You Have Mail (Witless in Seattle)
A/N: Yep, another crack fic in the Coyote 'verse. Next one I post is going to show the Old Man all bad ass, but for now, this will do. If you haven't read The Quiet Man, by PADavis, you're really missing out. Bamapana is an Australian trickster who first appeared in that story. There's cussin' in this one too, 'cause that's the kind of Trickster ol' Bama is. Ye have been warned.
Summary: Coyote gets an email from Bamapana, the Australian Aboriginal Trickster God of Swearing and Bad Language. Is this crack? Of course! Gee, it's like you've always known me!
Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural. This is for entertainment, not profit.
--on Tues 04/07/09 Bamapama -IWankThereforeIAm- wrote---
Hope to hell you get this fucker. They call this thing email, right? I'm not used to all this new fangled technology, you know that. Thanks for the computer, and thanks for all the names with the lines drawn underneath. Links, you called them. Now I owe you. Look me up the next time you're in my neck of the woods. They still haven't recovered from the last time we blasted through here. The Vatican sent out some hunters after we left, for all the good it did 'em. Stupid ball-less bastards.
Odd thing is, you're better in polite society than I am, and you're a four legged wanker with a tail. Now don't be gettin' a big head just because one of your names is First Artist. Created mankind back in the day by knocking around a ball of shit, huh? You always did have a big head about that, ya bitzer. But ye're loyal to your friends, you old dog, and believe it or not, that means something to me.
You heard about me and that other Sam and Dean. I didn't ask for much. Hot sex 'tween brothers, lotta moanin' an' groanin', sweaty skin, green and hazel eyes all glazed over. If those two had stripped down and tumbled into bed, created some friction like I wanted 'em to, none of this woulda happened.
After it was all over I still wanted to see them humping away at each other like rabbits. I mentioned it to you, and I admit it, you old cur, I was pulling your dick just for the pure bloody hell of it. Surprised the hell outta me when you came back a few hours later with all those websites with the dirty pictures of those two actors. Ackles and Pada-something, right? Who'd have thought it?
Now I realize, Old Man, that your intentions were about as pure as New York City snow. Thought you'd head me off at the pass, stop me from nosin' around your boys? I can see right through you, you overgrown pup. I don't give a rat's ass about your motivations. It's the thought that counts.
And I got more than enough dirty thoughts to keep me and my prick warm on these long cold nights.
Photo manipulations… manips is what they call it? You even dug up some stories with that whatcamacallit.
Those fangirls need therapy, bless their twisted little hearts.
Hell of a thing. You know I like pictures better than words, but I read some of those stories, and that Dean kid gets passed around like a library book. Even his Daddy and that Bobby Singer have cracked the spine of that book, lemme tell ya. John boy thinking about how much his eldest son looks like his dear departed Mary warmed the cockles of my heart.
Well, that's partly right.
And Sammy? He's had urges for Deanie all these years, but he doesn't do anything until blondie's lost his memory, got broken in as a sex slave, come back from hell as a demon…. Hell, the list goes on and on. Sasquatch's a bigger freak than I ever gave him credit for, and all this time I thought he needed to pull that stick out of his ass. For a young kid, he's as stiff as walking constipation.
I can see you rolling your eyes when you read that part. Come on, you know it's true.
Sorry about the intervention yer family put you through when they found the links on Sam's laptop. Word travels fast. So big John took a crowbar to the computer, huh? And your kid just sat there, shuddering and mumbling to himself while his brother huddled in a corner with his knees up to his chest. Heh.
I mean, oops.
Nope, I'm not laughing at ya, you sod. I'm crying on the inside.
All those pretty pictures....Mind you, some of it's awful, a no-talent hack job done by somebody who obviously forgot to take his or her medication that morning. I mean, you can see the lines where they stuck the heads on, and the fucking skin tone doesn't even match! If these fangirls or whatever they are can't Photoshop worth a damn, they ought to step away and leave it to the bitches who can.
But some of those other pictures…
Ah, I'm happy in my pants. Very happy.
You get the visual?
Knew your boy's a beauty. In those pictures I've seen him naked, wearing skin tight leather, all stretched out in bed on top of black silk sheets like a cat sunning itself on a window ledge. But who knew he'd look that good in that French maid costume with the high heels, though?
I can hear ya snarling all the way over here. Okay, okay, I'm joking!
Stop showin' me your teeth, ya big bounce. Thunder's rumbling overhead. I get it, I get it. No need to get shirty with me.
Being with your kid suits you, Old Man. Hell, being with that whole crew of hunters suits you, damn it. I lost that bet with Loki. You and your kid? Figured you'd either kill the whole lot of them or screw them all front, back and sideways the first week out. Here it is nearly two years later and you're a domesticated dog.
Told you about those lightning bolts, you freakin' dingo. Taking one up your ass only feels good if you're ready for it. Never heard of foreplay, have ya? Guess that means you did read this after all.
Well, I don't want this thing to turn into War and Peace. Onya, mate. Gotta go. Bill Clinton's giving a speech at this all-female college nearby, and I'm just curious. Wanna see whether he's still got the fear of Hillary in him after all these years while he's around a bunch of young nubile asses.
Bitzer – mongrel dog
Shirty – to get upset, or angry
Onya – Well done. A shortened version of Good on ya.
Hooroo - Goodbye, pronounced with or without the "h". Also implies that the speaker is saying "see you later".