“Hey now,” I said. “Chin up, tiny dude. Youse need to grow some giggle nuggets and get some thicker skin. Youse are a badass who lives under a bridge.”
Fucking Derrick gave us a small smile. “You’re right. I don’t see people all that often and I forget how to be socially acceptable.”
“Join the club,” Jango said. “Weese are completely socially unacceptable.”
Boba raised his hand.
“Speak,” I told him.
“Fuckin’ Derrick,” he said. “Could I make a suggestion?”
“Please do,” Fucking Derrick replied.
“If youse wanna be socially acceptable, youse should probably stop tryin’ to eighty-six everyone youse come across. Just a thought.”
The troll nodded thoughtfully and took in what Boba had suggested. Had it not occurred to the asshole that offing people might make him unpopular?
“Thank you,” Fucking Derrick said. “I haven’t had so much fun in a century.”
If this was his idea of fun…
“Youse are most welcome,” I said, putting out my paw in a gesture of peace, hoping he didn’t bite it off with his sharp little chompers. “I’m Fat Bastard. Dis here is Boba Fett and Jango Fett. The gorgeous dames are Poutine, Annie Surely and Blythe.”
The troll shook my paw and left it in one piece.
“I’m Fucking Derrick,” he replied. “And I’d very much like to apply to be part of your group.”
I wasn’t sure how to respond to that one. Hanging with Fucking Derrick seemed like a really bad idea.
“You don’t have to apply,” Poutine said, stepping forward and patting the troll on the head. “All you have to do to be in our club is help us figure out why the magic has gone awry in Assjacket. That will make you a friend for life.”
“Fuck,” Jango muttered under his breath. “Dat might have gone a little too far.”
I couldn’t agree more, but the look of pure excitement and joy on the little asshole’s face gave me pause. He was a lonely tiny asshole, which made him more of an asshole than if he had some friends. Fucking Derrick would probably always be an asshole, but maybe he would end his killing spree if he had some wise-guy comrades to kick his miniature ass into line.
“What do you need to know?” he asked, all of a sudden looking shy and childlike.
He was still hairy and ugly, but it was kind of sweet.
I glanced at my posse and everyone nodded and smiled. “Weese need youse to tell us about the Assjacket historian named Goober, who wiped his bunghole with the magic journals and got run out of town. Weese think it might be connected to the fact dat humans have started to stop and stay in Assjacket.”
F-in’ Derrick looked wildly alarmed. “Humans in Assjacket?”
“Yep. It’s bad,” I said.
The troll had a meltdown and tossed out cuss words I didn’t even know existed. It lasted for the better part of twenty minutes. About ten minutes into it, we all sat down and enjoyed the show. Annie Surely took notes.
“Youse done?” I asked when he flopped down to the ground after a particularly heinous round of filthy words.
“I am,” Fucking Derrick said, wiping the sweat from his brow. “I feel so much better.”
We were going to have to remember not to take F-in’ Derrick out in public until he got a handle on his mouth. He was fucking disgusting.
“I take it dat youse might have some info for us?” I asked, praying to the Goddess it didn’t set the little freak off again.
He nodded and took a deep breath. “I do. You cats smell great, by the way.”
Score for Baba Yaga. The stinky troll perfume was a hit.
“Thank you,” Poutine said. “You have a gamey aroma as well.”
Fucking Derrick giggled. “Thank you, and yes, I have intel. Goober is an asshole, and I should know, because I’m an asshole,” he said.
I couldn’t disagree with that.
The troll went on. “He comes back every decade or so to try to destroy Assjacket for banishing him. The King of the Shifters has always been successful at running him off.”
“Dat’s Mac youse are talkin’ about,” I told Fucking Derrick. “Youse think Goober is here now? Youse think he’s causin’ the humans to show up?”
“It’s a possibility,” Fucking Derrick said. “There’s a chance that the groundhog didn’t use all the history journals on his ass and knows how to harm the magicals in Assjacket.”
“Back the fuck up,” I shouted as my stomach dropped to my toe beans. “Did youse just say Goober was a groundhog?”
“I did,” the troll confirmed. “If there was anyone who would be aware of the talisman that keeps Assjacket hidden from human eyes, it would be the ass wiping groundhog.”
The information floored me.
“Is it possible that one of the groundhogs who buried the three of you fifty feet underground for getting them drunk and shaving their fur then dying them so they looked like diseased skunks is Goober?” Poutine asked.
“How did youse know about dat?” I asked, embarrassed that my dame knew we’d been buried alive. It wasn’t very manly.
“Word gets around,” she said with an eye roll. “Just answer the question.”
I nodded. “Very possible. I say weese pay a visit to the Assjacket pokey and interrogate a few groundhogs. Weese might be able to solve the problem with a few well-placed testicle punches.”
“Can I come?” Fucking Derrick asked. “I’d probably recognize Goober. He’s cross-eyed. And I’m very good at nard punching since I’m so short.”
This was a conundrum. It was incredibly risky to take the shit-mouthed troll anywhere, but he had come through for us… and even though I was sure I would live to regret it, we were going to come through for Fucking Derrick.
“Can youse control dat potty mouth and not eighty-six anyone if weese run into our friends?” I asked.
“Oh yes!” he said, dancing a little jig. “I will happily refrain from killing your friends. Also, could you define potty mouth?”
Shit. Whatever. As long as he didn’t bump anyone off, we should be fine.
“No time,” I told him. “Hop on my back, little buddy. We’re poofin’
