The cat was small, puffy and white. It looked like a bobblehead, and Assafrass could not tell whether the cat looked bobbleheaded because of a lazy haircut or if the cat was actually quite young and ill proportioned.
Well hello there, the cat imaginarily thought to Assafrass.
Obviously it was not quite young. No young feline could’ve imagined that voice, Assafrass was certain.
Um, hi. I’m Assafrass.
Assafrass?
Assafrass.
Assafrass. That’s quite a name, Assafrass.
What’s that supposed to mean? It’s a family title.
I mean there’s a lot of ass in Assafrass.
Well…what on Gurth do you mean by that? I’m an ass named Assafrass.
I’ve just never met an ass named Assafrass before.
Well I’ve just never met someone, told them my name through pure imagination and then had my own name ridiculed, all the while never being told their own name.
This went on for a while before the cat finally told Assafrass her name. Her name was Blart, which turned Assafrass off completely and put an end to their endless flirting, once again giving the title of ‘most sexual thing within the closest thirty foot radius’ to the naked bottom of the unnamed skyrate stripper.
Well, I guess since we’re done playing cat and mouse, if you will, she imaginarily chuckled, I’ll just mess with you a little bit.
Assafrass had barely imaginarily thought Um, but what if I won’t by the time Blart had pittered over to Samwise and chomped into his neck like he was a fethered kitten.
Ow! Hey there stop that! Who do you think you are you hamned feline let go of me! Assafrass do somehting!
Assafrass rolled his eyes. The cat’s senile teeth could barely break Samwise’s taxidermied skin. He presently decided to leave the two to their devices and examine that tantalizing odor of sweet fermentation wafting from behind the bar.
It was a tricky task, as there was a rather disgrossting yet talkative human on the other side of the bar, and they surely would not want a donkey dipping into their supply, especially one short on cash. But Assafrass had spent enough wild benders with his beloved ass master Sir Broderick to know exactly what to do. Patience was the key. He waited and waited as drunk skyrate after drunk skyrate hobbled over to the bar and grumbled for more, more, more. And then, it happened.
“‘ey now yew, that’s not five copper! That’s two copper an’ a couple ah buttons! Who do ye take me fer, a filthy lanlumbar?”
“‘ey now yew, that’s not two copper an’ a couple ah just any buttons! Why those buttons were from me meemaw’s favorite sweatervest! Hen, one of ‘em’s worth more than any o’ yer lousy drinks!”
“Louse-y? Why there ain’t one louse in this whole hamned ship how can me drinks be louse-y?”
Assafrass engaged his trained spitting muscles and hocked a loogie right between the barkeeper’s eyes, which promptly doubled in bloodshottedness as the barkeep smashed a bottle, weilded its broken end and jumped over the bar, muttering about ass kicking. Assafrass laughed to himself that they truly had no idea which ass they really ought to be kicking as he slyly trotted behind the bar and located the open keg.
It was truly a thing of beauty, that skyrate keg. If there’s one thing skyrates knew how to do, it was fill something full of really strong, really suspiciously flavorful ale, all the while being so lazy that even a mere ass could unhook it from their tap with a dexteritous hoof and subsequently suck the tank dry from the hose. Assafrass considered attempting a keg stand but figured it would be found in poor taste.
His belly bulging, his mouth foaming and his vision tunneling to quantum depths, Assafrass slunk away from the bar and waddled back towards the far corner by now stripperless poker table. He would’ve been worried about the fact that Blart had apparently made off with Samwise to chickens knew where but he was so sozzled that instead he chuckled to himself as he regarded a couple of Samwise’s lost feathers.
“So aye tells ‘im, aye tells, ‘im, cluck, cap’n, you might hav’ teh tell em what aye tells ‘im ‘cause aye can’t seem to do an’thin’ but give us a hood ol’ guffaw when aye try to tell em what aye tells ‘im.”
Assafrass looking up, recognizing ‘Blitsy’ talking. He was the man who owned the dog. The dog whom currently was Assafrass’ nememis. Michael. The rodent bass-turd.
“Very well,” growled the voice of cap’n, who was currently smoking a long thin cigar that looked like six and a half cigarettes stuck together. “I will tell ye what ‘e tells ‘im.”
The cap’n froze, staring into oblivion.
“Uh, cap’n?” asked the third man at the table, who was currently waiting for cap’n to tell ye what ‘e tells ‘im.
“Ahoy, matey?”
“Cap’n, weren’t ye going to tell me what ‘e tells ‘im?”
“Aye,” the cap’n blinked ferociously, then resettled himself, “Now matey, who is telling whom what who tells whom?”
The third man, who was wearing an eye patch over his forehead and generally looked quite alternative and somehow managed to smell worse than almost all of the other skyrates except that one who was missing an eye and didn’t wear an eyepatch, was as confused as that train of thought. “Cap’n, ye were just telling me who ‘im whom ‘e who ‘as whom ‘ow.”
“Avast ye fools!” glowered Blitzy. “Aye will tell both of ye who is telling whom what ‘e tells ye that then tells me that aye shall tell all of ye right this instee!”
The stinky hippie skyrate raised an odorous eyebrow. “Instee?”
“Aye, aye screwed it up a little there aye will admit aye will admit,” sighed Blitzy.
“Avast!” blurted the cap’n. “Aye have remembered who told whom what and ‘ow and why as well! Blitzy told that mustached scallopwagon, think I ‘eard ‘em callin’ ‘im Shitface, ‘e sat his drunk ol’ tukass on Blitzy’s ol’ lump of a dawg an’ Blitzy told ‘im, heh, he told ‘im ‘e’d killed the hamn thing what with his glut’yus massshimus an’ all.”
The explanation puttered out in volume and enthusiam at the end. Everyone stared at the table. Cap’n looked up first, at Blitswald. Blitswald looked up second, at cap’n. The beat-off poet looked up third, trying to hide his disappointment that no one was looking at him. Cap’n cracked a wry smile, and then his crow’s feet shone in the dingy lights as he fell into an uproar of laughts. He began slapping the pungent herbivore emphatically on the back as he too joined in on the cackling, albeit with a side of caution and fear. Blitswald quickly matched the cap’ns heavy whipped enthusiam and spamsmed into uncontrolled undulations of joy.
Heay. Yaou theyare.
Assafrass jumped. It was a slovenly Caldonian Bulldog. Michael. He was…sniffing him.
Yaou’re naot suppoased to bea hearae.
Assafrass blinked, chewing on his own spit and balking at the dog’s outrageous imaginary accent.
I knoaw wheare thae caat toaok yoaur touacaan.
Assafrass bristled, wrinkling his nose at Michael’s wrinkly nose.
I coauld aleart my mastear naow aand havae yoaur liambs madae intao a faine curray.
Assafrass spat at Michael’s feet with a huff.
Waatch yoaur mannaers naow, chauppy. I baark and baite. I’m a biat oaf a baad boay iaf I dao saay sao mysaelf.
Sweet feathery chickens can you please stop imagining your horrible voice at me? Assafrass fired back, unimpressed.
Laook, I haave somaething yaou waant, yaou haave a saet oaf skills I waant tao explaoit, and iaf yoau daon’t dao whaat I waant I caa gaet yaou ian baig baig twaouble.
Fine. What do you want?
I naotice yoau reeak haighly oaf the alcaohols. I waant yaou to giat mae a kaeg.
Surely you mean a pint.
Nao, nao, I knaow whaat I maean. I saaw yoaur laittle sheananigans aearlier. I seae haow raight slaoshed yaou arae. I waant a whaole kaeg. I waant tao dao a kaeg staand.
Cluck. Well how much do you usually drink?
Uasually draink? Oah may, naot aat aall.
Assafrass sighed. This was going to be messy.
The cat was small, puffy and white. It looked like a bobblehead, and Assafrass could not tell whether the cat looked bobbleheaded because of a lazy haircut or if the cat was actually quite young and ill proportioned.
Well hello there, the cat imaginarily thought to Assafrass.
Obviously it was not quite young. No young feline could’ve imagined that voice, Assafrass was certain.
Um, hi. I’m Assafrass.
Assafrass?
Assafrass.
Assafrass. That’s quite a name, Assafrass.
What’s that supposed to mean? It’s a family title.
I mean there’s a lot of ass in Assafrass.
Well…what on Gurth do you mean by that? I’m an ass named Assafrass.
I’ve just never met an ass named Assafrass before.
Well I’ve just never met someone, told them my name through pure imagination and then had my own name ridiculed, all the while never being told their own name.
This went on for a while before the cat finally told Assafrass her name. Her name was Blart, which turned Assafrass off completely and put an end to their endless flirting, once again giving the title of ‘most sexual thing within the closest thirty foot radius’ to the naked bottom of the unnamed skyrate stripper.
Well, I guess since we’re done playing cat and mouse, if you will, she imaginarily chuckled, I’ll just mess with you a little bit.
Assafrass had barely imaginarily thought Um, but what if I won’t by the time Blart had pittered over to Samwise and chomped into his neck like he was a fethered kitten.
Ow! Hey there stop that! Who do you think you are you hamned feline let go of me! Assafrass do somehting!
Assafrass rolled his eyes. The cat’s senile teeth could barely break Samwise’s taxidermied skin. He presently decided to leave the two to their devices and examine that tantalizing odor of sweet fermentation wafting from behind the bar.
It was a tricky task, as there was a rather disgrossting yet talkative human on the other side of the bar, and they surely would not want a donkey dipping into their supply, especially one short on cash. But Assafrass had spent enough wild benders with his beloved ass master Sir Broderick to know exactly what to do. Patience was the key. He waited and waited as drunk skyrate after drunk skyrate hobbled over to the bar and grumbled for more, more, more. And then, it happened.
“‘ey now yew, that’s not five copper! That’s two copper an’ a couple ah buttons! Who do ye take me fer, a filthy lanlumbar?”
“‘ey now yew, that’s not two copper an’ a couple ah just any buttons! Why those buttons were from me meemaw’s favorite sweatervest! Hen, one of ‘em’s worth more than any o’ yer lousy drinks!”
“Louse-y? Why there ain’t one louse in this whole hamned ship how can me drinks be louse-y?”
Assafrass engaged his trained spitting muscles and hocked a loogie right between the barkeeper’s eyes, which promptly doubled in bloodshottedness as the barkeep smashed a bottle, weilded its broken end and jumped over the bar, muttering about ass kicking. Assafrass laughed to himself that they truly had no idea which ass they really ought to be kicking as he slyly trotted behind the bar and located the open keg.
It was truly a thing of beauty, that skyrate keg. If there’s one thing skyrates knew how to do, it was fill something full of really strong, really suspiciously flavorful ale, all the while being so lazy that even a mere ass could unhook it from their tap with a dexteritous hoof and subsequently suck the tank dry from the hose. Assafrass considered attempting a keg stand but figured it would be found in poor taste.
His belly bulging, his mouth foaming and his vision tunneling to quantum depths, Assafrass slunk away from the bar and waddled back towards the far corner by now stripperless poker table. He would’ve been worried about the fact that Blart had apparently made off with Samwise to chickens knew where but he was so sozzled that instead he chuckled to himself as he regarded a couple of Samwise’s lost feathers.
“So aye tells ‘im, aye tells, ‘im, cluck, cap’n, you might hav’ teh tell em what aye tells ‘im ‘cause aye can’t seem to do an’thin’ but give us a hood ol’ guffaw when aye try to tell em what aye tells ‘im.”
Assafrass looking up, recognizing ‘Blitsy’ talking. He was the man who owned the dog. The dog whom currently was Assafrass’ nememis. Michael. The rodent bass-turd.
“Very well,” growled the voice of cap’n, who was currently smoking a long thin cigar that looked like six and a half cigarettes stuck together. “I will tell ye what ‘e tells ‘im.”
The cap’n froze, staring into oblivion.
“Uh, cap’n?” asked the third man at the table, who was currently waiting for cap’n to tell ye what ‘e tells ‘im.
“Ahoy, matey?”
“Cap’n, weren’t ye going to tell me what ‘e tells ‘im?”
“Aye,” the cap’n blinked ferociously, then resettled himself, “Now matey, who is telling whom what who tells whom?”
The third man, who was wearing an eye patch over his forehead and generally looked quite alternative and somehow managed to smell worse than almost all of the other skyrates except that one who was missing an eye and didn’t wear an eyepatch, was as confused as that train of thought. “Cap’n, ye were just telling me who ‘im whom ‘e who ‘as whom ‘ow.”
“Avast ye fools!” glowered Blitzy. “Aye will tell both of ye who is telling whom what ‘e tells ye that then tells me that aye shall tell all of ye right this instee!”
The stinky hippie skyrate raised an odorous eyebrow. “Instee?”
“Aye, aye screwed it up a little there aye will admit aye will admit,” sighed Blitzy.
“Avast!” blurted the cap’n. “Aye have remembered who told whom what and ‘ow and why as well! Blitzy told that mustached scallopwagon, think I ‘eard ‘em callin’ ‘im Shitface, ‘e sat his drunk ol’ tukass on Blitzy’s ol’ lump of a dawg an’ Blitzy told ‘im, heh, he told ‘im ‘e’d killed the hamn thing what with his glut’yus massshimus an’ all.”
The explanation puttered out in volume and enthusiam at the end. Everyone stared at the table. Cap’n looked up first, at Blitswald. Blitswald looked up second, at cap’n. The beat-off poet looked up third, trying to hide his disappointment that no one was looking at him. Cap’n cracked a wry smile, and then his crow’s feet shone in the dingy lights as he fell into an uproar of laughts. He began slapping the pungent herbivore emphatically on the back as he too joined in on the cackling, albeit with a side of caution and fear. Blitswald quickly matched the cap’ns heavy whipped enthusiam and spamsmed into uncontrolled undulations of joy.
Heay. Yaou theyare.
Assafrass jumped. It was a slovenly Caldonian Bulldog. Michael. He was…sniffing him.
Yaou’re naot suppoased to bea hearae.
Assafrass blinked, chewing on his own spit and balking at the dog’s outrageous imaginary accent.
I knoaw wheare thae caat toaok yoaur touacaan.
Assafrass bristled, wrinkling his nose at Michael’s wrinkly nose.
I coauld aleart my mastear naow aand havae yoaur liambs madae intao a faine curray.
Assafrass spat at Michael’s feet with a huff.
Waatch yoaur mannaers naow, chauppy. I baark and baite. I’m a biat oaf a baad boay iaf I dao saay sao mysaelf.
Sweet feathery chickens can you please stop imagining your horrible voice at me? Assafrass fired back, unimpressed.
Laook, I haave somaething yaou waant, yaou haave a saet oaf skills I waant tao explaoit, and iaf yoau daon’t dao whaat I waant I caa gaet yaou ian baig baig twaouble.
Fine. What do you want?
I naotice yoau reeak haighly oaf the alcaohols. I waant yaou to giat mae a kaeg.
Surely you mean a pint.
Nao, nao, I knaow whaat I maean. I saaw yoaur laittle sheananigans aearlier. I seae haow raight slaoshed yaou arae. I waant a whaole kaeg. I waant tao dao a kaeg staand.
Cluck. Well how much do you usually drink?
Uasually draink? Oah may, naot aat aall.
Assafrass sighed. This was going to be messy.
