“Umm… we can always hope that they’re not in the hole,” Poutine pointed out with a wince.
“From your mouth to the Goddess’s ears,” I said, sliding a transmitter under the bars for the troll. “Put dat on youse. We’ll be able to track your movement and follow youse. Maybe swallow it. Dat way, it can’t fall out of the pocket of your gauchos.”
Fucking Derrick sucked in a breath through his teeth and shook his little head. “I can’t swallow that. I have a gag reflex.”
“Are youse shittin’ me?” I asked. “Youse just said youse can eat ten groundhogs, but youse can’t swallow a tiny transmitter?”
“I know,” he said, shrugging. “Crazy, right?”
“Can you suck it up your nose?” Poutine asked.
“Oh no, no, no,” Fucking Derrick said. “That would be much worse. I’m quite concerned that my nostril fire would destroy the transmitter and it would be useless.”
I exhaled a deep breath and adjusted my giggleberries. I couldn’t believe what I was about to suggest, but we were wasting time and we didn’t have that luxury at the moment.
“Fine. Youse can’t swallow it and youse can’t snort it. If youse lose it, weese are screwed.”
I glanced over at Boba, Jango, Poutine, Annie Surely and Blythe. All eyes were huge, including mine. My people knew where I was about to go, and they were terrified. The last time I’d made a similar suggestion to Fucking Derrick, he’d cried and threw a twenty-minute tantrum. It was a risk, but I had to take it. Our futures depended on it.
“Fuckin’ Derrick,” I said, trying to word my request as delicately as possible. “If I ask youse somethin’, can youse promise me youse won’t lose your shit?”
“Youse might wanna rephrase dat,” Boba suggested.
“My bad,” I said in agreement with Boba. “If I make a suggestion, do youse promise not to blow fireballs and have a psycho tantrum?”
“I do,” Fucking Derrick said. “If that’s what it takes to have friends then I will commit to it, Fat Bastard. Ask away!”
“Okay,” I said, nodding for everyone to take cover just in case. “How would youse feel about shovin’ the transmitter up your ass? It wouldn’t get lost dat way and weese could track youse.”
Fucking Derrick threw his tiny hands in the air and laughed like he was unhinged. It was nightmare inducing.
“Already did it,” he squealed. “When you were trying to figure out how to ask me, I took that little metal nugget and shoved it right up my ass! I’m good to go.”
“Alrighty den,” I said with a pained chuckle. “Weese will be right above youse the entire time. Hopefully, youse won’t have to eat nothin’. But if youse do, spare Goober. Weese need to shake dat slimy groundhog down for info.”
“Will do,” Fucking Derrick said. “Won’t eat Goober. Got it.”
Poutine walked over to the cell and bowed to the troll. “Thank you, Fucking Derrick. We are in your debt.”
“Nah,” he said. “This is the best day of my life. I’ve never had friends. I owe you.”
She shook her head and smiled. Then she froze. “Wait. Do you have any idea why women rub their eyes in the morning?” she asked the tiny man.
“Of course,” Fucking Derrick said. “Everyone knows that a woman rubs her eyes in the morning because she doesn’t have balls to scratch!”
“Dat’s it!” I shouted, feeling light-headed. “The magic dat holds Assjacket together is Sturgill’s dong pillow. Dem groundhogs stole his gangoolies because they knew it would destroy the glamour.”
“Brilliant!” Poutine said.
“Not following,” Fucking Derrick said, looking confused.
“Doesn’t matter.” My adrenaline spiked. “Go hole divin’ for dem groundhogs. Weese have a set of nards to find, my friend.”
Never in a million years did I think that wrinkled grapes would be the key to the magical Universe, but I never thought I would call someone named Fucking Derrick my friend either.
Life was full of surprises—good, bad and seriously profane.
Chapter Thirteen
After forty-five minutes of traipsing through the woods on the outskirts of Assjacket, we were getting antsy. The escape tunnel the groundhogs had dug was long and zigzaggy. I was concerned if there was enough oxygen for Fucking Derrick, but the transmitter kept moving, which meant the troll was still alive.
“Dat was some shit about eatin’ ten groundhogs,” Jango said, huffing and puffing with the exertion of hiking.
“Our little man is psychotic,” Boba said with a chuckle.
“True dat,” I said, pushing branches out of the way so the dames didn’t get whacked in the face.
Turned out, the gals were doing the same thing for us. My heart beat an erratic rhythm in my chest as I realized we all might be buried alive soon, and I’d never told Poutine how I felt. I was pretty sure she knew after all the gangoolie cleansing I did in her honor, but words were important to dames.
Clearing my throat, I took her paw in mine. It would have been better to stop and declare my intentions on bended knee, but we couldn’t lose Fucking Derrick.
“Poutine?”
“Yes, Fat Bastard?” she replied with a little smirk on her stunningly beautiful, hairy mug.
“I know dat I’m not the greatest catch, but I want youse to know dat humpin’ youse is my wildest dream come true. I will worship youse every day I have left in this life and I will worship youse in the Next Adventure. Youse are my dream cat and youse are perfect. I love how good youse are at cheatin’ at cards and youse have got a mean right hook.”
Poutine raised a bored brow and stayed silent as we trekked through the forest. My dame was digging it.
I needed to take this baby home. “And, umm… I just want youse to know dat I would die for youse and I love youse. I love youse to the moon and back. Forever.”
“So smooth,” Jango said. “Youse are the man, Fat Bastard." He clapped me on the back and turned to his dame. "Blythe, I would like to pilfer everything dat Fat
