Jingle Me Balls Read online

  The sun would rise soon and I needed a few homing seagulls to fly my letter to the North Pole. There was no time to lose.

  Dear Santa,

  My name is Poseidon. I’m quite sure you’ve heard of me. Everyone has. I’m wildly famous.

  I have been a very good boy this year. You can ask Wally. Wally is my she-devil with the outstanding rack if you need confirmation on this. Do not ask Zeus. He is a lying sack of shite.

  Please send my regards to Frosty the Snowman. I had no clue you two were banging. The interwebs didn’t provide that information. Luckily, I saw the good news on a sweater.

  Here is what I want…

  It took me three hours, four bottles of rum and twelve pieces of paper, but in the end, it was a masterpiece. I was certain Santa would be impressed.

  8

  T’was the Night Before Christmas

  “I’m so excited,” I sang, dancing naked around our suite. “Wally, my lover, spending Christmas on Mystical Isle was the best idea ever. I can’t wait for the presents tomorrow morning!”

  Wally giggled and shook her head. “Poseidon, you need to calm down and put your diaper on. There are far more important things than presents happening right now.”

  “What in the salty seas could be more important than presents?” I demanded, wondering if I’d forgotten an important holiday ritual. We’d hit Black Friday, tree decorating, Christmas storytime, a holiday portrait on the beach and a letter to Santa. Granted several of the activities had ended in bloodshed, but I still called it a win. The Mermaids had baked lovely Christmas cookies that went wonderfully with rum and everyone had voted to veto caroling. Pirate Doug had a singing voice that could kill… literally. The present exchange would be positively ruined if everyone was dead.

  “Petunia has gone into labor,” Wally said, clasping her hands together in delight. “We will have a granddaughter very soon—possibly on Christmas morning.”

  “Wonderful news,” I bellowed, putting on a custom-made red and green diaper covered in silver jingle balls. “Do you think I should suggest naming the child Poseidonia Jesus?”

  “Umm… no,” Wally said with a groan. “I think that would ensure the loss of an important body part.”

  “Maybe just Poseidonia then?” I suggested.

  “Again, nope,” Wally said, biting back a laugh.

  “It’s a beautiful name,” I insisted. “It would be such a shame to waste it. However, I will go with what you say and suggest Poseidonacca.”

  “Mmmkay,” Wally said. “I did not suggest that. It’s awful.”

  “How about Poseiwallyrica?”

  Wally stood, wrapped her arms around me and pressed her delicious lips to mine. For a moment, I couldn’t remember my own name. My Wally was a wonder.

  “How about we let the children name their own child?” she purred.

  “What children? What child?” I asked, confused as I copped a feel of her outstanding arse.

  Wally laughed and I happily joined her. I had no clue what was so funny, but her laugh filled my heart with joy.

  “Ohhhhh, Wally,” I said, grabbing my laptop computer and flopping down on the couch. “I have discovered something wonderful on the interwebs.”

  “Should I be terrified?” she inquired, seating herself next to me on the divan.

  “Not at all,” I assured her. “There is a fabulous place to go where you can post every detail of your life no matter how mundane and boring! It’s marvelous. I now know what humans eat for dinner and other things that I shouldn’t be privy to.”

  “Please tell me you didn’t join,” Wally said with a long sigh.

  “I can tell you no such thing,” I announced. “I’ve made a page for myself. It’s called Poseidon—The Well-Hung God of the Sea. I already have three friends. Well, two. That shite, Zeus, doesn’t count.”

  Wally closed her eyes and pressed her temples. “Zeus is on social media too?”

  “Aye,” I grunted as I found my page. “Look! I did it all by myself.”

  Wally’s eyes grew wide with what I could only imagine was pride as she scrolled my outstanding page.

  “There have to be at least a hundred pictures of you drinking rum,” she muttered as she continued to scroll.

  “Aye,” I said with a wink. “I figured if I put up enough pictures of the good stuff, the companies will send me a few cases—saves me having to pilfer it.”

  “I see,” Wally said, biting down on her lip. “A picture of you wasted in a diaper drinking rum while holding the bottle with your feet might not be the best endorsement.”

  “Pish,” I said with a laugh. “My pecs look wonderful.”

  “Oh Hades, no,” Wally choked out with a wince.

  “What?”

  “Umm… you put the Christmas family photo up,” she pointed out, trying not to laugh.

  She failed.

  “Aye,” I replied and narrowed my eyes at the computer screen. “Do you want to know what that shite-stain Zeus wrote in the comments?”

  “No, I do not want to know.”

  “Well, I’ll tell you then. The toga-wearing arsehole asked if he needed to send down cold medicine for all the green boogers in our noses,” I griped.

  “Did you delete his comment?” Wally asked.

  “You can do that?” I asked, amazed. “That probably would have been better than replying.”

  “You replied?” Wally whispered, paling a bit.

  “Aye. Called him a shite-eating mother-humper with a tiny Johnson.”

  “And how’d that go over?” Wally inquired shaking her head.

  “Not well. He’s threatened to come down here and kick my arse. But no worries. I have a plan.”

  “Why does that scare me?” Wally pressed her temples and sighed.

  “That Zeus wants to kick my arse?” I asked, confused.

  “Nope, that you have a plan.”

  “Wally, Wally, bo-bally—Bonana-fanna-fo-fally—Fee-fi-mo-mally—Wally!” I sang, pulling the light of my life to her feet and waltzing her across the room. “When have my plans ever gone awry?”

  “I can’t count that high,” she said with a gasp and a giggle as I dipped her.

  “Well, this one is sure-fire,” I explained. “I’m just going to whip up a little storm off-shore to ensure that Zeus the arsehole can’t get to the island. Can’t have the shite ruining our perfect Christmas.”

  Wally squinted at me and pursed her lips. “Just a tiny storm,” she advised. “A teeny-tiny storm. If you mess with the weather too much, Mother Nature will be pissed.”

  I shuddered at the thought. Mother Nature made me look sane.

  “A small storm is all we need,” I assured her. “Zeus suffers from follicle aquaphobia—cries like a baby if his hair gets mussed. The wanker will turn around and go home if he even sees a drop of rain.”

  “Are you serious?” Wally asked with a laugh.

  “Nay, I’m Poseidon,” I replied. “Shall we go take a family photo of Petunia in labor? Might be nice for her to have something with the whole family in it to remember the special day.”

  “Absolutely not,” Wally said, whacking me in the head. “The baby will be enough. Trust me on that.”

  I trusted my gal with my life but covertly slipped my cell phone into my pocket just in case.

  “What in the scaly barnacles is going on?” I roared. Looking up at the dark clouds rolling in faster than a soused and overly confident one-legged Pirate in an arse-kicking competition, I choked on my rum. Shiteshiteshite. I’d conjured up a small storm, not a fucking typhoon.

  “Batten down the hatches,” Pirate Doug commanded as the massive storm continued to roll in from the sea and batter the shores of Mystical Isle.

  “Gods durnit,” Bonar grunted as he got whacked in the head with a flying beach lounge. “Tis a mutin- minded, crow-bait brewin’ on the sea.”

  “Avast ye,” Upton yelled. “All hands on deck. We got a black spot rollin’ in. Yar will be dancin’ the hempen
jig in Davy Jones’ locker if ye don’t haul arse like a bow-legged bunglar.”

  “What the hell did he just say?” Keith asked, trying to keep all the beach chairs from flying away.

  “No clue,” Rick said, turning to Del who appeared frazzled beyond reason. “Del, you don’t have to be out here. Go back to Petunia and protect her. The baby could come any time now.”

  “On it,” Del said with a relieved smile as he sprinted back into the resort.

  “We’re all going to die,” Cupid grumbled as he tried to save the large lifeguard towers, only to bet beaned in the head with the massive umbrellas.

  “Bad attitude,” I said, trying to figure out how in the shite this was happening. “No one is going to bite it. It’s Christmas tomorrow.”

  “Tell that to the hurricane,” Cupid said, tackling the tiki bar before it was washed out to sea.

  Tallulah raced onto the beach and looked out over the horizon. “We need to get the human guests off the island. That’s a mother humper of a storm coming in. Can’t risk it.”

  “Agree,” Misty said, joining her sister. “I gathered all the guests into the lobby and gave them vouchers for a free stay in the new year.”

  “Perfect,” Ariel said, grabbing onto a palm tree so she didn’t get blown away in the increasingly violent winds. “Who can transport that many humans at the same time?”

  “Poseidon can,” Misty confirmed.

  Madison swam to shore, let her tail morph to legs and sprinted to her sisters. “The dolphins are freaking out,” she shouted over the thunder. “Something is off. Are we removing the humans?”

  “Yep,” Tallulah said, glancing around wildly. “Where in the Seven Seas is Poseidon?”

  “Over there fist fighting with himself. Almost knocked himself out cold when he nailed his own head with the rum bottle,” Pirate Doug said pointing to me. “Seems very suspicious.”

  “First smart thing you’ve said in centuries, darling,” Wally commented, patting her son on the head. “Poseidon, get your sorry arse over here or I shall kick it so hard it will be stuck in your mouth.”

  “Merry Christmas,” I bellowed, hoping the sheer volume of my voice might distract from the fact that I was an idiot arsehole and possibly had a teeny-tiny-weeny hand in the vicious storm.

  No such luck.

  “Fix it,” Wally hissed. “This is your fault.”

  “What?” Tallulah demanded as she got whipped up in a small wind funnel and tossed down the beach.

  “I’ll save you, my purple hooker,” Pirate Doug shouted as he ran down the beach and narrowly missed getting struck by a giant falling palm tree.

  “What does Wally mean this is your fault,” Madison demanded.

  “Zeus said we all had boogers,” I began only to be electrocuted by Wally.

  “Get to the point before the island blows away,” Wally snapped.

  “Of course,” I said. “Zeus, the small-peckered shite, was coming down to ruin our perfect Christmas so I whipped up a little storm to muss his hair.”

  “Little?” Tallulah screeched as she rejoined the group and sent a stinging bolt of purple magic my way.

  “I might have forgotten to check what Mother Nature had planned for today,” I muttered, grabbing a flying tree mid-air and placing it in front of my Johnson since I was fairly sure I was in for a few more electrical surprises.

  “Might have?” Ariel shouted.

  “Alright,” I admitted, whacking myself in the head with the tree. “I forgot and I might have been a little soused. This is just awful. I don’t know how Santa can get here in a shiteshow like this.”

  “He did not just say he was worried about Santa,” Tallulah hissed as she began to glow menacingly.

  “Aye,” Pirate Doug confirmed. “Pappy said exactly that. He found the fat bastard’s address on the interwebs and wrote him a letter.”

  That caused thirty-three seconds of shocked silence as the wild wind howled around us.

  “So let me get this straight,” Misty said, throwing her hands in the air. “You created a storm without checking in with Mother Nature that’s going to decimate the island because Zeus said we had boogers? And the only thing you’re worried about is Santa?”

  “Sounds kind of petty when you put it like that,” I volunteered sheepishly.

  “How else can I put it?” Misty demanded.

  Misty was correct. I was a bad boy—a very bad boy. However, I was also Poseidon the Well- Hung God of the Sea who happened to have Mother Nature on speed dial. Of course, I did point out that her feet were enormous and that she had the slight aroma of dirt last time we’d crossed paths. That had resulted in the loss of a body part on my end. However, the unfortunate exchange had to have been at least fifty years ago.

  “I can fix this,” I announced, hoping I sounded far more confident than I felt. “Wally, you have enough magic to send the humans back to dry land. Right?”

  “I do,” Wally said with a curt nod. “I’ll take care of it immediately. And you will stop drinking rum before six in the evening.”

  I must have misunderstood. The wind was howling and shite was flying everywhere. “You want me not to hum during the day?” I questioned.

  “No.”

  “You’d like me to remove my thumb?” I tried again.

  “No.”

  “You think I’m dumb?” I asked.

  “Well, yes,” Wally said with an eye roll. “But what I said is that you have to stop drinking rum all day long. Your perpetual state of drunkenness has gotten out of control. Look at what you’ve done.”

  Shite. Wally was right. Not much was in one piece on the isle except for the lodge. And at the rate the storm was going that might not survive either. Looking around at all the faces I loved, I let my head fall to my chest and I sighed.

  “You have my word, my love,” I promised Wally.

  Wally wrapped her arms around me and hugged me hard as the rain fell in torrents around us. “You are and always will be my hero,” she whispered in my ear. “However, if I catch you cheating, I will force you to wear three-piece suits for a century.” Snapping her fingers, she disappeared.

  My Wally was a she-devil extraordinaire. I would do anything to make the wench happy—even give up my beloved rum. Plus, she was correct. I’d made a tremendous mess out of everything.

  “Pappy, you okay?” Pirate Doug asked as he and everyone else watched me warily.

  “Never been better, boy,” I bellowed… and I meant it. The fact shocked me, but it was true. I was the father to a shiteload of idiots and the father-figure to a shiteload more. I would not let my family down. I would save Christmas for my people.

  The wind increased and the skies turned black. Debris flew everywhere and I screamed like a girl as Poseidon’s Poop Shack got blown out to sea and all of the self-cleaning crockpots along with it. We’d almost died in vain. We would reap no reward from the Black Friday adventure. There would be no gifts that would keep on giving.

  “Save the booty,” I commanded as I ran to dive into the choppy waters and retrieve the electronics.

  “Not so fast,” Madison said, tripping me and stepping on my head. “Stop the storm.”

  “Whoops. My bad,” I said, pulling out my cell phone and dialing Mother Nature.

  One ring.

  Two rings.

  Three rings.

  Four rings.

  Five rings.

  Shite, the old hag had better be home or my Johnson was toast.

  “What do you want?” Mother Nature hissed into the phone.

  “Merry Christmas, Mother Nature… you fabulous piece of… umm… crumbling earth with…umm… wonderfully colossal tootsies,” I bellowed. “I need a little favor.”

  “Who is this?” she snapped.

  “Poseidon. The God of the Sea,” I replied. I was appalled that I wasn’t in her contacts, but had no time to throw a fit.

  “You’re an ass,” she informed me.

  “Your point?”

&
nbsp; “No point,” she said. “Just an observation.”

  “Right. Well, I was wondering if you could tamp back the storm in the Bermuda Triangle?”

  “Why?”

  “Because Zeus said I had green boogers on social media and the shite doesn’t like to mess up his follicles. So naturally, since the arse was trying to hijack my holiday, I created a weeny storm,” I explained as a palm tree almost decapitated me.

  “A storm of Johnsons?” Mother Nature questioned, confused.

  “Umm… no,” I said, gagging at the visual.

  “Hot dogs?” she tried again.

  “Nay,” I said with an eye roll. “A smallish regular storm—no Johnsons have been harmed… yet. However, my Johnson is in danger at the moment. When my teeny storm combined with your storm it became a fucking shiteshow. I realize now that I was entirely too sensitive about Zeus saying I had green boogers.”

  “Do you?” Mother Nature inquired.

  “Do I what?”

  “Have boogers?” she snapped.

  “Nay, they were plastic nose plugs,” I shouted, defending myself.

  “Is this a new popular style that I’m unaware of?” Mother Nature demanded.

  “Umm… aye. All the rage with the teenagers now,” I lied through my teeth. “And I would be honored to send you a large box of green boogers as a token of my thanks and a Christmas gift.”

  “Thought you said they weren’t boogers,” Mother Nature said.

  “My bad. Nose plugs—made in China,” I amended quickly.

  There was silence on the other end of the line as the insane old bat considered my offer. I watched in horror as parts of the lodge ripped away from the building and flew through the air. I was ready to get on my knees and beg. Maybe I should facetime the cranky old freak so she could see my appeal for mercy.

  “I will take the popular nose plugs and you will visit me and rub my colossal tootsies every Thursday for the next ten years,” she said with a cackle.