Jazzmin Flush (14)

   
   "Jazzmin Flush (14)"
   
   Skirt steak, cumin, coriander, and a quintessential squeeze of organic lime juice--yup; specifically, savory sizzle it up, minus the lime-green grasshopper habitat-residing in the nuclear kitchen area--though that would add punch-out protein for the appetite of the Red Fox; regardless, just add guacamole on top, and DELISH.
   Girthy Gilda prepared soft, flour shells with a crunchy (what?) yellow-corn mix for them to all, like scavengers, scoop within their obscenities, and it tasted a bit bland--the food of Quasi-Saints, so white breadish; still, the foursome enjoyed a communal meal, and Jesus the Living, Vegetative Christ was invited, sacrificing tissue and glamorous gore for eternal fulfillment--no pride or hating hubris included, just stupification from his demi-godship Greatness.
   Jazzmin Flush devoured the eating hour.  "This is it!  I may need to verbally speak instead of only using the written word."
   Thomas choked, a little.  "Scream for the Dodgers then; they make a delicious dog."    

Snake Plissken/Jack Burton/Shamrock/Kanji

   
   "Snake Plissken/Jack Burton/Shamrock/Kanji"
  
Stamp a shamrock on hero divine,
You get a multicultural, sub-machine gun rhyme;
Indeed, American Bad Ass saving the family man,
Remembering Reagan Era nurturing metal and glam;
Alas, here we are, absent without the American Ninja,
Adoring more a samurai, swayed by their wealthy charisma.  
  

Jazzmin Flush (13)

   
   "Jazzmin Flush (13)"
   
   Girthy Gilda had a plan.  A mystical, madcap-like idea to infuse the wicked with God's Good and Glamorous Ghost; however, it involved downloading every BARNEY MILLER episode on the holo-vid that sang to life on the airwaves during the Jimmy Carter Administration.  Girthy Gilda was imperative in her adoration of BARNEY MILLER.  "Every metaphor for life can be contained in a BARNEY MILLER episode."
   Jazzmin Flush, Fredrica, and Thomas were a bit baffled.  They were modern folk, and not into viewing historical comedies from the dinosaur that was television; at the same time, they appreciated Girthy Gilda's wisdom, it being a VERB, a meaning in action:  Knowing what is RIGHT; next, doing what is RIGHT--it all beginning with fear and reverence for God and the Otherworld.
   "So, what will BARNEY MILLER do for our adversarial trolls?"  Jazzmin Flush asked.
   Girthy Gilda smirked, not cruelly.  "Teachable moments minus true incarceration."
   And that was that.  Taking the levitation magic of the public transport train--it having wheelchair access; plus, allowing nicotine ingestion to calm and soothe the anxious, tobacco being a healing balm for the uncomfortable aspects of social rancor--this was modern, angelic engineering.  So, once anchored in Girthy Gilda's one bedroom shanty, the foursome squeezed comfortably inside, sweetly enjoying the taco sweat of each other, and Thomas found access to an episode of BARNEY MILLER were a man wends werewolfways before being exorcised by Barney's merciful patience.
   "This is our intent, to unchain the wicked, resisting not their evil, but allowing it entrance into ourselves--there it will gel with our Holy Spirit-infused souls, biting the empyreal dust."  Girthy Gilda giggled, igniting an unfiltered LUCKY STRIKE.    

Jazzmin Flush (12)

   
   "Jazzmin Flush (12)"
   
   Jazzmin Flush elaborately buried the deceased coyote after selling her grandma's silver bracelet enchanted by way of a Celtic Knot inscription--these deeds paying for transport and proper burial at a nearby pet cemetery.  It had thieved away from her impoverished extravaganza; nevertheless, the mystical mutt deserved such Franciscan respect after being murdered by her cowardish enemies, them--friends of the dreary dark.
   So, Jazzmin Flush forced herself into enjoyment for the rest of the day, joking with Fredrica and Thomas at the taco truck.  Thomas was back as part-time guac scooper, and Fredrica was constantly bossing him with sisterly love.  The day continued on wonderways, and Jazzmin Flush ultimately opened up about the vulgar vandalism.  Girthy Gilda overheard, and the firecrackerish, wheelchair-bound entrepreneur wasn't happy with Jazzmin's lack of anger.  Girthy Gilda was like:  "Suckers gotta pay!  Oh my, I need a coffin nail.  Thomas reach into my garter belt and grab my pack of LUCKY STRIKE--don't worry honey; they're toasted."
   "No way in heaven Girthy Gilda--I'm practically a monk!"  Thomas cringed.
   Jazzmin Flush and Fredrica broke out in comical laughter; then, Fredrica kindly pulled out her own organic butt and ignited the cherry with a pocket-sized lightsaber type doohickey for Girthy Gilda--Jazzmin Flush couldn't help but wonder, RETALIATION, but that didn't seem nice, or . . . 

Jazzmin Flush (11)

   
   "Jazzmin Flush (11)"  
  
   Jazzmin Flush escorted her elegant soul back basementways, her winged ankles fluttering past the en vogue vagabonds till descending into her humble habitat.  Upon keying open entrance--she was meant to be disturbed.
   Her little shanty was trashed--FREAK/LESBO cruelly painted on her walls, her pamphlets shredded, and a dead, bloody coyote, its throat slashed laying in her futon.  She resisted tears, observing Swiss and his mice pack, like sublime fairies, weeping in prayer around the Canis latrans--she approached the alive-in-spirit animal, closing its mystical eyes, knowing:  They envy what you represent.  You are rich in the rainbow glow of spirit.  As a thief in the day, all they did was increase your psychological steel and pin a vibrant ribbon on your lovely breast--a magical milkshake that will one day feed the mouths of eternal babes.   

Sainte Marie

   
   "Sainte Marie"
   
Priez pour nous, pauvres--
Like the Son, love the pauper;
Moreover, not an Oedipus Complex sad,
Yet seeking His Father's Goodness and Glad;
Indeed, Woman--My time has not yet come;
Thus, to mimic the Christ is to luv thy Mum.

Jazzmin Flush (10)

   
   "Jazzmin Flush (10)"   
  
   Jazzmin Flush and Thomas strolled the angelic walkways till upon the dieselsmellsound of a singular muffler taco taco--and it bragged of an 8 cylinder underneath.  There, Girthy Gilda reclined comfortably in her well-lubricated wheelchair, and not by the snake oil sold by those adorned in multiple masks.  Like:  "Hey dude, do you have Multiple Personality Disorder, or are you just enchanted by the creepy adder and ornamented in a mask?"
   Anyway, Girthy Gilda was mercurial in her lovely thanks to Thomas and Jazzmin Flush for helping with the taco truck, for Girthy Gilda owned it.  A large and in charge lady, capable of pooping a Twinkie on a neurological disorder's command, but it didn't BOSS her, for she was sweetly haunted by God's Good Ghost; indeed, Girthy Gilda had the Holy Spirit to wipe her, wash her, brush her teeth, give her green and white tea infused; plus, exercise her and remember Odin's burden on the tree, where he was self-pierced for love of his children, seeking the protective Runes and the charity of giving poetry.
   Girthy Gilda knew not negligence or neglect, nor negativity, it infused into people by iniquity as they had no spiritual steel.  Girthy Gilda was heaven sent.  Forging tacos for the common man; moreover, the uncommon man, such as Thomas, him locking himself away for months, like a quasi-saint in labor, awaiting the birth pangs of becoming, and being, a true erudite.
   Yup, the dieselsmellsound of tacos cooked throughout the City of Angels. and German/Austrian cyborgs were there, along with the late influx of hard-working Mexicans, and the Divine Mix that is AMERICA.