“Aye,” my son said, taking a seat on the chair opposite me. “Do you have a particular story in mind, Pappy?”
“Nay,” I replied. “Although the one about the scrinch is a popular one.”
“The who?” Pirate Doug asked, confused.
“Never mind,” I muttered. I seriously needed to give up on that hairy green fucker.
“I know a couple of Christmassy tales,” Upton volunteered.
“Aye, me too,” Bonar added.
While wary of the Pirates’ version of a holiday yarn, I was greatly relieved. It would take me a damned week to remember the name of the green ham-stealer. However, Upton was double-jointed and could lick his own nards. The thought of a Christmas spiel coming from him was slightly alarming, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. A Christmas story for the children was necessary for the holiday to be perfect.
“Excellent,” I said, standing up to leave. I was on the verge of telling my imbecile son that his arse looked large in his breeches just to see him implode. That would be fun but counterproductive. I needed his outstanding showmanship with the wee ones. “We will have Christmas storytime at two o’clock sharp on the beach. I will let the humans know!”
“Will yar be servin’ alcohol?” Upton inquired.
The scrawny Pirate asked a legitimate question. I had to think about that for thirty-two seconds.
“Humans are a tricky bunch,” I said as I paced the room in deep thought. “Not sure what the drinking rules are for bairns under the age of eight. Does anyone know?”
“Nay,” Bonar said. “Methinks it’s a fine idea though. The little scallywags should enjoy the holiday too.”
“And methinks we’d be greasy-haired rope burns if we didn’t provide the wee landlubbers with a fine time.”
The idiots made an excellent point. Something felt incredibly wrong here, but I’d go with the flow on this one.
“Done. We will be serving rum to the children,” I announced. “No one will say we didn’t provide an epic outing.”
“You’re a dumbass,” Wally hissed as she zapped me with a bolt of lightning that made me randy and would most definitely leave a scar. “You never serve children alcohol. Am I clear?”
The Mermaids ran around the beach taking the bottles of rum from the wee ones as the human parents looked on in shock. One little mistake and everyone freaked out. What had the Universe come to?
“Aye,” I said, rubbing my backside. “My bad. We just wanted the children to have a little fun.”
Wally’s eye roll deserved an Academy Award. I placed myself behind a sandcastle just in case she felt the need to electrocute me again.
“It’s illegal and only an idiot would come up with such a ridiculous plan,” she snapped.
“Your point?” I asked, confused.
Wally’s eyes narrowed to slits. It took all my well-endowed mate had not to rip me a new arsehole. It was a fine thing that there were semi-inebriated kidlets around at the moment.
“The girls have enough lawsuits to contend with due to Upton licking his marbles in public. They do not need to add intoxication of minors to the list. You feel me, Poseidon?” Wally growled.
“I’d love to, but there are people around,” I replied. “Maybe if you came behind the sandcastle with me, I could cop a quick feel of your tremendous knockers.”
The bolt of lightning from my lover came fast and singed my diaper right off my arse. Thankfully, I always carried a spare for situations just like this one. Quickly covering my enormous Johnson, I sprinted away from my pissed off she-devil. We still had storytime ahead of us. And I was fairly sure if I was engulfed in flames it wouldn’t be very Christmassy.
“Pirate Doug,” I shouted, ducking behind a bush as Wally advanced. “Begin the Christmas yarn. NOW!”
“I’m on it,” my son yelled back, gathering the tiny humans into a circle.
Upton and Bonar flanked him. They were a motley trio. There was enough material in their puffy shirts to cover the island, but they were all clad in red and green. I appreciated the holiday effort even though they looked like arses.
“Alright, ye bandana wearin’ platoon splinters,” Upton bellowed to the confused faces of everyone. “It’s time for the Christmas yarn. Ye need to sit yar cutlass flappin’ bilge drinkin’ arses down and listen to me Captain or ye will walk the plank.”
“Did he just threaten the children?” I heard one human mother inquire.
“Nay,” I assured her from behind my bush. “Tis Pirate speak for enjoy the show.”
The woman thanked me for the explanation and then scurried away in horror. Looking down, I realized I’d forgotten to pin my diaper. No worries. A glimpse of a god Johnson was a rare and precious gift.
Heaving in a huge breath, Pirate Doug turned to his crew and once again inquired if his arse looked bulbous in his breeches. After many assurances that his backside was wonderful, he went for it.
“T’was the night before Christmas, when all over the beach… Not a cod-faced tar stain was stirring, not even a leach!” Pirate Doug shouted in his outdoor voice.
It was a fine start. I was proud of my boy. The children laughed. I was unsure if it was the tiny bit of rum they’d ingested or the zest with which my idiot son told his tale. It mattered not. We were creating a fine tradition here.
“The weevil-eating seashells were hung by the palm tree with care, in hopes that the bloodthirsty Christmas Kraken would soon grow some nard hair,” Pirate Doug went on, clearly getting into it.
I was riveted and wondered where the fabulous story would go. It was an excellent beginning.
“What in the hell and seashells did he just say?” Tallulah demanded as we all now stood on the outskirts of the circle and listened to the tale.
“Pretty sure he said he wants the Kraken to grow pubes,” Petunia said, trying not to laugh.
“That’s exactly what he said,” Misty confirmed, shaking her head. “I can feel the lawsuits coming.”
“It might get better,” Ariel said, being the ever-hopeful Mermaid that she was.
“Or worse,” Madison said.
“My son is an imbecile,” Wally snapped. “Be prepared to electrocute him if this continues to go downhill. He’ll live.”
“Good plan,” Tallulah whispered.
I felt like the gals were being a little harsh, but what did I know? I thought getting the small humans soused was an excellent idea. Keeping my trap shut, I listened and hoped to the Seven Seas and back that Pirate Doug would not wax poetic about his schlong. That was surefire electrocution material.
“The children all wrestled—now bloodied and bruised,” Pirate Doug shouted as Bonar and Upton began to pantomime the story much to the children’s and my delight.
The right hook from Upton that most likely broke Bonar’s nose was inspired. The blood spurted everywhere.
Pirate Doug kept going like a pro even though he was now covered in blood. “I repeat,” he yelled. “The children all wrestled—now bloodied and bruised, while their parents all wished they’d left the little fuckers at home and went on a cruise! And Mamma in her thong and I in my fabulous puffy shirt had just settled down for a hump and a squirt.”
“Did he say fuckers?” Tallulah asked, paling.
“And thong?” Madison added with a groan.
“And a hump and a squirt?” Misty choked out.
“Aye,” I said, hushing the gals. “It’s getting good.”
The punch in the head from Wally came from left field. I felt it was quite unfair. I was simply supporting our idiot son. Hopping back up, I moved away from the judgmental women. Clearly, they had no Christmas spirit.
The crowd was with Pirate Doug if all the gasping was anything to go by. He continued with gusto that brought a tear of pride to my eye.
“When out on the fake-bearded, crab-infested sand there arose such a ruckus, I jumped off my purple swimming hooker to see what in the peg-legged, salty nards was causing the itch in my tuckus,” Pirate Doug
said, gaining more confidence as the children began to cry with joy at such a worthy tale. “I tripped over the handcuffs and vibrators and fell on my arse with a crash. Ran out of the wrong door and in the pool made a splash.”
The rhyming was outstanding. I clapped and whistled and then ducked a bolt of lightning from Wally that came within an inch of decapitating me.
“I cussed like a sailor,” Pirate Doug said as Bonar and Upton let loose with a string of curses that proved they’d spent most of their lives on the sea. It was quite educational.
“I repeat!” Pirate Doug shouted over the disgusting words leaving his men’s mouths. “I cussed like a sailor and stubbed my big toe. I was sure that bastard Man on the Moon flipped me off, so I yanked down my pants and gave that glowing arsehole a show.”
Bonar and Upton mooned the crowd. Human parents began to grab their spawns and run like hell. The ghostly white arses of the Pirates were a bit much, but it was part of the story. I found it brave, creative and horrifying that they were so committed.
“When what to my wondering eyes should appear,” Pirate Doug kept going, oblivious to the shiteshow he was creating. “But a fat bastard Kraken, holding a beer!”
“That’s it,” Tallulah shouted.
“Electrocute. NOW,” Wally roared.
It was horrible… yet very colorful. The red breeches and puffy green shirts were quite Christmassy as they blew up in flames. Thankfully, only three lawsuits were filed. The Pirates healed up quite nicely after a few hours and we were all made to sleep on the beach as punishment.
All in all, I’d say that storytime was a great success.
6
Wait. We Forgot About Hanukkah
“Does anyone here happen to be Jewish?” I asked as I made my way through the buffet line at the afternoon Holiday Tiki Party.
“Is that a new fashion?” Pirate Doug inquired only to be whacked on the back of the head by his mother.
“Dumbass,” Wally muttered as she continued down the lunch buffet line as if she hadn’t just sent her only son flying into the salad.
Pirate Doug landed with a thud in a mound of seaweed salad. Everyone ignored it. It was par for the course. Tallulah and her sisters had decided that we were not allowed around the human guests anymore as the lawsuits kept rolling in. Our buffet was on the private side of the resort. I quite enjoyed being with family only. However, that meant the gals were free to electrocute us more freely as well. No pain, no gain as I always liked to say.
“Nay, not a fashion,” I replied to my idiot spawn as he removed seaweed from his hair. “I believe it’s a club. They have an extra-long Christmas according to the interwebs.”
“Nope,” Tallulah said with an eye roll as she set a platter of bizarre-looking vegan delicacies on the table for Rick and Madison. “It’s a human religion and they do not celebrate Christmas.”
“But they do have presents,” I volunteered. “Eight days of presents which is outstanding. I was thinking we could join their club and…”
“Nope,” Wally said cutting me off.
“But it would be…” I tried again.
“No can do, Poseidon,” Petunia said. “It’s a stretch that we’re even celebrating Christmas. We worship a whole bunch of idiot gods—like you—not the God celebrated at Christmas.”
“I think you are all being clinches,” I announced, ignoring the insult and focusing on the worship of me part of Petunia’s statement. “Presents are the best part of the holiday.”
“Not happening—and it’s Grinch, not clinch,” Tallulah informed me. “It’s not a club and it’s disrespectful to join a human religion to get presents.”
“Are you sure?” I questioned.
“YES!” all the females shouted.
The males were simply confused. Again, par for the course. However, at the risk of mass electrocution that I didn’t think my arse could handle, I dropped the subject. I had a better plan anyway.
“Attention ladies, gentlemen, and Pirate Doug. At sunset today, we will be doing a family Christmas portrait on the beach,” I announced to a very un-Christmassy round of moans and groans. “I have procured Christmas sweaters for all to wear. You will find the stolen goods in your rooms. We are including some of the extended family as well. I’ve invited Bony Velma Dustface, my stanky Sea Hag daughter, to be in the photograph. I have supplied nose plugs as well. You will notice they are green in the spirit of Christmas. You will each find a pair laid out for you with your sweater. Simply shove one up each nostril and we will all live through Bony Velma’s putrid aroma.”
“Won’t that look like we’re all sporting boogers?” Keith asked, with his hand raised politely.
While I appreciated his manners, I wasn’t fond of the backtalk. Quickly, blasting him with a non-lethal lightning bolt, I ignored him. Boogers were not made of plastic. He was being ridiculous.
“We will meet at 7 p.m. on the beach. Do not be late.”
I had wonderful plans to rub my perfect Christmas in the noses of the other gods. Zeus would be wildly jealous. It was turning out to be an outstanding day.
“I will not wear this,” Wally said, pacing the living room of our grand suite in agitation.
“You have to, my love,” I replied. “Everyone shall be sporting a Christmas sweater. It will be a beautiful moment caught in history and Zeus will shite his toga with envy.”
“Does this look beautiful to you?” Wally griped, modeling her holiday wear.
Son of a sea biscuit. I should have looked at the damned sweaters before I’d pilfered them. In my defense, the store was closed and dark when I’d robbed it. Not to mention, I was wasted.
Wally wore a lime green sweater with sparkly red garland circles surrounding each of her tremendous bosoms. There was a strategically placed jingle ball in the center of each garland circle. I found it strangely arousing, but could also see her point.
It wasn’t something she would normally wear. Actually, it was something she would never wear, but there wasn’t time to dash off to Florida to steal a less heinous garment.
“You are beautiful no matter what you wear,” I said, ready to run like Hades was on my arse if necessary.
Wally grew quiet. This was always a very bad sign. It normally ended in an inferno of sorts.
“If I agree to wear this pornographic disaster, I get control of the TV remote for six months,” she said.
Shite. I was going to be stuck watching chick flicks and cooking shows for half a year.
Closing my eyes, I sighed. The loss of Chuck Norris movies was a small price to pay to keep my arse from being set on fire.
“Deal,” I told my love.
“And I get to drive the Hummer,” she added with an evil little grin.
Double shite. Wally drove like an old, blind human woman. My mate had already crashed fifteen of my Hummer fleet while doing her makeup in the side-view mirror as she drove. I only had one left. Decisions sucked… but a family Christmas picture would make Zeus green with envy.
“Deal,” I choked out on a whisper.
“I can’t hear you, darling,” she replied with a raised brow as she made to remove the sweater.
“Deal,” I shouted. “Let’s do this before I lose my shirt.”
“You don’t wear a shirt,” Wally said with a giggle.
She made a fine point, but I would make an exception this fine evening for an epic family holiday photo.
Inwardly, I cursed myself for being plastered when I’d pilfered the Christmas wear from the Snuggly Sweater Showroom. Although, the colors were truly spectacular. By the disgruntled expressions of my nearest and dearest, I wasn’t sure we would get the outstanding photo I was hoping for.
At least the sunset was gorgeous—fiery red and pink in the sky. It was a fitting backdrop for an epic family portrait. My Clam band had arrived and was strumming delightful Christmas polka music. My musical boys were slightly odoriferous, human-sized clams with arms and legs and no discernible faces. The boys had no soc
ial skills to speak of, but they played a mean polka.
“Are you serious?” Tallulah demanded as she marched out onto the beach, pointing at her sweater. “You expect me to wear this?”
“I’m good with mine. Although, the Johnson could have been a bit larger in my opinion,” Pirate Doug announced, modeling his pea-green woolen pullover.
Tallulah punched him in the head. “Doug’s sweater says Snowballs Deep on it and the freaking snowman has a fuzzy blue Johnson and nards for the love of everything disgusting,” she griped. “And I’m wearing a Christmas tree that says I Don’t Want Your Balls On Me.”
“I see no problem here,” I said, beginning to sweat.
The sweaters were bad. I actually agreed with my irate Mermaid daughter-in-law. I could only hope that the rest weren’t quite as heinous.
“What in the hell and seashells were you drinking when you picked these out?” Petunia shouted as she and my son Del stomped out onto the beach. “Is there a reason you gave Santa is a Fat Bastard to the pregnant Mermaid? Are you trying to tell me something?”
“Nay,” I said, pulling a bottle of rum from my diaper and downing the contents. At this point, I realized the drunker the better.
“Pappy,” Del said with an eye roll. “A gingerbread man with a beer bong isn’t exactly Christmassy.”
Wally laughed and flipped me off. I was pretty sure I had very few allies right now.
Next to arrive were Ariel and Keith. The glare on Ariel’s face was reason enough to partake in a second bottle of rum.
“You’re going to owe me,” Ariel grumbled, wearing a jumper that said Merry Christmas You Filthy Animal.
“I like mine. A fat, naked, bearded man on a Unicorn is cool,” Keith announced only to be zapped with a sparkling, blue bolt of magic by his mate.
So far, I had the two most idiotic of my men on my side. Pirate Doug and Keith weren’t the sharpest tools in the shed, but I was delighted to have at least a little support.
Misty and Cupid and Baby Thornycraft—the little Pirate they were raising—entered the scene. If looks could kill, I’d be walking the plank.
Jingle Me Balls Page 4
