THE HOLES OF THY DONKEY’S BUTT CHEEKS ARMY (an introduction) Asha's Beginnings
THE HOLES OF THY DONKEY’S BUTT CHEEKS ARMY
an intermission in and to
Asha's Beginnings
Most magical courts have elegant battalions:
silver-armored sylphs, elven riders on moonlit stags,
seraphic host choruses who announce themselves in perfect harmony.
The Boleyn faeries, however, have…
something else.
Something that should never have been named,
but once named, can never be unnamed.
They march (poorly).
They fly (erratically).
They shout (constantly).
They are—
THE HOLES OF THY DONKEY’S BUTT CHEEKS ARMY
(always spoken in full, by decree of Patty Boleyn, under threat of hex)
ORIGINS (a tragedy in four sips of mead):
Centuries ago, in a smoky tavern tucked behind the Tudor court,
a group of faeries overheard a drunken noble call his rival
“the hole of a donkey’s backside.”
The insult struck them as: profound-holy-hilarious a perfect name for a military unit
The faeries, already half-feral and over-caffeinated on spilled ale and human misery,
vowed then and there to form a battalion dedicated to:
minor chaos
poor decision-making
unhelpful commentary
the defense of whatever Patty found interesting that day
They crafted armor from human detritus:
thimbles hammered into helmets
bent paperclips shaped into lances
sweaty rosary beads stolen during parish tug-of-wars
breastplates made from bottle-caps bearing ancient beer logos
They swear they serve a noble purpose.
No scholar has yet identified what that purpose is.
APPEARANCE
Each soldier is roughly the size of a sharp-tongued dragonfly.
They flap their wings with the commitment of beings who believe speed is more important than direction.
They speak in squeaks, shrieks, and enthusiastic misquotes of Tudor insults.
Their battle cry is rumored to be:
“DEFEND THE DONKEY HOLES!”
though no saint has ever admitted to hearing it without wincing.
BELIEFS
Their credo is simple:
If it’s loud, investigate.
If it’s quiet, panic.
If a child is sad, shut up and bow your head. (They learned this from Asha.)
If a cat speaks, obey it. (They learned this from Monk.)
If St. Rita looks at you, repent. Immediately.
BEHAVIOR
They swarm.
They trip.
They march in zigzags.
They salute at the wrong times.
They fall out of the sky like exhausted dandelion fluff.
They are loyal, but only to Patty Boylen, their fearless commander,
who leads them with equal parts irritation and affection.
Saints loathe them.
Cats pity them.
Children never notice them.
Adults wish they wouldn’t exist.
The universe disagrees.
WHY THEY MATTER
Because for all their noise and absurdity,
for all their useless bravado and misplaced heroism,
the Holes of Thy Donkey’s Butt Cheeks Army recognizes one sacred truth:
When a child goes quiet,
the world should get louder in their defense.
That is their unspoken moral.
The only part of them that was never a joke.
#OurChildrenareNotForSale
- Author's Note: I am disabled survivor using assistive technology, which changes day by day pending health - (#zebralife). For resources : RAINN or Support for Men at 1in6.org are lifelines.
I am a collateral victim of John David Norman - we are healing together.
I do hope this helps others realize they were not ever alone.
If any information is incorrect pls contact me or leave a comment. These are complex cases and a lot of bad information is already out there.
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