Jingle Me Balls Read online

  “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.

  “Okay, everyone can come out of hiding,” Tallulah called out and turned her attention to me. “What is going on, Poseidon?”

  “It’s a surprise,” I told one of my favorite little Mermaids. “You will be quite thrilled. However, if you happen to know the name of the hairy green fucker who has a dog and steals hams, you could save me a tremendous amount of time.”

  “The Grinch,” she said as she gave Pirate Doug a kiss and walked sleepily back to the resort.

  “That’s it,” I shouted, dancing a little jig on the beach. I had no clue why I’d needed the damn name in the first place, but now that I had it the boys and I could go on our adventure.

  “Where are we going to do this Black Friday?” Keith asked, still looking confused.

  “Excellent question, Keith. As we’re smack in the middle of the Bermuda Triangle right now, I figured Florida would be the closest place to shop,” I announced.

  “Umm… no can do,” Pirate Doug said. “I have several warrants out for my arrest in that fair state.”

  “Twenty-nine,” Upton volunteered, only to be sucker-punched by Pirate Doug.

  Bonar was still sleeping standing up.

  “Georgia?” I suggested.

  “Nope,” Pirate Doug replied sheepishly.

  “Texas?” I tried again.

  Keith raised his hand.

  “Yes, Keith?” I asked.

  “I might or might not have paid my excessive amount of parking tickets there. Since I’m not sure, I’d rather stay out of Texas.”

  “Fair enough,” I said with an eye roll.

  “Tennessee?” I asked.

  “Nope,” Pirate Doug said.

  “Forty-nine warrants,” Upton said with a grin as he ducked a right hook from Pirate Doug.

  Blowing out a long and put-upon breath, I shook my head. This was getting complicated.

  “Where can you shop?” I asked my idiot son.

  “I know just the spot,” Pirate Doug said as everyone looked on in what I perceived as fear.

  Rolling my eyes, I gathered the group into a circle. I could transport all of us as long as I knew where we were going.

  “Could you be a bit more specific?” I inquired as I raised my scepter high in the air in preparation for the trip.

  “North Dakota,” Pirate Doug announced. “Not a single warrant out in that state for my arrest.”

  “Where exactly is North Dakota?” I asked. My geography wasn’t the best when it came to the human world. I spent most of my time boinking Wally and making the other god’s lives hell on Mt. Olympus.

  “North,” Cupid said with a shudder. “Very north.”

  “To North Dakota we go!” I shouted as I waved my scepter in a circular motion and we were whipped into a magical windstorm.

  I mean, how bad could North Dakota be?

  “What the fuck?” I shouted as I stood in a foot of snow outside of a department store known for carrying appliances. “I’m not dressed for this weather.”

  “Dude,” Cupid said with a laugh. “You’re wearing a diaper. You’re not dressed at all.”

  “Your point?” I demanded. The lack of respect from these dumbarses was beginning to wear thin. “I look fabulous.”

  “Whatever you say,” Cupid replied with a shrug.

  Bonar woke up with a start and a loud scream of terror when we all landed in a snowbank. Taking a peek around, he began to mutter some kind of nonsense I decided to ignore.

  “No shirt. No Shoes. No service,” Bonar said.

  “What?” I finally asked since he’d mumbled it eight times in a row.

  “No shirt. No shoes. No service,” he repeated once again.

  “That’s nice,” I said, patting him on the head. The poor man had clearly been having a nightmare. “Alright, gentlemen and Pirate Doug, I have one hundred gold coins for each of you to spend today.”

  “I don’t need gold coins,” Pirate Doug announced with pride. “I plan to pilfer the self-cleaning crockpot for Tallulah. It will mean more to her if it’s stolen.”

  “Idiot,” I yelled, backhanding him in the head and sending him flying. “We will not be banned from North Dakota by your unlawful deeds. That being said, I never want to come here again. So, if the gold coins don’t cover the cost, I’m good with sticky fingers.”

  “The gold coins aren’t worth shite,” Rick said with a grin. “Not legal tender in North Dakota.”

  Del laughed and let his chin fall to his chest. “Pappy, gold coins don’t work as money in human stores. Did you bring a credit card?

  “What in the salty sea is a credit card, and what kind of heathens are these humans?” I shouted, causing a small avalanche of snow to land on all of us.

  Keith politely raised his hand. I was impressed with his manners. However, I was a wee bit concerned he was about to announce that he remembered he had outstanding parking tickets in North Dakota. The clock was ticking. I’d read if you didn’t get in early, you didn’t get shite.

  “Yes, Keith?”

  “I have an idea,” he said.

  “Does it have anything to do with traffic violations?” I inquired.

  “Umm… no,” he replied.

  “Fine,” I huffed. “Spit it out. We need to get moving. There are only a limited amount of fucking self-cleaning crockpots to be had.”

  “We could put stuff on layaway and come back every week with some of the money until it’s paid off,” Keith volunteered.

  “How do you know of this bizarre method?” I demanded. I really didn’t ever want to set foot in North Dakota again. My nuts were frozen. However, if the layaway business would keep us from being incarcerated in a human pokey, it might have merit.

  “I saw it on the Brady Bunch,” Keith explained.

  “And this bunch of Brady people… did they not possess the mystical credit card either?” I asked.

  “Umm… no. Not as far as I know,” Keith confirmed.

  “Fine,” I said. “We will use the bunch of Brady layaway method. Gentlemen, this could be a dangerous mission. If anyone would like a swig of rum before we go in, I’ve got three bottles stored next to my impressive junk.”

  Surprisingly no one took me up on my offer.

  Pointing to the buildings in front of us, I devised the strategy. “There have to be a least twenty emporiums to procure electronics, men. We will spread out and work quickly. I’d suggest that no man go alone. Human women are known to be grabby and vicious on the holiday of Black Friday.”

  “Black Friday is a holiday?” Rick asked.

  “Shut up,” I snapped. This was not a good time to blast Rick with a bolt of lightning. He was my main soldier of distraction. “Cupid, be prepared to shoot your arrows at people who are too close to the self-cleaning crockpots. If they’re busy falling in love, they’ll forget about the precious booty we’re after. Keith, you can communicate with Krakens and other violent sea creatures… this may come in handy with savage human women. Be prepared to use your skills.”

  Everyone looked confused. No matter. It was still quite early in the morning. They would get the hang of it once we were in the middle of battle.

  “Rick, be ready to set yourself ablaze. I think a smallish inferno would clear a boutique quite nicely,” I said. I was sure I heard snickers, but they wouldn’t be laughing if we were attacked by ferocious, blood-thirsty shoppers. They would thank me for my outstanding game plan. “Del, use your magic carpet if need be. You can swipe items from carts and fly away. It’s genius. Bonar and Upton
, be prepared to lift electronics from shopping carts of crazed women who have what we want. You’re small, and I’d suggest that you belly crawl through the establishments. Keep a watchful eye out so you’re not run over by the wheeled metal contraptions that the ruthless human females will be wielding. Pirate Doug?”

  “Yes, Pappy?” he asked.

  “Umm… try to stay out of trouble,” I told him.

  “We’re all going to die,” Cupid muttered with an eye roll.

  “Bad attitude,” I bellowed. “If you want a self-cleaning crockpot, you will have to fight for it.”

  “What if we don’t want a self-cleaning crockpot?” Pirate Doug inquired as my small army nodded in agreement.

  “Then you’re an idiot,” I shouted. “A self-cleaning crockpot ensures that your Johnson will be happy for years to come.”

  “Pun intended?” Del asked with a wide grin.

  “I made a pun?” I asked, going back over my last sentence.

  “Yep,” Del said. “A bad one.”

  “Then yes,” I said, taking a bow even though I still couldn’t figure out my unintentional brilliance. “Pun intended. Boys, get ready to sprint. We’re going in for the kill.”

  I was positive I heard moans and a few curses, but they would thank me later. I was sure of it.

  3

  No Shirt. No Shoes. No Service

  “Are you kidding me?” I shouted as I landed in a pile of snow with a thud. “Do you people know who I am?”

  It was the eighth store we’d been bodily removed from. We’d spent more time in the parking lot regrouping than we had shopping. My nuts were about to disappear. Snow in my diaper was not good for my package.

  “What is wrong with these humans?” I roared as I shook the icy crystals off my body.

  “No shirt. No Shoes. No Service,” Bonar said, pointing at a sign on the front door of the establishment we’d just been thrown out of.

  “That’s nonsense,” I snapped.

  “Them thars the rules, yar Majesty,” Upton informed me. “Would ye like me to go in and pilfer ye a shirt and shoes?”

  The offer was lovely, but I hadn’t covered my beautifully muscled chest in centuries. It was a sin to hide such perfection. However, self-cleaning crockpots were on the line here.

  “Yes,” I said. “I will take one for the team.”

  Again, I was sure I heard laughter from my men, but my balls were screaming. If it took a shirt and shoes to get some heat on my nuts, so be it.

  “I shall pilfer my Pappy’s clothing!” Pirate Doug announced as he took off at a clip into a store we’d not yet tried. “Be prepared to run for your lives!”

  “Shite,” I muttered. “The boy’s an imbecile. My plans are falling apart.”

  Del grinned. “Not to mention, he just entered a clothing store for women.”

  “Double shite.”

  “You look fine,” Cupid assured me, trying not to laugh and failing miserably.

  If we hadn’t traveled all the way to the frozen tundra arsehole of the United States, I would have called it a day and zapped the shite out of my disrespectful army. However, my Johnson’s happiness was on the line. I was going to prevail.

  “Pink really isn’t my color,” I said, glancing down at the cropped, hot-pink disaster of a shirt that Pirate Doug had stolen. The only saving grace was it was so tight that my pecs were clearly defined. The knee-high Santa socks barely came above my ankles and the low-heeled pumps were three sizes too small. However, I met the ridiculous requirements now.

  “With your green hair, it’s quite preppy,” Keith pointed out unhelpfully.

  “And yar hairy legs look fabulous in the heels,” Bonar added… also unhelpfully.

  “Thank you,” I replied. A compliment was a compliment no matter how embarrassing. “If anyone takes a picture of me, I will send them on a field trip to Hades for a few months. Am I clear?”

  My men nodded. No one made eye contact. I wanted to take that as a sign of respect, but I wasn’t an idiot. I looked absurd. The damned self-cleaning crockpot had better be worth it.

  “Alright, do not leave your cart unattended for even a second. Women wearing sweatpants and snow boots will attempt to steal your merchandise. If you need to take a whiz, do it now. There are plenty of parked cars to pee on,” I advised. “If you drain your Johnson in the store, we’ll lose valuable running time. You must sprint and knock people out of your way, or you won’t get shite. Am I clear?”

  “What about swearing?” Pirate Doug asked.

  I almost belted him again, but he made a fine point.

  “Keep it semi-PG. Getting arrested for lewd behavior is not on the schedule. We can do this, boys. I can feel the tingle in my frozen balls.”

  “So, we’re basically rationalizing our insanity because we want self-cleaning crockpots to get laid?” Cupid inquired.

  I had to think about that for thirty seconds. “Yes. Yes, we are! Follow me.”

  The inside of Holes Department store was a clusterhump. People were hunched over carts growling at each other. I spied several particularly barbaric females with self-cleaning crockpots in their metal baskets. They appeared to have eaten their young for breakfast and I was unsure if we should tangle with them.

  “Upton. Bonar,” I whispered. “Crawl after the two human females in the leggings. They have the goods.”

  “Aye,” Bonar said, dropping to the floor. “Do ye mean the ones that ye can tell thar religion of by the unfortunate tightness of the stretchy breeches?”

  “Aye,” I replied, pulling the rest of the men behind a pyramid of fuzzy blankets with Christmas scenes on them. “Get the booty and run for your life.”

  “Are we doing the bunch of Brady layaway plan on the booty?” Upton inquired as he too dropped to the ground and began to slither through the aisles.

  “No,” I called after them. “Too dangerous. Just grab the shite and run like a Kraken is on your arse.”

  “Roger that,” Upton said.

  “So pilfering is back on the table?” Pirate Doug asked, wrapping himself in a snowman blanket.

  “What are you doing?” Del asked his brother.

  “Disguising myself,” Pirate Doug replied, stealthily moving to a manikin, removing the wig and plopping the blond mass of curls onto his head.

  “It’s not a bad idea,” Cupid said with a shrug, plucking stunning brown wig from a manikin and putting it on. “There are probably security cameras in here. How do I look?”

  “Like an arse,” Pirate Doug said with a grin.

  “Excellent,” Cupid replied with a laugh as he wrapped himself in a purple blanket with Christmas trees on it.

  “Fine,” I said, grabbing a red pageboy wig and twisting my mossy green hair beneath it. “Grab a wig and blanket, and let’s get to it. No time to waste.”

  “Are we just stealing self-cleaning crockpots?” Rick asked, settling on a jet-black mohawk and a white blanket with little angels on it.

  “Nay,” I said, choosing a green swath of fuzzy material with midgets wearing red hats with puffy white globules on the tips. “Toasters, vacuum cleaners, blenders, and digital bathroom scales are also on the list of items that will guarantee blow jobs.”

  “I’d like to go on record and say that a toaster will not get you a blow job,” Del announced as he adjusted his hot pink curly wig in the mirror.

  For a brief and unsettling moment, I wondered if I should fight my son for the pink wig. It did match my shirt…

  “I’d say diamonds and jewels are more likely to end in a blow job,” Cupid added.

  These idiots knew nothing. I’d never gone to bed last night after the Thanksgiving shiteshow. Six hours on the interwebs had given me all the correct information. I’d also been able to diagnose myself with twelve human diseases, learned how to short-sheet Zeus’ bed, stumbled across a warning never to put a sock in the toaster, unearthed how to tape my thumbs to my hands so I could experience what it felt like to be a dinosaur, found out tha
t orange is the new black and that I was indeed several inches taller than Jason Momoa. The interwebs were a wonderful time suck, and wildly educational.

  “Nope,” I insisted. “A self-cleaning crockpot is the gift that will keep on giving.”

  “You’re sure about that?” Keith asked, wearing a silver wig with curls that went down to his arse.

  “Positive,” I replied. “Absolutely positive. Now let’s go find some fucking self-cleaning crockpots.”

  “What in the name of Zeus’ flabby arse is happening?” I yelled as I watched my poor idiot son, Pirate Doug, get attacked by a posse of sadistic shoppers.

  We’d split up to suss out the crockpots. Apparently, that was a grave mistake. Wally would have my arse in a sling if something happened to her baby boy. Of course, if the boy lost an appendage, it would grow back. He was a Vampyre/Pirate. It would be itchy, but the imbecile would live.

  “He got the last one,” Rick yelled above the roar of the crowd. “Pirate Doug got the last self-cleaning crockpot. All hell is breaking loose.”

  “Save him,” I shouted, grabbing an electric frypan and shoving it into my diaper. “Fill your pockets while we commence with the rescue. I’m pretty sure this is our last stop.”

  “This is our first stop,” Keith yelled as he made an outstanding dive and ripped a pop-up hotdog toaster from the hands of a banshee who was trying to beat Pirate Doug to a pulp with it.

  “Toss it to me, boy,” I yelled to Keith as I swiped a box of finger food party plates from an unsuspecting consumer. “I’ll put the toaster in my pants.”

  “Remind me to never use that toaster,” Cupid grunted as he jumped into the fray to save Pirate Doug and got beaned by a blender.

  “Get the blender,” I yelled to Cupid. “It’s on the list.”

  “I’m on it,” Cupid shouted as he ducked a cake pan shaped like a Johnson.

  “What kind of place is this?” Upton screamed as he pilfered the schlong pan and raised high it in the air. “Should we take this?”

  “Yes,” I commanded. “It will be an excellent ice breaker at parties.”