"She-Ra dominates 1980's cartoons"
Dude had a high-tech bow that would become elongated and grow;
Moreover, too elegantly fine; thus, they cancelled the show,
And the Christmas Special when Skeletor saved the day
Trumps all this crappy crayon cartoonist can sloppily say.
"Jazzmin Flush (9)"
Jazzmin Flush had uncanny, fruit-loopish empathy--to her own sorrow; nevertheless, it was the glorious intent of a sublime everlast. As a result, the magnetic magic of the poor man's train pulled her closer to the diesel-puffing taco truck and into Thomas' past misery due to myriads of crusty crab curses. Like an unscrupulous attorney, son of a pseudo-physician inspired by greed, back in the day, poisoning his entrails and hoping infertility cause his vociferous sister spilled sour grapes and was ridden with monkey-hungry envy.
Thomas endured as did Sir Gawain, and Jazzmin Flush knew--he would die again, happily paying with his little life as insisted Christ: "Resist not evil." Yup, desire, freakishly, to lose it. Simple Franciscan humility, hungering only to be a pregnant lady craving a deep dish with garlic crust covered in anchovies and gummi bears.
Life is over in the blink of an eye--for everybody. Those that curse, waking tomorrow with a tumor on their macabre dreams, unless of course the mercy of a car crash veers their way; regardless, the optimism here: God knows everything. Your full mind like a computer He is plugged into, keeping a Divine Diary of every singular and complex thought and action crossing your soul. God knows EVERYTHING. There is no sweeping your mustard stain under magic carpet. The Divine Justice System awaits every soul--Jazzmin Flush just hoped Thomas would be forgiven for his uncouth appreciation of watermelon in naked, pulsating fashion. Well, it was only once, and he imagined an android lady without prospect of consciousness. He crazily crafted her liquid-like legs in his mind. Still, he was a nice boy, having resisted the urge to deliciously dream of his 7th grade Math teacher--she and her seductive pantyhose would not haunt him.
Jazzmin Flush let out a hopeful exhale, and the train halted, floating on the Earthy air that was, indeed, God's Good Breath.
"Jazzmin Flush (8)"
Jazzmin Flush elegantly escorted Thomas through the imprisoned underground till upon the levitation tracks of a public transport train--arm under his, their weird synergy made entrance, and they took their seats near the caboose. There, they listened as an elderly man holding a bottle of ketchup gave verbal confession on his holo-phone to a robotic physician.
MAN HOLDING KETCHUP BOTTLE
Look Doc, I've had chronic diarrhea with blood for nearly twenty years now--and I still don't mind living too much. Thanks to the Libertarians allowing me medical herb for my service as a man--it keeps me kick'n. And the wolves hate us for it. But we ain't ask'n for much. Just a seat at the public park, interesting people to observe, and a transistor radio for entertainment. We cripples don't wanna rule the world, but we have RIGHTS to exist. Once the wolves do away with us; then, who will they have to pick on? Like my psychotic God told me: "Don't worry--not on My watch."
Jazzmin blushed with a grin--so did Thomas.
JAZZMIN
And the small, solitary Vulpes vulpes ensnared the wolf into lovemake; thus, the coyote liveth!
"Jazzmin Flush (7)"
Jazzmin Flush sways Thomas to elegantly exit the less than modest trailer, entering outside--into the daystar shimmer divinely dancing about the City of Angels. Once outside, Thomas ignites a Cuban, cherry-flavored cigar, puffing away on the tobacco magic, one arm against the trailer to get his land legs back.
THOMAS
It is time to be positive; negativity always attempts to tear the lovely world down, and Terra needs optimism on Her surface.
JAZZMIN
There ya go guy.
THOMAS
Yeah--it's Survival of the Wolfish!
JAZZMIN
What? Darwin you talk'n?
THOMAS
People hear that and they loathe the lame. Let them die. They're weak and useless; thus, the wolfish thrive, intoxicating Mother Earth with selfishness, believing themselves canonized by greatness--when it's all a Divine Quiz or something. But truly, Survival of the Superb should exist within a City of God. Laying down your life force for the lame, igniting them and their wise knowledge of having known neglect; next, they become someone's friend till the very end, perpetuating the truly awesome. Greater love hath no man--
JAZZMIN
That lay down his life for another.
THOMAS
And to ponder--I once smacked my nephew with a copy of TOM SAWYER, but now I know I could have inspired him to read it instead of forcing him to do so.
JAZZMIN
You like tacos? Your sister and me use plenty of yummy guac.
"White Coyote and Virgin of Guadalupe"
Sprawling suburban and rural around,
Skulking sweetly with a teacher's sound--
Coyote Cool spotted the Great, Virgin Saint,
Knowing the Virgin of Guadalupe does not deny love--will with the impoverished acquaint;
Hence, a piece of boiled fish
Materialized for the coyote's faithful wish.
"Jazzmin Flush (6)"
After a protracted, bizarre symposium on the super-serum known as Truth, which is a bitter pill for yeast and man-cheese, Thomas invited Jazzmin Flush into his humble abode. There, throned upon carpet and ash, Thomas entertained the angelic poet, her kneeling down next to his skeletal emaciation.
JAZZMIN
Man--you look real bad.
THOMAS
Monks get steeled by neglect.
JAZZMIN
You might wanna eat a cheeseburger, or six of them. I suggest plenty of mayo, and pour some gravy over them too.
THOMAS
I'll try.
JAZZMIN
Will you? Look Thomas, it doesn't matter what girls and their hypersensitive males holding extinguished torches say. The Total Truth is a Super-Sublime Brute at the end.
THOMAS
I've sinned as well, but I always set my scrotum hairs aflame.
JAZZMIN
Don't do that! Crap guy, remember Muhammad Ali--that guy offered not the bullbeans of bravado when he spoke of the Divine.
THOMAS
What did he say?
JAZZMIN
Something like: I AM THE MAN OF THE LAND . . .
"Queen Leia"
Why do creepy guys drool over me in Jabba's bikini?
Are they attempting compensation for Force-thin linguine?
Look--I'm a nice Lady,
And kissing my brother is as hearty as Mon Mothma's gravy,
But Han Solo is the scoundrel for me--
So know: Urinating on Hoth will an icicle pee be.
