We watched in appreciative shock as Sassy misspelled Sturgill in neon blue. The ten-foot, ball-less, half-headed cement bear now had the word Seagull painted right above his crotch. While the witch was a looker and could hold her booze, she couldn’t spell for shit. Whatever, it was the thought that counted.
“Done,” she announced. “You still didn’t tell me why we’re hiding behind Sturgill.”
“Cause weese are casin’ Roger’s joint,” Boba said, handing everyone another and eyeing the crappy job Sassy had done on the bear. “Weese are goin’ on the straight and narrow.”
“For one week,” I added.
“Righteous,” Sassy said, downing her thirteenth beer. “Have you hairy dummies ever played beer pong?”
“Invented it,” Jango Fett said with a grin. “Youse wanna go?”
Sassy scrunched her nose and tugged on her long locks. “I have to think aboot it.”
We sat for nine minutes and twelve seconds while Sassy drank two more beers and thought about it.
“I’m done thinking aboot it. The answer is yes,” she announced.
“Youse want boots?” Jango asked, confused and staggering a bit on his paws.
While we could hold our liquor, Canadian beer was fucking strong.
“Everyone wants boots,” Sassy explained, waving her hand and producing a beer pong table, twenty-two plastic cups, and ten balls. “You weenies ready?”
“Born ready,” I said with a grin.
One hour later. No clue how many beers…
“So lemme get this straight,” Sassy said, only slightly buzzed. “You’re going to open a legal business?”
“Bingooooo,” Boba said, slurring his words. “Weese are openin’ a numeral dome for sssled steeeeeple.”
Sassy tilted her head to the side and stared at Boba. “Are you speaking Canadian?”
Boba shrugged. “Could be.”
“I think you are,” Sassy confirmed. “Very impressive. I still have no clue what the hell kind of business that is, but my tutors will be able to explain when they arrive. Do you need any help?”
Jango was on his back staring straight at the sun. He was a drunk dumbass.
“Weese could use a model to practice on,” he said. “Also, I think I’m blind.”
“I used to model,” Sassy said, tossing her hair and making me dizzy. “I’m more of an actress now after my starring roles in the Assjacket Community Theatre musical productions of Mommie Dearest, Jaws and Shaun of the Dead, but I could strut the runway again for a good cause. I’m all aboot good causes—Canadians are very nice people. Being nice will make me more fluent.”
“Youse wanna be our model?” I asked, seeing three of her.
“Sure,” she said, hopping to her feet. “Let’s do this. I have an appointment with my Canadian experts in an hour.”
“Are youse good at pickin’ sssssslocks?” Boba slurred. “Weese can’t get into Roger’s office.”
Sassy laughed and shook her head. “Why did you leave your socks in Roger’s office? Sounds kind of kinky to me. No worries. I have a key. I’m supposed to water his plants while he’s gone. We can grab your socks, and I’ll strut around the office and model for you. You can take pictures of me, and I’ll be the gorgeous face of your new business.”
There was something seriously wrong with the plan, but for the wasted life of me, I couldn’t put my paw on it.
“Sounds good to me,” I said, grabbing Jango by the scruff of his neck and dragging him across the street. Boba staggered behind us.
Again, I racked my brain for why this was stupid. I came up with nothing. Therefore, it wasn’t stupid. My logic was outstanding.
Chapter Three
Roger’s office was perfect for our venture, and we didn’t even have to break in. Our life on the right side of the law was going swimmingly so far. Zelda had remodeled the rabbit’s office a year ago, and other than a little dust and having to get rid of the furniture, it would work. There was a nice waiting room for the bereavers, and a big office to spray paint the stiffs. If we threw down some drop cloths, the rabbit wouldn’t even know we’d borrowed his place for the week.
“Okay, I’m feeling very Canadian and in my groove,” Sassy yelled, getting into it. “I’m aboot to do a half twerk and toss my hair aboot, eh? Stand up on the table so you can get a full body shot. It will bring Assjackians into your business for sure.”
“Don’t weese need to spray paint her face?” Boba asked, staggering around and pushing all of Roger’s office furniture into a storage closet.
“Nah,” I said, taking picture after picture with my stolen cell phone. “Weese can paint the photo after.”
Boba nodded then passed out in a drunken stupor.
“Should I show more cleavage?” Sassy inquired in all seriousness. “Sex sells.”
Jango glanced over and shrugged. “Youse think dead people like boobs?” he asked her.
“Everybody likes my boobs,” she said, adjusting her dress to show an obscene amount of both boob and side boob.
Again, I had a bad feeling. Not that I didn’t enjoy ogling Sassy’s rack—I did. It was outstanding. However, my brain was still soaked with Canadian beer, and I couldn’t figure out how this might backfire.
“I’ve got aboot fifteen more minutes until I have to meet my tutors,” Sassy explained. “Let’s set up a shot of all of us in the splits. I think that showing we’re flexible will be an excellent selling point.”
“The splits?” Jango asked, appalled. “Can’t do no splits. My nards are too big, and I don’t wanna squish dem.”
Sassy considered his issue and nodded her head thoughtfully. “I can see how that might not appeal,” she acknowledged. “But, if you want good business, you have to do the splits. I read it on the internet.”
It was hard to argue with that logic. I was also semi-wasted.
Positioning a passed-out Boba Fett into the splits was the easiest part of the setup. Alcohol and lack of consciousness were in our favor.
Jango suffered a serious racking incident as he slid into the splits, and I was fairly sure I might have torn myself a new butthole in the process of being flexible for business. Sassy had
