Jazzmin Flush (100)

   
   "Jazzmin Flush (100)" 
   
   Plain Jane-like Fredrica resisted the seemingly-ubiquitous evil of it ALL; nevertheless, like Skeletor told Evil-Lyn with a jiggly jawbone flapping bullyways:  "Evil-Lyn--you boob!"
   And Fredrica remembered how many freaky folk in the heretical past and still today resist the Masters of the Universe, informing their children:  "There is only one Master of the Universe; hence, it is merely occult-like to observe that wicked animation."  Moreover, Fredrica remembered how some taught all suicides are slack-jawed cowards and axiomatically have their weak and pathetic souls transported to the horrific heat of hell, becoming the Adversary's flax-seed gravy, him devilishly dipping the digestion of fallen Saints into them, cruelly forging two souls into a synergy of eternal suffering and all that Multiversal Jazzmafunk.
  It kept getting more delinquent and dire for meek Fredrica.  Working.  Always working.  Shit jobs and humiliation--handsome rich boys laughing behind her curved vertebra--a straight spine is everything claims the Hindu SuperFlux.  But she was morphed ascetic.  Low Income.  Sleeping in Jazzmin's place like an unwanted vagrant.  Talking to Swiss.  Keeping Jazzmin's lovely mouse alive with bits and pieces of her deformed love.  Is love ever deformed?  Suffering so much.  Doing, always, the right thing.  No karmic burst of happiness for all her humility.  Girthy Gilda dead while brother Thomas and Jazzmin were having their spiritual rodeo of awesomeness, like that Buffy Show, but them armed with werewolf and Sleeping Beauty superpowers--and she had bupkis, like a goat, doing all the heavy lifting and getting metaphorically blamed for not trying to be SUPERNATURAL enuff!  What sincere and reeking crap.  Thus, she pondered, and myriads of times:  SUICIDE.  "Ah hell--who will take care of Swiss?  I can't do this.  Get some butt implants and be beautiful.  But only rich people can afford silicone curves.  Yup, gotta kill myself.  Nope.  One more day.  One more day of sweeping up spilled shit and rolling burritos.  Great God in Heaven--I do like burritos and especially the guac-scooped tacos.  Please, I hate to ask--but:  Help Me!"