"Shmoo's Everlast"
The built for terror, hating every freaky fox in the batch, forsaking the sublime--
Survival of the Terrible is their erratic rhyme,
Dismissing the humble eunuchs, virgins, martyrs, confessors, and saints--
Them outshining the rest with their into mystical faints,
Enduring everlast as pops the weasel;
Moreover, Survival of the Fittest is Darwinian-Demon Myth under Holy Steeple,
For the bizarre are born, hacked into and lied about
Because the mighty and large have a myriad of doubt;
Therefore, know the Shmoo, and he's a Vegetation God;
The sublime seed regenerates, offering the Father unceasing nod.
"Jazzmin Flush (17)"
Jazzmin Flush awoke to a lovely mouse kiss from Swiss; next, washed liked the Holy Tobias, though with a simple sponge, using mint on her chompers and in the heavenly strands of her golden, kinda dirty-blondish hair. Then, her holo-phone sang to life, and Thomas, in his Scooby-Doo boxers was weirdly standing there.
JAZZMIN FLUSH
What's up Thomas?
THOMAS
I know they still wanna kill me, and I'm a bit sad about the entire dilemma of such a sinister pickle.
JAZZMIN FLUSH
Relax--don't do it, when ya wanna puke it. Giggles at her own goofy. Regardless, they always want to kill smarter, better looking, and especially nicer people--it's the way of the sea hag and their vampiric mates--them trolloriffic.
THOMAS
It doesn't make me feel better. Where's Jesus? Utopia could exist if everybody used sports and cerebral gaming to cool their crazy. At least now I know why the blessed Arch-Angel Gabriel gave the gift of literacy and the Koran; sometimes you wanna beat the shit outta the nasty.
JAZZMIN FLUSH
But the Holy Spirit gave the New Testament too, and Her people are instructed to absorb the negativity, morphing it magnificentways. We're all a Holy Family--whether we fight or use the Good Ghost to absorb the negative flux of a wicked adder hacking into God's own creation, just to spite the Boss.
THOMAS
Yup--I'm ready for some Jesus about now. Totally ready.
"Jazzmin Flush (16)"
Jazzmin Flush drifted off dreamways, igniting rendezvous with the Multiverse, lost in an enemy's hollow tree; next, an unborn, aborted daughter appears with spectral glow.
DAUGHTER
Why Mommy? Daddy had a RIGHT to raise me--mothers don't own the baby if they allow entrance through intercourse.
JAZZMIN FLUSH
It wasn't allowed. His pride and vanity took me without consent.
DAUGHTER
I love you even in the womb--the Book says.
JAZZMIN FLUSH
I hated you in the womb, too. Coyote Mantra: All is sacred; nothing is sacred.
DAUGHTER
I hate you.
JAZZMIN FLUSH
I am so sorry. I was wrong. The Catholic Church will raise All Children, unwanted. Even Merlin was half demon, yet he found sublimity in life. I was wrong.
DAUGHTER
I love you Mommy. Daddy and the rest have no RIGHT to perpetually malign you due to hubris.
JAZZMIN FLUSH
I will spend all my days doing God's Will. I have learned. And my sorrow for you will birth love for every soul. And still--you live, in an enchanted Otherworld. I will mystically pray for you everyday.
"Jazzmin Flush (15)"
The foursome parted with merry exodus into opposing directions, happily going to their harbors of habitat. Jazzmin Flush walked it, underneath neon glow of moon cheese and glittering, starlit sky shimmering fantastic. Beyond every heavenly hobo and divine delinquent, her giving a happy nod, content with her own cool character; then, sprouted a black spot on her echo-location, a thunderous thug-like lover of misinformation materializing wickedly, obstructing her super-model strut. "Your Barney Miller-infused Spirit of God will not detour our malevolent intent to make you miserable, paying with your life."
Jazzmin Flush snorted with a face wiggle. "Does your dumb demon let you outta the cage at night, all alone?"
"I'm a troll girl--get it--a terrible troll!"
Jazzmin Flush escorted her electric-blue spirit right through the villainous vagabond, strutting superior, till descending into her beloved basement--Swiss was waiting, whiskers twitching with eager anticipation of her soon to be spooning. "Yeah Swiss--bleak unto themselves and passable to the sweet are the trolls. Want some processed cheddar?"
"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"
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)"
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.
.JPG)
