Jazzmin Flush (101)

   
   "Jazzmin Flush (101)"
    
   Jerry Dingle shockingly took a whiz, squirting the rancorous-yellow body juice all over the hotel carpet before making an intent exodus out of Jazzmin's life--and forever.  Miss Jazzmin Flush curled her celestial nose in disgust, and Thomas' arctic wolf did a coyote chuckle, bringing out the laughter in Jazzmin too.  Then, Thomas closed the hotel room door with a well-trained paw pad, looked over at Jazzmin's California Girl Beauteousness, licked his lovely chops; next, plugged his canine telepathy into her cerebral capacity.  The conversation wended this way:
   
THOMAS
Now--it is just you and me.
  
JAZZMIN
Totally!  Like it always should be.  Look Thomas--even I can tell Rascal doesn't roll with us in fidelity.  No loyal wolf instincts for the coydog girl.  She's sincerely feral, even beyond.  Couldn't be religiously trained on newspaper--ya get me?
  
THOMAS
And I suspect no reunion with your Dad or her?
  
JAZZMIN
Yup.  We should head Northwards.  Canada.  Maybe Alaska.  I wanna resurrect our romantic rescue of the past.  Maybe I am ready to be your eternal mate.
  
THOMAS
My only concern is Fredrica.  She's giving me crazy brain static about her perpetual suffering.  And she usually camouflages it so well.
   
JAZZMIN
Invite her on the journey.  She's practically my sister.
  
THOMAS
Taco girl moves Northward with werewolf brother and delicious babe birthed in the City of Elegant Angels.  We should get some Kentucky Fried Chicken to celebrate--grease the deal.
  
JAZZMIN
Don't eat the chicken leg bone this time.  Remember how you had trouble pooping it out.
  
THOMAS
Not even a wolf has a coyote's awesome digestive tract--capable of easily passing stool forged from Kentucky Fried Chicken bones, toxic waste, or a dirty diaper from a child with a turbulent sense of digestion.
   
JAZZMIN 
Yup . . .