"Martha and Jane are very…you know…ummm." How could I word ass-munching bottom feeders so it wouldn't be offensive?
"Busy." Ethan saved me from God only knew what wanted to come flying from my mouth.
"Pweese, Mommy and Daddy? Me want Marfa and Jane. They funny," Sammy begged.
Motherhumpin' cowballs. How could I make this work? Holy Hell, he said pweese.
"How about Martha and Jane and The Kev and Gemma?" Ethan compromised.
Hmm, that was good, but it was still only two against two. I needed to outnumber the old buttwankers to feel comfortable. "And Venus," I added quickly.
Venus could kick their asses. The Kev and Gemma could too, but Venus would thoroughly enjoy it. Old Martha and Jane had highly offended my Vampyre BFF with their repeated references to her being Afro American. Not only were they grossly politically incorrect, they were stupid. Their sheer delight at drawing money from their pensions was repugnant when they knew the chances of them dying were slim. I was hoping they'd end up in the pokey for a few years.
I had learned recently that Vampyres had intricate systems for handling money. Every seventy-five years or so we had to obtain new Social Security cards and basically become a relative of ourselves. Slight name changes were necessary, but Vamps rarely used the new name unless they were dealing with humans. I stumbled upon this when I realized Ethan's driver’s license belonged to a man named Edwin. I patiently explained to him that I wouldn't play hide the salami or mechanical bull hump-fest with someone named Edwin. He promptly had his legal name changed back to Ethan.
There were several immortal banks, but they were run by Demons. Even being half Demon, I wouldn't let those bastards guard my lunch money. Hence, I would have to change my identity in about fifty years and keep my savings in a mortal bank. I had half a century to come up with a name for myself that wouldn't make me laugh.
"Do you think five babysitters will be sufficient?" Ethan inquired sardonically.
"No, but I'm willing to leave the compound without panties if we can make that happen."
"I'm on it," he said as he quickly began texting our gaggle of sitters.
"Me call Jane and Marfa," Samuel said as he bounced in his crib.
"Okay, little man, you do that. That will save Daddy some time and an eardrum." I giggled at my son's imagination until the old abominations appeared in a tangled heap on the floor at my feet. "What the fu…?" I screeched as I jumped back.
If I wasn't dead already, the sight of Martha and Jane in purple yoga pants with matching sequined boob tubes and brown orthopedics would have killed me violently. Not to mention the elastic wasn't working well and two of their torpedo tits were staring up at me. Glancing over at Ethan, I noticed he was staring at the ceiling and wincing in pain.
"Well, if it's not Boobs McGee," Martha grunted as she dragged herself and Jane to a standing position. They only stood about four foot eleven, but they were scary.
"My name is Astrid," I snapped. "Tuck those hanging sacks of wrinkly flesh back into your unfortunate fashion disasters. Immediately. How did you get here?" I demanded.
"Not a clue, Knockers McHooterland," Jane grumbled as she shoved her boob back into her tube. "I heard little Sammy's voice in my head and next thing I knew I was staring at your inflated melons."
"Her funbags do look larger," Martha said to Jane as they stared at my chest.
"I'm nursing, Shit for Brains," I hissed at them.
"Shit for Brains," Sammy shouted gleefully.
"Oh my hell," I moaned as the old geezers whipped their heads to Sammy in shock.
"He talks?" Jane asked.
"Yes, he talks. Hallway. Now." I pointed at the door and then followed the nasty ancient bags as they shuffled out of the room.
"So I see your Gerber Servers grew," Martha said as she hiked up her boob tube somewhere in the vicinity of her neck.
"What did you just call my girls?" My eyes narrowed and I bit down on my cheek to hold back my laugh. I refused to let on that they had made a good one.
She chuckled and pointed a bony finger at my chest. "Well, I could have said Super Big Gulps or Milk Jugs, but I went with…"
"I heard you," I snapped, realizing this could go on for hours. "Your obsession with my rack borders on lesbianism." Their indignant gasps made me grin. "However, I wouldn't want to give an entire group of lovely people a horrific name by adding you to it. I prefer to think of you both as asexual and firmly believe you were hatched by aliens—who then ate each other after they took a good look at the two of you."
"Well, I've never," Jane grumbled as I watched Martha try to figure out what I just said.
"Yes, you have. Now here's the deal. I don't want you here, but my son does. If I wasn't horny you two wouldn't be allowed to set a foot in my home. As you heard, Sammy speaks now so anything you say can and will be held against you when he repeats it to me. I'm talking I will remove your arms and legs. They will take at least six months to grow back due to your Vampyre age, not to mention you were both eighty-nine when I mistakenly had you turned. Are we clear?" I asked as I watched them closely.
"We will defend your child with our lives," Martha grunted as she puffed out her skinny chest and looked me in the eye. "I will kill the mother-fuck out of anything that looks at that beautiful boy sideways. Then I will skin it and suck all the blood out of it unless it's a Troll. Trolls taste like ass. We tried two of the randy bastards just to make sure and we will not be imbibing Troll again any time soon," Martha explained solemnly as Jane nodded in agreement.