The Bad Boys of Assjacket – Robyn Peterman

No self-respecting, slightly chubby, good-lookin’, crime lovin’ cat would ever pass up a dare. So I didn’t. Now, me and my boys are in hot water trying to figure out how to live on the right side of the law for a whole freakin’ week! This is complicated by a couple of hairy issues… — The half-headed bear in town had his privates pilfered. We have vowed to return his giggleberries. Legal means are not working. — Sassy’s Canadian tutors show up—the furry, cat-burgling dames who we’ve been in love with our entire nine lives. In order to woo the gorgeous broads, we need to be at our criminal best. — We need the help of a foul-mouthed troll who throws tantrums like a three-year-old serial killer and wants to bump off everyone. Throw in a cryptic message from the Goddess, humans invading our town and evil, stickyfingered groundhogs, and we have a hot mess on our paws. I hope we have a few of our kitty lives left because the Bad Boys of Assjacket are going to save the day or get eighty-sixed trying. PROLOGUE ONCE UPON A TİME in the far, far away kingdom of West Virginia, there was an exquisitely enchanted place called Assjacket. Don’t laugh. Okay, fine. Laugh. It’s a crappy name, but I’ve heard worse… Toad Suck, Arkansas… Hooker, Oklahoma… Monkey’s Eyebrow, Kentucky.

I rest my case. Of course, it wasn’t originally called Assjacket. But one bright sunny, cloudless, and slightly humid day, a potty-mouthed witch renamed the town. Or more likely, Zelda forgot the name and pulled the dreadful new moniker out of her ass. It’s not important to the story, so we’ll skip that part. Anyhoo, after that fated day, no one could recall the original name. Was it a spell? Was it providence? Was the original name worse than Assjacket? Who knows, but it has nothing to do with the tale, so please forget it was brought to your attention. The enchanted town of Assjacket was filled with beautiful, magical misfits who happened to fit perfectly together—Shifters, Witches, Dryads and Warlocks… and three very handsome and lovably chubby talking cats. The cats paid me to say that—a lot. Although, I do adore them and would’ve spoken highly of the felonious felines without the bribe.

Even the leader of the witches, the illustrious and questionably dressed, Baba Yaga, aka Baba Yostuckintheeighties, had planted roots in the lovely town of Assjacket. Of course, Baba Yaga was having relations with Zelda’s warlock father, but that’s another story for another time. Back to this one… Time after time and battle after battle, the Assjackians were torn to pieces—mostly metaphorically speaking—but always managed to put themselves back together with loving care for each other. The magic was very real as was the love. But in any good story, there is always a twist—usually dastardly, and in Assjacket’s case, always slightly profane. For you see, the enchanted Assjacket was held together by an ancient secret—a mystical, magical secret… a circular-ish kind of oval-ish magical secret. A secret so old it had been forgotten. It didn’t help that the Assjacket historian had run out of toilet paper and had used the important documents for his own personal hygiene hundreds of years ago. The idiot who went by the name of Goober was run out of town never to be heard from again. Thankfully, that’s another story.

And trust me, you don’t want to hear that one. It’s rather smelly. Pardon my odoriferous digression. As the saying goes, if history is forgotten or used to wipe one’s ass, it’s bound to cause a shitshow—pun sadly intended. Actually, that’s not the saying at all, but it is what happened in the enchanted town of Assjacket when an important piece of the magical historical puzzle went missing. Magicals live a very private existence in public. It’s the way it always has been and the way it must remain. If the talisman disappears, the magic will follow. Somewhat like the circle of life… no wait, not the circle of life at all… more like if something circular-ish goes missing, chaos ensues. The lines of safety for those who wield magic will blur and the danger shall grow dark and deadly.

It will take some very brave heroes to save the day. If the day doesn’t get saved… It will be the end of magic as we know it. And that would suck. xoxo The Goddess C H A P T E R O N E MAKİNG my way into the kitchen and plopping my shapely, furry backside down on the kitchen table, I eyed the cheesecake perched on a plate ten inches away from me with lust. Cheesecake was sexy. Zelda would probably notice a paw print if I swiped a taste, so I sat on my paws and refrained. I was already in trouble. Actually, I was always in some kind of trouble. Trouble was my specialty. I decided to wait until she’d turned her back then hide it under the table.

A missing cheesecake was easier to explain than one with cat hair all over it. “Don’t even think about it, Fat Bastard,” Zelda said, with her back to me. The witch was good—very good. “No worries, hot pants,” I lied. “Dat oral bacteria in cheese don’t agree with my flatus.” Zelda rolled her eyes and tried extremely hard not to ask me what I meant. She failed. “I will so regret this,” she muttered, sitting down at the table and putting some distance between me and the cheesecake. “What the hell does flatus mean?” “Kinda like a sphincter,” I explained as she wrinkled her nose. “It’s dat reflex dat expels intestinal gas through the butthole.

” Zelda let her head drop to the table with a thud. “I have got to stop asking questions that I don’t want the answers to.” “Anyhoos, weese have an outstandin’ idea, dollface,” I told my witch, making a last minute, split decision not to lick my nards. I’d already pressed my luck with the fart talk. I’d come to the realization lately that cleansing my gangoolies during serious conversations didn’t end well. Of course, refraining from my harmless habit was ridiculous since ball-licking was a way of life for me and my boys. As cats and familiars to the second craziest and most powerful witch in existence, we had to look sharp. Shiny giblets were a top priority. Not to mention, glistening cojones appealed to the dames. “Those words terrify me,” Zelda said, eyeing me warily.

“The last outstanding idea you idiots had ended in my digging your three fat furry asses out of a hole. Literally.” I shrugged my kitty shoulders and chuckled. “Dat was just a little misunderstandin’.” Zelda scrubbed her hands over her mouth. I knew my witch was doing her best not to laugh. Made me love the red-headed, gorgeous, insane broad even more. “You think that getting a visiting group of six violent groundhog Shifters wasted then shaving them and dying what was left of their fur to look like they were diseased skunks was a little misunderstanding?” she inquired. “Not to mention, they buried you asshats fifty feet underground for the little misunderstanding.” “Dem groundhogs is buttdongs—tried to steal everything in Assjacket dat wasn’t nailed down.

Weese did youse a favor,” I reminded her, trying to reason my way into forgiveness. Getting buried alive wasn’t what I’d call a good time, but we had a few plans to get the rat-bastard rodents back. “Yes, the groundhogs are sticky-fingered buttdongs, and because of that, they’re christening the brand spanking new Assjacket pokey for the next month,” Zelda shot back with a laugh. “But you can’t shave Shifters when they’re passed out. It’s wrong.” “So youse is sayin’ weese shoulda shaved dem when they was sober?” I asked, scooting a little closer to the cheesecake. “Dats an interesting thought, and weese will take it under consideration for next time.” “Nope,” Zelda huffed, exasperated. “There will be no next time. Your shaving drunkShifter days are over.

You feel me, Fat Bastard?” “I hear your words, yet I don’t knows what they mean,” I replied, using one of the techniques my felonious comrade, Boba Fett, swore by. I batted my eyelashes at my witch then went for my balls by accident. “Mouth off your yam bags unless you want me to zap your tiny marbles off your obese carcass,” Zelda warned. “And here’s an idea for you three idiots. Why don’t you try living on the right side of the law for a change?” “Could youse define right side of the law?” I asked. “Cease all criminal activity,” she shot back, grabbing her purse and walking to the front door. Sadly, she also grabbed the cheesecake. “Could youse define all?” I queried. “For the love of the Goddess in mom jeans,” Zelda groused with an eye roll. “Stop breaking the law.

Find something legal or at least mostly legal that you three dummies enjoy or you’ll be spending the night with the thieving little groundhog shits in the slammer.” “Could youse define lea…” I started only to be cut off by Zelda’s dangerously raised brow and sparking fingers. “I dare you,” she said with a devious little grin pulling at her lips. “Go without committing a crime for one week, and I’ll buy you the big screen TV for the cat room that you’ve been begging for.” There was no way on the Goddess’s green earth I was about to tell my witch we stole a big screen TV three days ago. Didn’t think that would go over too well at the moment. “Youse have yourself a deal, sweet cheeks,” I said before I realized the words had come out of my mouth. But a dare was a dare. No self-respecting cat could resist a dare. Fuck.

The boys were gonna kill me. “Anyhoo,” Zelda continued as she opened the front door. “I have to go pick up the twins from their playdate with my dad and Baba Yaga. I’ll be back in a few hours.” She walked out of the front door. Closed it behind her. Opened it back up and peeked her head back inside. She caught me mid nard slurp. “What was the outstanding idea you wanted to tell me about?” she asked, ignoring that I had my balls in my mouth. “I forgot,” I lied, pretty sure she didn’t want to hear about our plan to spray paint the word bunghole down the middle of Main Street.

She waited twenty-three seconds for me to come clean. I politely refrained. I also removed my balls from my mouth. It seemed like the right thing to do. Zelda sighed dramatically and shook her head. “Whatever it was, don’t do it.” “Roger dat,” I said, giving her a thumbs up. “YOUSE DİD WHAT?” Jango Fett demanded, gasping for breath as he logged time on the treadmill. “It was a dare, numbnuts. I couldn’t pass up a dare,” I hissed then squinted at him in disbelief.

“What exactly are youse doin’ on a treadmill?” Jango Fett looked like he was about to have a heart attack. That would be a problem since Zelda had left the premises. Our red-headed, green-eyed witch was the infamous Shifter Wanker. Zelda could heal all Shifters and magical beings, including her three magnificent, good-looking, law-breaking, yet extremely lovable familiars. Of course, we did have nine lives being cats and all, but I was pretty sure we were down to three or possibly two. “He can’t lick his giggleberries,” Boba Fett whispered with a sad shrug. “Too fat.” It took a lot to shock me into silence. But the devastating thought of not being able to get to my wrinkled grapes did it. “Jango,” I choked out in an emotional whisper.

“Youse dumb mug. Youse’ll be able to get dem mitts back on your marbles in no time. I believe in youse.” Jango glanced over mid-stride and flew off the treadmill. A girthy, screaming ball of flying fur launched about twenty feet into the air and landed with a sickening thud. After a full minute of impressive profanity, Jango got back on his paws and wiped the sweat from his brow. His furry chin dropped to his chest. It didn’t have far to go since his stomach was as big as his ass—which was fucking huge. “Thank youse,” Jango said, still breathing hard. “Dat means a lot to me, Fat Bastard.

Gotta get back into shape so I can visit my meat clackers.”

.

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