Jingle Me Balls: Sea Shenanigans Book Six

  Jingle Me Balls

  Sea Shenanigans Book Six

  Robyn Peterman

  Robyn Peterman

  Copyright © 2020 by Robyn Peterman

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is coincidental.

  This book contains content that may not be suitable for young readers 17 and under.

  Cover by Rebecca Poole of dreams2media

  Edited by Sara Lunsford

  Contents

  Acknowledgments

  Book Description

  1. The Throne Room… Mine’s Bigger

  2. Black Friday… Just say NO

  3. No Shirt. No Shoes. No Service

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

  5. The Kraken Who Stole Christmas

  6. Wait. We Forgot About Hanukkah

  7. Dear Santa, I’ve been a very good boy…

  8. T’was the Night Before Christmas

  9. Let the Shiteshow Commence

  10. Yes, Poseidon… There is a Santa Claus

  Note From The Author

  More In This Series

  Excerpt from: Tallulah’s Temptation

  Chapter 1

  Robyn’s Book List

  About Robyn Peterman

  Acknowledgments

  The Sea Shenanigans Series has been an absolute joy to write. I’ve laughed like a loon while writing this particular series. Since I was little I’d always wanted to be a Mermaid. Of course, that is impossible so I did the next best thing. I wrote about them. LOL

  Jingle Me Balls is the hilarious conclusion to the six book series and it’s a doozy. Poseidon is one of my favorite characters and it was time for his story. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

  As always there are many people who help me out along the way. While writing is a solitary job, it takes many wonderful people to get the book into the readers hands. I am a very lucky gal to have such amazing people in my corner.

  Rebecca Poole, thank you. Your covers bring my visions to life.

  Sara Lunsford. thank you. Your editing saves me from hilariously embarrassing mistakes.

  Renee George, thank you. You are my Best Cookie forever.

  Wanda Adams, thank you. You are my Magic Wanda and I’d be screwed without you. LOL

  My readers, thank you. I write because I have to or I’d go nuts. LOL However, the fact that my books are loved by you makes it all worth it.

  My family, thank you. None of this would be any fun without you. I love you.

  Dedication

  For Wanda. This one is for you.

  Book Description

  What in the salty seas could be more important than presents at Christmas time?

  Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

  Tis’ Christmas time on Mystical Isle and just like the fat bastard in red, I’ve made a list and now I shall check it…twice. Yeah, twice. I might wear a diaper, but I’m not an arse.

  Battle the human women in sweatpants and snow boots for electronics on Black Friday. Check.

  Cover each palm tree in lights even though the Mermaids insist they look phallic. Check. By the way, what does phallic mean? Never mind. Check.

  Moving on.

  Weave a Christmas tale during family story time on the beach, have a family portrait made in the special sweaters I pilfered, and write a letter to Santa. I mean, fat bastard… Check.

  Planning activities that may end in bloodshed. Check. That’s what I call a yuletide win, so check-check.

  The Mermaids have baked lovely Christmas cookies that will go wonderfully with the rum in my diaper. And everyone has voted to veto caroling since Pirate Doug has a singing voice that can kill… literally. The present exchange would be ruined if everyone was dead. Could my days be merrier or brighter? Uh, no. Check.

  It seems I have everything under control and Christmas on Mystical Isle will be unforgettable, or I’m not the Well-Hung God of the Sea, Poseidon.

  And I am. Check.

  1

  The Throne Room… Mine’s Bigger

  “That was certainly a shiteshow and a half,” I said, pulling a bottle of rum from my diaper and taking a healthy swig.

  “Yes, Poseidon it was,” Wally said, looking down at me from her enormous jewel- encrusted throne. “We are never inviting all of your children to Thanksgiving again. At least five hundred of the nine hundred and whatever showed up. The palace is a disaster.”

  My mate was correct. All three hundred and thirteen rooms in our palace had been ransacked by my inebriated offspring. While it was heartwarming to see them all so soused while violently wrestling each other, they were somewhat out of control—especially the girls.

  “Thank the Seven Seas not everyone came,” I said, trying to figure out what was bothering me right now. I had a strange feeling that something wasn’t quite right. “However, my favorite part of the evening was when Zeus popped his head in to say hello, and someone yelled food fight. Did my heart good to see the arsehole get beaned with hundreds of pumpkin pies.”

  “That was you, darling,” Wally said, trying to bite back a grin. “You yelled food fight.”

  My dark-haired beauty with the outstanding left hook and tremendous knockers was my reason for living. My alarmingly large army of children came next with rum coming in at a solid third. Of course, my job was a joy. Being the well-hung God of the Sea came with great pay and even greater perks. The Royal Palace on Mt. Olympus was just one such perk. However, there was definitely something odd going on in the throne room at the moment.

  “Do you think Zeus could tell it was me?” I asked with a chuckle, glancing around the opulent room to spy if any of my offspring might have passed out and were still here.

  Nope. All clear.

  “Definitely,” Wally said with an eye roll. “I’m quite sure when you shouted ‘My spawn, as your father, Poseidon, I command you to throw pie at the pecker standing in the doorway’ was a dead giveaway.”

  “Shite,” I muttered, taking another swig. “The sneaky bastard will try to get me back.”

  “Not to worry,” Wally said with a naughty little smile. “I have his throne. If he messes with you, I’ll paint it hot pink.”

  “That’s what’s wrong,” I said, glancing up in shock at my violent gal. “You’re seated at least three feet higher than I am.”

  “That I am,” Wally said with a wink that made my roger jolly.

  “As much as I enjoy looking up your dress—and I definitely do,” I said with a grin, getting ready to duck just in case I put my foot into my mouth and pulled it out of my arse, as my mate liked to say. “Makes my Johnson feel a bit deflated when your throne is bigger than mine.”

  “I won it in the poker game the other night,” Wally said.

  “Strip poker?” I bellowed. If the other gods had seen Wally’s melons, I’d have to kill them. That could get a bit dicey since we were all extremely hard to kill.

  “Of course not,” she said with a laugh. “I’d have to bleach my eyes if I ever saw Hades’ privates. Regular poker. I won fair and square.”

  “You didn’t threaten them?” I asked, impressed that my gal had beat the old codgers.

  “Maybe a bit,” Wally said with a delighted laugh.

  Gods, I adored my woman. “What would it take to trade thrones?”

  “Not much,” she said with a grin that looked so innocent it terrified me.

  “Mmmkay,” I said, downing the rest of the bottle. “Define not much.”

  Wally stepped off the throne, moved to where I sat, and straddled me. It was pretty much a done deal that my nutty gal was going to get whatever she wanted.

  “I want to spend Christmas on Mystical Isle with our idiot son, Pirate Doug, and his lovely mate, Tallulah. I adore all the Mermaids there and Mt. Olympus is so stuffy and boring,” she said. “Plus, the resort the girls run is absolutely divine.”

  I didn’t even have to think about it. The plan was brilliant.

  “Love it,” I bellowed. “Besides, DIC is killing me. I’d like to just quit DIC—eliminate DIC altogether.”

  Wally closed her eyes and pressed her temples. “If you remove your Johnson, I’m out of here.”

  “Not my dick,” I said with a laugh. “DIC.”

  “Clear as mud,” she muttered.

  “Divine Immortal Circuit. You know that all the gods have to take a turn governing the other idiots. If I hadn’t lost at strip poker a few months back, I wouldn’t have to run the damn thing for the next century. They are a bunch of whiney little shites.”

  “Right,” she said, heaving a sigh of relief. “Well, in that case, I say we leave tonight. We can stay on Mystical Isle for the month. It will be a vacation!”

  “Outstanding,” I shouted as I scooped my she-devil into my arms and prepared to transport us to Mystical Isle. “And tomorrow is Black Friday.”

  “What in the world is Black Friday?” Wally asked.

  “A day for a deal, my love. And I plan to deal
.”

  2

  Black Friday… Just say NO

  “So that’s the plan, boys,” I bellowed, staring at the blank and confused faces of my men.

  “You can’t be serious,” Cupid said with an eye roll. “We’ll all die.”

  As we stood on the sandy beach of the Mystical Isle at 4 a.m., I doubted myself for only three-fourths of a second. Cupid—while he may be a demigod—was a pain in my arse and wouldn’t know an excellent idea if it punched him in the head… which I was tempted to do. However, starting the day with bloodshed probably wasn’t prudent. I needed every man on deck if my plan to come back with twenty blenders and vacuum cleaners was to come to fruition. Plus, I was still a bit bruised from the Thanksgiving wrestling match. My daughters had kicked my arse.

  “You’re immortal, and unless we run into middle-aged human women who are keen on decapitation, we’ll be fine,” I pointed out. “Don’t be a squinch.”

  “A what?” Cupid asked, eyeing me in confusion.

  “A squinch, ye cod-faced tar stain,” Upton, the scrawny Pirate, explained to Cupid in my defense. “It’s a wee arch built across the interior angle of two scurvy walls—usually to support a poop deck.”

  “Wait,” I said perplexed. “Are you sure?”

  “Nay,” the little Pirate replied with a yawn. “I’m Upton.”

  “Okay, that’s not what I meant then,” I said. “What I meant to say was don’t be such a winch.”

  “Have you been drinking?” Del inquired with a raised brow.

  My Genie son was usually on my side, but I was feeling slightly ganged up on at the moment.

  “Of course, I’ve been drinking,” I huffed. “Need to get the blood moving. And yes, I meant a winch… I think. Upton, would you be so kind as to interpret for me so I can determine if that is indeed what I meant?”

  “T’would be me pleasure, yar Majesty,” Upton said, bowing low. It looked like the Pirate was going to take a dump, but it was the respect that mattered, not the visual. “Avast ye! The greatest and only God of the Sea—Poseidon, has spoken. A winch be the liftin’ device consistin’ of a horizontal cylinder turned by a galley hoppin’ crank on which a cable of hempin’ halter winds—usually kept in the dungbie.”

  “In your arse?” Pirate Doug asked with a horrified expression. “You keep that in your arse?”

  “Nay,” Upton said with a chuckle. “The dungbie of the ship—not in yar arse.”

  “Well, shite,” I muttered. “That’s not right, either. What I’m trying to say has nothing to do with putting any kind of object in your arse. Help a god out here… I’m talking about the hairy green guy with the dog who steals the ham.”

  “What the fuck?” Rick the Werewolf said, shaking his head. “Are you wasted?”

  “Not until 10 a.m.,” I told him. Normally, I liked Rick. He was insane and addicted to death-defying hobbies. Right now? Not so much. “That’s hours away. You idiots must know who I’m talking about. He bursts out of his clothes when his internal organ grows.”

  “The Hulk?” Pirate Doug volunteered.

  I could always count on my imbecile son’s support. Most of the time, his support was embarrassing and profane. However, the effort was appreciated.

  “No,” I replied. “Not the Hulk.”

  “Any more obscure hints?” Cupid inquired.

  “Hang on,” I muttered as I paced the beach and tried to remember the damned name. “Lives in a cave. Likes to sew puffy white globules onto red jackets that support his beer gut. You must know who I’m talking about. He’s famous.”

  “I am so confused,” Keith the Selkie said, scratching his head. “I still don’t understand why I got yanked out of bed to talk about globules and arses.”

  “That’s not why I roused your sorry arses from your slumber,” I shouted. “We’re going Black Friday shopping for our women. We will get excellent deals on electrical merchandise and we will spend quality time together as a family. Nothing says I want to get into your pants like a self-cleaning crockpot.”

  “You’ve lost your damn mind,” Del said with a laugh.

  “Your point?” I demanded. My sanity had been in question for centuries. If my boy wanted to insult me, he was going to have to do better than that.

  “No point. Just an observation, Pappy,” Del replied.

  Glancing at the motley crew, I sighed. Where was their holiday spirit? The only one who had been silent thus far was Bonar the Pirate. I was fairly sure he was asleep standing up. I’d chosen my shopping posse with care. My two sons, Pirate Doug and Del, had no choice. I was their father and would make their lives more of a living hell than usual if they refused me.

  And the rest—Keith the Selkie with the maturity level of a fourth-grade boy, Rick the Werewolf with a death wish, and Cupid the pompous arse—were mated to the Mermaids I considered daughters. Well, not Bonar or Upton. The two Pirates were loyal and small. I figured they could pilfer items from carts of unsuspecting shoppers if the need arose. From all I’d read, the self-cleaning crockpots were a very hot ticket this year.

  “We’ll leave as soon as we discover what I’m talking about,” I announced to a round of groans. “The hairy green son-of-a-bitch put horns on the head of his small beast.”

  “He put trumpets on his man tool?” Pirate Doug asked, perking up. “Tis a fine idea. I might do that myself.”

  I couldn’t help myself. Punching Doug in the head was necessary. My boy had a hard head and was back on his feet almost immediately.

  “They were no musical instruments on his Johnson. That’s ridiculous,” I bellowed, wondering if the idea was truly that bad. Wally might be impressed… although I’d need a tuba to compete with my salami. “He put antlers on his dog.”

  “That sounds kind of mean,” Rick commented. Rick was a vegan Werewolf and had amassed quite the zoo of stray animals on the island.

  “Well, the hairy green bastard is mean until the end of the cartoon,” I explained, not wanting Rick to get his panties in a wad. I needed him. I had a sneaking suspicion that procuring the crockpots might be tricky. I needed someone willing to light themselves on fire as a distraction if necessary.

  “Wait,” Cupid said, shaking his head. “The hairy green bastard isn’t a real person?”

  “How should I know?” I said, throwing my hands in the air. “I’m sure he’s based on a real person. I mean, he sounded like a real person on TV.”

  “This could take a month,” Del said, sitting down in the sand and getting comfortable.

  “Holy hell and seashells,” Tallulah hissed as she marched out of the resort and stomped across the sand. “Why are you people awake, and what’s going on here?”

  “Tallulah, my purple hooker of love,” Pirate Doug said, running to his mate’s side. “We’re playing a game with Pappy.”

  “Did you just call me a hooker?” she demanded, slapping her hands on her hips as everyone ran for cover.

  “Umm… yes?” Pirate Doug whispered terrified.

  “What have we discussed about calling Mermaids hookers?” she questioned her idiot.

  “That we can?” Pirate Doug answered, still whispering.

  “Nope,” she said, decking the love of her immortal life. “We said no calling Mermaids hookers. Am I clear?”

  “You are, my sexy hellcat,” Pirate Doug said, hopping back to his feet and pumping his fists in the air. “My gal can punch like a freight train.”

  His pride in his mate’s right hook warmed my heart. My Wally was a violent she-devil as well. The men in my line liked their women wild.