the mate of my Genie son Del and was expecting my granddaughter in the next few weeks. Petunia was a wonderfully violent lass, and I was hoping they’d name the child after me. Poseidonia had such a nice ring to it.

  “Petunia,” I said carefully, placing my huge frame behind a pile of colorful beach chairs just in case she went for my balls. The gals were small but ferocious. “I realize the pregnancy hormones have made you unreasonably hungry, somewhat bulbous and more homicidal than usual, but I think you should have a little holiday spirit. Being a flinch isn’t very Christmassy of you.”

  “Mmmkay, all of that was so wrong that if I didn’t love you like an unrelated, inebriated father, I would have to kill you,” Petunia said as her four Mermaid cousins nodded in agreement. “And what in the hell and seashells is a flinch?”

  “Shite,” I muttered, trying to remember the name Tallulah had supplied on the beach a few weeks ago. The hairy, green, ham-stealing bastard was making me look like an idiot.

  Fourteen days post-battle, my men were still recovering from Black Friday. It had taken three days for my nuts to thaw out. I’d hidden all the booty in a shack on the beach and put a large sign on it. Poseidon’s Poop Shack was sure to keep everyone away. The self-cleaning crockpots were safe. Sadly, we’d only been able to pilfer three crockpots, but the other items were outstanding. The hot dog toaster was a homerun. I’d be willing to forgo a self-cleaning crockpot for a machine that could perfectly char weenies and toast the buns at the same time.

  “Would someone be so kind as to define flinch?” I inquired.

  Ariel, the lovely blue-haired Mermaid, mated to the brain-challenged Selkie, Keith, stepped forward. “A flinch is a reflex response to severe and sudden pain.”

  “Kind of like what you’re going to experience if you keep talking,” Madison the pink-haired beauty who was mated to Rick, the vegan Werewolf, told me with a raised brow and a laugh.

  “Flinch isn’t what I meant at all,” I said, quickly backing away.

  My Mermaid gals were wonderfully violent—a trait I both feared and adored.

  “He means the Grinch,” Tallulah informed the girls with an eye roll.

  “Yes! Thank you. That could have taken hours and we need to get cracking on the trees,” I informed the girls.

  The gals squinted at me and I was sure they were trying not to laugh. I casually glanced down to make sure I was wearing my diaper. It would be terribly embarrassing to show my goods to the lasses I loved like daughters.

  Thank the gods I was dressed.

  “Who’s going to explain it to him?” Misty the delightful green-haired Mermaid inquired. Misty was mated to the arsehole Cupid.

  The five Mermaids looked like a lovely box of busty crayons. All Mermaids’ hair and eyes were set from birth. Petunia’s shade was orange. Madison’s color was pink, Ariel’s was blue, Misty’s was emerald green and Tallulah’s was lavender. Each Mermaid’s hair and eyes were unique to them and no two were alike. However, the color of their tails changed with their moods and their fashion choices. It seemed to me that they always matched their tail—or when in human form, their sarong skirt—to their bikini tops.

  “Explain what?” I asked.

  “I’ll do it,” Tallulah said with a long sigh. “First let’s talk about the shape of the trunk of a palm tree.”

  “Aye,” I said somewhat confused but willing to play along.

  “Can you describe it for me?” she inquired.

  “Is this a game?” I asked perking up. I loved games, especially poker.

  “Sure,” Tallulah said with a laugh.

  “Excellent! I shall play and I will win. The bottom of a palm tree is narrow and it widens to a nice wide curve at the top. Reminds me of a Johnson.”

  “Yep,” Tallulah said, biting down on her lip. “And what’s on top?”

  I was thrilled I got the answer correct. My luck with Jeopardy was dreadful. Wally kicked my arse every time we played along with the TV show. I wished Wally was here now to hear my superb intelligence.

  “On the top of a palm tree is a delightful spray of leaves fanning out and resembling a liquid explosion,” I told the snickering group. My way with words was always a hit. Most of the time I didn’t realize how funny I actually was. I was that good.

  “Excellent,” Tallulah said with a slight wince and a thumbs up.

  Gods, this was a wonderful game—far better than poker.

  “So if we wrap the trunks in pink lights and the leaves in white lights… what do you think that would look like?” Tallulah asked.

  Shite. The game just got tricky.

  “Umm… can I have a hint?” I inquired. I’d gotten everything right thus far. I’d hate to fail on the bonus question.

  “You compared the trunk of the tree to a man part. Right?” Tallulah asked.

  Did I? Shite. I really shouldn’
t drink before 8 a.m. Wait. I did…

  “A salami,” I bellowed with relief. “The trunk of a palm tree resembles a rod of love.”

  “Mmmkay,” Tallulah said, gagging a little. “Let’s get to the root of the problem here.”

  “Ewwwww,” Ariel said with a laugh. “Icky pun, dudette.”

  Tallulah smacked herself in the forehead and groaned. “My bad. Totally unintentional.”

  I had no clue what the hell they were talking about, but I laughed along with my girls.

  “Hilarious,” I shouted, slapping my knee and forcing out uproarious laughter.

  “He didn’t get it,” Misty said with a giggle.

  “Not even a little bit,” Petunia said grinning.

  “Get what?” I asked.

  “If we wrap the trunks of the palm trees in pink twinkle lights and the leaves in white, it might look a bit phallic,” Tallulah explained.

  I pulled a bottle of rum from my diaper and took a long swig. It gave me time to think. What in the Seven Seas did phallic mean?

  “I don’t see the problem,” I told the girls, hoping that was the winning answer.

  The Mermaids rolled their eyes in unison so hard I was certain they’d gotten stuck in the backs of their heads.

  “Let me try,” Madison said, patting her sister on the back. “We run a resort. We have human guests. Right?”

  “Yes,” I said. Thank gods the questions had gotten easier.

  “How do you think our business would fare if we had an island covered in flashing, exploding wankers?”

  Shite. Another complicated question. I’d go vague on my answer and hope it was correct.

  “Still not seeing a problem here,” I replied, opening a few of the beach chairs to make a barricade just in case they decided to attack.

  “For the love of everything sandy,” Petunia chimed in with a grunt of laughter. “Poseidon, if we light the trunks of the trees in pink, they’ll look more like Johnsons than they already do. If we light the leaves in white it will appear the Johnsons are active. You feel me?”

  “I see,” I said, nodding sagely. “And this is a problem?”

  “YES,” they shouted in unison.

  “You’re sure about that?” I tried again.

  “YES,” my gals repeated.

  “Okaaaaay,” I said, devising a new plan. “The flashing, exploding, active Johnsons are out. I find that a bit sad, but I understand that glowing salamis mid-orgasm might not be good for business.”

  “Umm… thank you,” Tallulah said, shaking her head and groaning.

  “Not to worry, I have another outstanding idea,” I announced rubbing my hands together with glee.

  “Hang on a sec,” Misty said, snapping her fingers and producing four alcoholic pina coladas and one virgin pina colada for the pregnant Petunia. “It’s five o’clock somewhere, ladies.”

  “Correct,” Tallulah said, taking the frothy drink and downing it. “Okay. Now I’m good to hear Poseidon’s next idea.”

  I wasn’t sure if I should be insulted or proud. I chose proud.

  Madison, Ariel and Petunia followed suit and finished off their drinks in one swallow.

  “After learning he named his online dating service Immortal Snatch, I live in abject fear of the God of the Sea’s plans,” Ariel said with a giggle.

  “As well you should,” I said with pride, raising my bottle of rum high in a toast. It was good to strike a little fear in my subjects. It kept their respect level for me quite high.

  “The idea?” Madison asked with a grin.

  “Yes, yes, yes,” I said. “The human creatures enjoy a little something Christmassy called Guelph on Oneself.”

  “I’m sorry. What?” Misty asked, magically whipping up another round of drinks. “It sounds gross.”

  “And messy,” Ariel said.

  “And potentially smelly,” Misty added.

  “You must know what I’m talking about,” I insisted, taking the pina colada that was offered. I usually preferred my rum straight from the bottle I kept in my diaper, but I never turned down a libation. “The little bastard hides in underwear drawers—scares the hell out of everyone with his glassy eyes and psychotic smile.”

  “Umm… no clue,” Ariel said, squinting at me.

  “Dresses in red—no discernable schlong even though his pants are ridiculously tight,” I tried again. “He poops peppermints according to the pictures on the interwebs.”

  “How drunk are you?” Madison asked with a giggle.

  “Elf on a Shelf?” Tallulah asked with an eye roll. “Do you mean Elf on a Shelf?”

  “Yes,” I bellowed with joy. Names were a real bitch to remember. I was hard-pressed to remember my nine hundred and whatever children’s names. I couldn’t be expected to remember the name of a tiny, perverted eunuch in a red hat. “However, I have come up with a twist on it.”

  “Do we dare ask?” Misty inquired.

  “Won’t matter,” Petunia said. “He’s gonna tell us anyway.”

  “Right you are,” I announced grandly. “I have already procured the species that we need. I have placed all of them in the small pool in the back of the resort.”

  The Mermaid’s eyes grew wide with what I could only assume as awe… or terror. I was sticking with awe.

  “We will put Mackerels on the Mermaids, Puffers on the Pirates, Clams on that bastard Cupid, a Sea Cucumber on Keith the Selkie, a Walrus on Rick the Werewolf and a Giant Squid on Del the Genie. It’s genius!” I said taking a bow… to silence… and then gasps of horror.

  What was wrong here? There were absolutely no flashing active Johnsons involved.

  “We don’t have a small pool,” Tallulah whispered, paling.

  “Of course, you do,” I replied. “Right next to the big pool.”

  “Umm… that’s a hot tub,” Misty said as she dropped her drink and began to run back to the resort. “A really hot tub.”

  “Shite,” I bellowed as I joined the posse of shapely sprinting crayons. Had I turned a wonderful Christmassy idea into seafood chowder? There would not be enough rum on the island if I’d harmed the little swimming bastards.

  “They’re all going to live,” Wally said, giving me a hug as I blubbered like a baby next to the hot tub.

  “Ohhh, Wally,” I said, shaking my head in shame. “Those clams were looking a little rubbery. Are you sure they made it?”

  “They made it. They had a few unflattering things to say about you, but they’ll be fine. Everyone is happily back in the ocean,” she assured me with a smile. “You’re a colossal jackass, but your heart is in the right place, my lover.”

  “It was awful,” I whispered. “And the smell—not very Christmassy at all.”

  Wally snapped her slim lovely fingers and produced a fine bottle of rum. After taking a ladylike sip, she handed the bottle over. My gal was perfect.

  “Darling, do you think you might be trying a wee bit too hard?” she inquired, re-pinning the side of my diaper that had come loose when I’d given the Walrus mouth to mouth resuscitation. The fat bastard really needed to brush his teeth, but he didn’t deserve to be boiled alive for bad breath.

  “No clue what you’re talking about,” I said, taking a healthy pull on the bottle.

  “The real meaning of Christmas isn’t about the stuff. It’s about family and love.”

  “And self-cleaning crockpots,” I added and then smacked myself in the head with the now empty bottle.

  Wally’s eyes lit up like a Christmas tree. “Is that a real thing?”

  “Darn tootin’ it is,” I told her. “My frozen nuts can attest to it.”

  “And am I getting one for Christmas?” she purred as she ran her finger seductively down my chest.

  “Aye,” I choked out, realizing I would electrocute the shite out of my own kin so Wally would have one of the three self-cleaning crockpots we’d absconded with. I had my sex-life to consider. My jolly roger won out over common sense daily where my mate was concerned. Not
to mention, I’d worn low-heeled pumps for the damned appliances. I deserved first pick. And the boys would be fine with a zap of lightning or two.

  “Well,” she said with a shudder of delight. “As arousing as a self-cleaning crockpot is, I still think you might have gone overboard.”

  “Nay,” I assured the love of my immortal life. “I’m just getting started. It will be outstanding because I’m the greatest god of all of those whiney shites on Mount Olympus.”

  “I’m quite sure Zeus would disagree,” Wally said with a laugh.

  “Well then, Zeus can kiss my diapered arse. I will produce a Christmas no one will ever forget.”

  I was fairly sure I heard a chorus of moans come from the resort, but I was so busy kissing my she-devil, I must have imagined it.

  5

  The Kraken Who Stole Christmas

  “So all I have to do is tell the wee ones a Christmas story?” Pirate Doug asked, modeling his new red breeches and puffy green shirt.

  “Aye,” I replied, closing my eyes so I wouldn’t punch my boy in the head. His fashion sense was appalling. There was more material in his shirt than forty of my diapers.

  “I don’t know any Christmas stories,” Pirate Doug said as he rotated to examine himself at every angle in the mirror of his quarters. “Do these breeches make my arse look fat?”

  “Nay,” Upton said, reassuring my dolt of a son. “Ye look like a right thunderin’ worm- riddled fish gizzard. Yar arse is quite fetchin’ in yar breeches.”

  “Really? Do you think so?” Pirate Doug asked, still worried.

  “Aye,” Bonar added. “The balance of yar puffy shirt with the breeches is just right. Ye resemble an eyeliner wearin’ dingey dangler. Makes me proud to be on yar crew, Captain.”

  They were all idiots.

  “Outstanding,” Pirate Doug bellowed as he checked his backside one last time.

  “Are we done?” I inquired, pulling a bottle of liquid encouragement from my diaper. “Can we get back to Christmas here?”