Jazzmin Flush (102)

   
   "Jazzmin Flush (102)"
   
   Fredrica, her mousey brown hair falling kinda/sorta bangless--I mean deep and messy all over her chocolate-brown eyes, almond-shaped and not enchanted yet by Otherworldly things; regardless, how average and modestly mediocre she felt--not knowing.  Yup, average guys will fluidically do and caranlly cram anything.  They love the ladies.  Got crushes deep on the ancient Internet and in little Green Lantern Diaries where they secretly point the squid ink, usually diablo-black, onto the inviolate-white paper beneath, screeching tunes and prose for darlings who will never dig em.
   Anyway, it doesn't matter how worthless Fredrica felt, her vociferously blurting while Swiss dodged and ducked the verbal pollution, her barking:  "Super shit!  Super shit!  Jazzmin Flush you worthless, rotten fink.  I'd freeze your tits in Lando's carbonite and make you give Jabba the Hutt a lime-green bikini lap dance you dirty little Saint!  And Thomas . . ."
   Then, tears of continual melancholy aching from her weary orbs, dripping not Freya's gold across her shallow cheeks; next, cutting into her cerebral awareness like a bird shit from above, Thomas, with that old canine telepathy:  "We want you Fredrica!  We want you to run away with us and be a family of freaky friends!"
   Fredrica processed God:  "Oh darn Father.  I'm so sorry for having a potty-like oral cavity."