“I think you possibly misspoke,” Cathy announced as Satan’s eyes grew wide at being told he was wrong. “Happens to everyone. Rhyming words can be a real bitch. Kind of like Joan who’ll be here shortly. She’s a Witch who’s a bitch. See? The rhyme can really screw you up. Occasionally I call Joan a bitch instead of a Witch and she whips out that damn wand and removes a body part—just awful. Soooo, is it possible that you meant a climacterical dumbass? That would mean a dumbass at an important physiological changing point. For example, menopause. I think what you were trying to say is that your brother is a menopausal dumbass.”
“Umm…” Satan didn’t even have a comeback for that.
Actually, none of us did.
God laughed and enjoyed Satan’s appalled discomfort. “Brother, I knew what you meant. It was simply far too much fun to watch you suffer.”
“That’s not very God-like of you,” Satan snapped.
“Yes, well, you bring out the best in me,” God replied with a raised brow. “To clarify, a spherical dumbass is a dumbass from any angle… because it’s a sphere.”
“THANK YOU,” Satan huffed. “For a second there, I thought all this hugging and kissing nonsense had made me lose my edge.”
“No darling,” I told him. “Your edge is just fine. You’re as rude and uncouth as you’ve always been.”
“Thank you, Mother,” Satan said with a sigh of relief.
“Welcome.”
And that’s when Joan the Witch arrived in a blast of green sparkles and smoke—or Joan the Bitch if you were a rhymer like Cathy.
“Betsy Cocker is a pain in my green ass,” Joan hissed as she retrieved a pint-sized Booty Cooter from her Chanel bag and dangled her in the air. “Tried to bite me. Twice.”
“Listen to me, you sphincter-goblins, I’m not making nice with the Slob-Nob. I’ve wasted my entire existence trying to avoid being offed by that jack-wank. I don’t get paid enough to deal with this kind of shit,” Becky shouted. However, the real oomph was missing considering she was the size of a miniature candy bar.
“May I?” Darby inquired as he picked up Boopie by her tiny red blazer and plopped her on the table.
Her red blazer clashed horribly with the teal and pink china, but since she was so little it was the best place to keep her. If we dropped her in the sand, we’d never find her again. That would be a disaster.
“Be my guest,” I replied warily, worried that Darby might do more damage than good. But at this point, I was willing to try anything.
“So, you say your son has tried to kill you?” Darby asked as he pulled out his notebook and pen.
“What part of my last sentence did you miss, stinky dingleberry-merkin?” Becky snarled.
Again, it was oomph-less as she sounded like Velma without the high pitch. However, the merkin part was truly disgusting.
“I see,” Darby said, looking a little taken aback. “So, have you tried to kill your son as well?”
“I’ve been a little busy being the fucking Grim Reaper,” she screeched. “I had enough on my hands blowing up appliances and automobiles.”
“For the love of everything criminal, there is no Grim Reaper,” Satan snapped.
“Yeah, I know that now, you spastic wanker-turd,” Bossy snapped. “I have a new job that I suck at and I want to keep it. If the spawn that I hatched kills me, I won’t get PAID.”
“Would it really be that bad if we let him kill her?” Satan inquired casually.
At this point, I almost agreed with him, but then I looked at Bill and my heart constricted.
“There will be no offing anyone today,” I announced and then got down in Boobie’s tiny face. “Benny Cocksucker, you haven’t tried hard enough. You’re being a terrible mother. You think it’s easy being the mother of Satan and God? Well, actually God was a very easy child and a delightful adult. Now, Satan is a different story. But just because he’s an asshole at times doesn’t mean I don’t love the little shit with every breath I take. If you are lucky enough to give birth to a living being—even if the being came about due to a drunken stupor that resulted in banging the Antichrist—you have a responsibility to the jackass that you hatched. It’s the Law of Nature. And I should know considering a made all the freaking Laws of Nature. You feel me, Bumpy?”
Becky Cooter was finally shocked to silence… kind of. She started to cry.
“Well, shit,” I said, twisting my red curls in my fingers. “I didn’t mean to do that.”
“No, it’s fine, twat-wagon,” Bonnie sobbed. “You’re right. I’m a terrible mother. I hate the little fucker.”
“Okay,” Darby said, getting excited. “That’s a good start. Why do you hate him? Besides trying to kill you, has he committed any other grievous crimes?”
“Like that’s not enough?” God muttered.
“Shhhh,” I hushed God with my finger to my lips. We were getting somewhere with Beulah. Or at least I thought we might be.
“I don’t even know the shit-monger,” Bessy said as she continued to wail. “I blew the watermelon out of a hole the size of a golf ball and then the cocksocket took him away.”
“Cocksocket?” Darby questioned, bewildered.
“The Antichrist,” I said, clearing up any confusion.
“Interesting,” Darby said, taking notes a mile a minute. “So, you never got to bond with the little fucker?”
“Do you need a hearing aid, crotch-goblin?” Bopsy shrieked as she used the tip of one of my linen napkins to wipe her nose. “I barely laid eyes on him until he was about three hundred years old. He showed up one day and dropped my blow dryer into the tub while I was taking a bath.”
“Too bad that didn’t work out,” Satan commented.
I electrocuted him.
“I think we can solve this problem,” Darby announced, tucking his pen into his raspberry beret and patting Becca on the head.
“How?” she demanded.
“Yes, how?” I asked, hoping a yard sale wasn’t part of the solution. One never knew with Darby.
“We’re going to play the compliment game,” Darby said. “Instead of killing blows, we’re going to shoot from the heart. When the little fucker gets here, we will seat them at the table and they will say kind things to each other.”
“And if that fails?” I asked.
“You can electrocute them,” Darby told me. “However, it will work. Saying nice things is a real ice breaker and can open the doors of communication and generate a real feeling of trust that can lead to love. Or at least the absence of murder.”
“You are so close to losing your Demon card,” Satan mumbled and shook his head.
“Fine,” I said as the wind changed directions again. “Incoming.”
And that’s when Hortense and Fran arrived with the snarling and pissed off spawn of the Antichrist. His black wings were on display and he was ten times the size that he was when I last saw him in the grocery store. I had no clue how Hortense and Fran had been able to get him here. He was truly terrifying.
And then I saw it.
My posse did not screw around. At all.
The big-boned Vampyre and Gnome had attached unbreakable magical chains to Jim Bob Bob-Bob. The chains were a specialty of the Gnomes. I’d only witnessed them a few times in my long life. However, it was more what the chains were attached to than the chains themselves that was the most shocking part.
Bill, Satan, God and Darby all doubled forward in phantom pain.
My girls had tied the spawn of the Antichrist’s nuts into a knot and then secured them with the enchanted chain. They held one end and if Jim Bob tried to fight them, the chain tightened. It was dastardly.
It was also perfect. We had the spawn of the Antichrist just where we wanted him… by the balls.
Chapter Sixteen
“I have a bingo game in ten minutes,” Jim Bob Bob-Bob roared as he plopped his hairy butt down on the sand. He was smart enough to make sure there was some give in the chain so his nuggets wouldn�
�t be torn from his hideous monster body. He narrowed his eyes at the assemblage on the beach and proceeded to kick the sand around.
“Should we keep his junk locked down?” Hortense inquired.
“For now,” I said. “He’ll have to earn his junk’s freedom back.”
“Good luck with that,” Fran mutter with a chuckle. “We had a Hell of a time knotting up his twigs and pieces. Hortense almost popped a fang.”
I wanted to ask what that meant, but I also wanted to keep the contents in my stomach.
“BINGO,” Jim Bob bellowed. “I have bingo.”
“Too bad. So sad,” I said as I examined the abomination with curiosity. “You have to eat dinner. Everyone needs a hearty meal before bingo.”
His eyes were as black as a starless night. His body was covered in matted black fur, yet he was strangely human-looking. However, his feet and head were enormous. Jim Bob’s ebony black wings could use a good brushing and a trim, but if the idiot took a bath, he might not be quite so unappealing.
Wait. Who was I kidding? He was heinous. It would take thousands of gallons of tomato juice to remove the stench.
“Hello there, big guy,” Darby called out with a wave. “I’m Darby Dick Demon. And you are?”
The spawn of the Antichrist eyed Darby warily. Darby was slightly off-putting with his raspberry beret, high-heeled combat boots and the way he was hopping around on the sand so his feet wouldn’t touch. However, he was also an outstanding therapist—most of the time. As long as he stayed away from yard sales, I would let him go for it.
“Jim Bob Bob-Bob,” the beast snarled.
“It’s James Robert Bob-Bob, you slimy little shit,” a tiny voice shouted from the table.
“Who said that?” Jim Bob demanded, glancing around wildly and growling low in his throat.
“I did, you over-grown piece of toe-jam,” Becky screeched.
“Where is she?” Jim Bob demanded as his black eyes began to glow eerily. “What have you done to her?”
“What do you mean?” I asked with a raised brow.
“If you harm her, I will eat you,” he hissed and gnashed his big pointy teeth.
Very, very, very interesting. Maybe there was hope. “Follow my lead, Belinda,” I whispered as I turned my back on the spawn zoned in on Bunky.
“Is a raise involved?” the idiot whispered back.
Fisting my hands at my sides so I didn’t electrocute the horrid tiny woman, I nodded curtly. “A substantial one,” I assured her. “And if you get the little shit to cough up the remaining two horsemen, you will be set for life and then some.”
“Fine then, titty-smacker. You talk. I’ll agree. I’ll get the fucking horses,” she said.
Glancing over at Bill, he winked at me. My lover believed in me and I wasn’t about to let him down. Rolling my neck to release the tension, I pivoted to face the monster. My eyes filled with tears and I stumbled forward with my hands on my heart. “She’s dying,” I cried out. “Her last wish was to see her son once more.”
“Damn, she’s good,” Satan muttered under his breath.
“Genius,” God agreed.
Jim Bob’s onyx eyes widened in horror and slapped the sand with all of his might. Granules flew everywhere creating the sandstorm to beat all sandstorms in Purgatory. With a bit of quick thinking, I wiggled my nose and protected Bill, Becky and the table. Everyone else was on their own at this point. We were Immortal. A little sand in our panties or our lungs wasn’t a biggie.
“Unacceptable,” Jim Bob bellowed, causing the fire on the water to shoot even higher.
“I see no problem,” I said, wiping my tears from my eyes. “You’ve been trying to kill her off for eons. I would think you’d be happy.”
Jim Bob was stumped by this news. He was clearly an idiot.
“Can I chime in here?” Darby inquired.
“Absolutely,” I replied.
“Tell me about your father, James Robert,” Darby said, conjuring up an outdoor rug to stand on so his heels didn’t sink. Or at least I thought that was why. “What was it like growing up with the Antichrist? Did he take you to baseball games and to Target?”
I was a little confused by the Target reference, but then again, Darby liked a good yard sale too.
“He loves me. The Antichrist loves me,” Jim Bob shouted and raised a hairy middle finger to all of us. “He’s tried to decapitate me since the day I was born.”
Silence ensued for one minute and twenty-two seconds as we digested this new wrinkle.
“Can I say something?” Satan inquired.
“Is it pertinent?” I asked.
“I believe it is,” Satan replied.
“Have at it, son,” I told him and then held my breath. I never knew what would come out of my own mouth and I really never knew what would come out of the Devil’s mouth. But since our end goal was identical, I was going to let my boy do his thing.
“If the circumstances weren’t dire, I would have kept my mouth shut,” Satan began, clearly put out. “Helping people gives me hives. However, I’d like to point out that you have a low IQ and are a fucking idiot.”
“Umm… not sure how this is helping,” I said to Satan with wide eyes as Jim Bob began to glow like a volcano about to erupt.
“I’m getting there,” Satan replied.
“Get there faster,” I urged.
“So, Slob-Nob,” Satan continued. “The bottom line is this—your piece of shit pappy doesn’t love you.”
“YES, HE DOES,” Jim Bob snarled as his black eyes began to glitter and smoke wafted out of his ears and nose.
“I beg to differ,” Satan said with an enormous eye roll. “A little electrocution here and there, a fireball, a few years of solitary confinement, short sheeting your parent’s bed on their nookie night, giving your mother a wedgie at a formal affair, telling your father he’s a jackass and then stealing all of his office supplies when he’s not looking, leaving the toilet seat up on purpose when your mother comes to visit so she’ll fall in, a good old-fashioned spanking when you get caught setting your brother on fire… that’s love. Decapitation is not love. Trust me on this.”
“Are you fucking serious?” Jim Bob demanded, paling considerably under his fur.
“No. I’m fucking Satan,” the Devil groused, letting his head fall back on his shoulders. “I get no respect at all around here.”
“I respect anyone that can fuck themselves,” Jim Bob offered up, nodding his gigantic head. “That’s truly amazing.”
Satan began to spark and hiss. Red and black fire engulfed him. It was impressive, but not conducive to winning. I was going to win no matter what. Bill’s existence was on the line.
Lucifer had made some headway, but he was about to blow it. It did warm my heart to know how much my evil son loved all of us. His methods were a little bizarre, but his intentions were good. Note to self—turn the light on in the bathroom when visiting Hell from now on. Falling into the commode was not pleasurable no matter how much my son loved me.
“I think there might be a bit of a misunderstanding here,” I said, stepping in front of Satan so he didn’t incinerate the beast.
“Ya think?” Bunny griped.
“Hush,” I snapped at her. “Satan is correct. Mothers and fathers do not decapitate their children. That’s not what real love is.”
“You lie,” Jim Bob roared.
I rolled my eyes and then smiled. “Possibly,” I agreed. “However, there is someone here who never lies. God, could you please join me?”
“With pleasure, Mother,” God replied as he snapped his fingers and put on a show.
My celestial son was now clad in all white—sparkling white. And thankfully, not in a softball uniform. His flowing robes floated around him and a golden halo framed his beautiful head. He was stunning.
“God, can you explain love to James Robert?”
“I can,” God said, standing tall and proud. “I shall recite a quote from my book.”
&nbs
p; “Here we go,” Satan muttered with a grunt of disgust. “My book waaaay outsold his.”
“Quiet,” I hissed at him.
“This is from Corinthians with a little spin of my own,” God announced grandly to the group. “Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. And it definitely does not decapitate people. And for that matter, it does not drop blow dryers into bathtubs while their mother is bathing,” God said, giving Jim Bob a stern look. “Love does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes and always preserves. So, my friend, I will have to go on record as agreeing with my brother. Your father does not love you.”
Jim Bob was floored by this news. “So, umm… I despise you and would be delighted to eat soup from your cracked and bloody skull isn’t an endearment?”
“Ahh… nope. Definitely not,” God said, shaking his head sadly.
“Okay,” Jim Bob said with his hairy unibrow wrinkled in thought. “The air you breathe offends me to the point I want to tear your limbs from your body and shove them down your throat doesn’t count either?”
“Can I field this one?” Satan asked.
“Of course,” God said, stepping aside so the Devil could take the stage again.
Satan leveled a hard glare at Jim Bob. “While your sperm donor’s sense of humor is refreshingly creative, he is a gaping mother fucker who doesn’t deserve a son. Not that you’re any great shakes in that department.”
“Mmmmkay,” I said, interrupting Satan before said something more detrimental than he already had. “James Robert, I believe that you have been misled and raised horribly. I’m so very sorry about that, but it’s not too late.”
“Might be,” Becky shouted from inside a teacup.
“And you,” I snapped as I grabbed her and made her full-sized with a blink of my eyes. “You need to pull up your big girl panties and make nice with your boy.”
“I don’t wear panties, salami-sniffer. I’m one hundred percent commando under this spiffy polyester red suit,” Becky announced to a now gagging audience.
Swallowing back my bile, I stayed focused on the end game. “Be that as it may,” I choked out, “I believe your son has been trying to tell you he loves you. His methods are truly appalling, completely illegal and wildly inappropriate. However, he seems to have come by them honestly. Talk to him,” I hissed as I shoved her toward her hairy beast of a son.
A Fashionable Fiasco Page 17