Jazzmin Flush (29)

   
   "Jazzmin Flush (29)"
   
   Jazzmin Flush smoothly sauntered through Thomas' Ice Castle, observing the angelic architecture and inhaling the frigid, Mystic Divine--how the Author of Life had designed her beloved boyfriend an impenetrable habitat away from the toxic spills of malevolent man--their self-hatred and jealousy, due to the circumstance of chance, driving them to damn others in life.  But Jazzmin Flush fully and clearly knew--God is willfully writing the story of existence, and yes, sometimes He includes a cruel villain; still, they too can get mercy rehab; regardless, no man has a right to construct constricting government, forbidding the fruit of the Father, or inducing man by economic threats to include himself in an unjust system.  Every human being deserves regal reverence.  Not to be owned, bullied, or reverse bullied, but adored, at least--respected for all that he is enduring.  And once people revere other human souls; next, we will easily unearth glam magic, finding ourselves at a loss of selfishness, and gregariously gel for eternal everlast, allowing sports and gaming to calm the boiling seeds and eggs contained within the hungry internal.
   "Hey.  You wanna hunt some arctic hares with me?"  Thomas, making an appearance.
   Jazzmin Flush focused on remembrance.  "Holy crap--Swiss!  I hope Girthy Gilda is feeding the rascally rodent."
   Thomas grinned, like a mystic monk full of delicious diesel.  "That old bird is full of clouds of happy love.  Swiss is okay Jazzmin.  And Girthy Gilda is attempting to cut back on the Lucky Strike."
   Jazzmin Flush knew Thomas would protect her and hers, in a weird, telepathic, wolfy way.  But would he return to Sunny California with her?  Would he exit God's Ice Mansion and forge a life fantastic with his girlfriend?  And was it proper for her to selfishly drag him away from his thrilling isolation?  As if reading her mind, Thomas grinned again.  "We should focus on sacrifice; then, maybe we can construct a solid life together.  Too, I don't have a toilet here--you can do your business out in the snow--there, you'll be able to tell how healthy your urine is by the yellowish hue of its icy self."
   Jazzmin Flush grimaced, a little.  "Sounds fun."
   Thomas lowered his head humbly.  "I promise I won't sniff it.  Or at least not while you're obviously watching."   

Jem--Glam Magic

   
   "Jem--Glam Magic"   
  
She billowed with Outrageous Synergy,
Bravely battling, during President Reagan's Courageous Term, Misfit Energy;
Moreover, Goldie Gold & Action Jack--along with telepathic Nugget
Were wowed as Mike Schmidt of the Phillies did slug it;
Alas, no more paper Savings Bonds and pulp of wood bling-like things,
For opulent substance now--it soars on easily clipped, digital wings.  

Jazzmin Flush (28)

   
   "Jazzmin Flush (28)"
   
   Jazzmin Flush, her California, ultraviolet-exposed flesh glistening with glittering glow, bubbling like heated champagne in a make-shift hot tub; plus, her dirty-blonde mane luminously lathered in the loving luxury of water-blue aqua, all within the icy confines of Thomas' Quasi-Fortress of Solitude, the angelic architecture due to the Divine Sculptor of many things.  And Thomas, in human form, is watching, not rudely leering, his sweet, Miss Jazzmin Flush.
   
JAZZMIN FLUSH
Opens her long-lashed eyes.  What?  You?  You saved me?
  
THOMAS
Who the hell else lives way up here?  And I'm sorry for saying hell.
  
JAZZMIN FLUSH
You are sooooo Thomas.  This feels nice.  It's a hot tub like those ice monkeys have.
   
THOMAS
You're safe,  And I had to, by necessity, glare at your boobies and muscular butt cheeks.  But it looks like you haven't shaved your legs or pits for weeks.
   
JAZZMIN FLUSH
Is this how couples talk?
  
THOMAS
We're not a couple.
   
JAZZMIN FLUSH
Thomas--I just strutted my butt over an entire continent to find you.  Yes.  Yes--we are a couple!!!
   
THOMAS
You don't have to yell at me about it, Jazzmin.    

Jazzmin Flush (27)

   
   "Jazzmin Flush (27)"
  
   Jazzmin Flush sincerely plunged deep into the Northwest Territories, snowgirl, a glacial feast of near death, fluxing Otherworldly--in and out of normal, human consciousness, driven psychotically by more than mere sexuality; moreover, a regal chance to royally indulge in true love, to innocently play, knowing that if sacred sex was a real possibility, not sloppy sport squirts and dastardly queefs, but something special and sublime--like play between two prancing pronghorn; next, it was welcome and worth it.  Too, there is no pressure in lovely play save for advantage-taking sadists.   
   Therefore, Jazzmin Flush--dead and alive, lost to a freaky friendship, having totally engaged in the friendly fantastic of mystic synergy--she collapsed into frostbite; nevertheless, got yanked around the noose-like neck of her near demise by magically forged yet chummy canine incisors from the platinum shimmer of Canis lupus arctos; indeed, Thomas had shown up!  And isn't that what life is all about?  Showing up.  

Jazzmin Flush (26)

   
   "Jazzmin Flush (26)"   
   
   Jazzmin Flush knew, as she got toasty and cozy in a sophisticated shanty within the Caribou Mountains, icy twist of Green Resurrection Springing somewhere, maybe not exactly here, where she was, found nearly Han Soloways before Fett's frigid escort to Jabba, by a gorgeous soul named Anernerk, a type of native infused into the sacred land--attractive and elderly with symmetrical, artistic lines through his face, till upon a gray diadem of flowing, dead tissue.
   And Jazzmin Flush knew too--it was time for Girthy Gilda to go smokeless. Anernerk had given her some snus, a tobacco product forged by the Northern Europeans, and she decided to give the shiny tin to Girthy Gilda--if she ever made it, wherever and back, alive in body.  Then, Anernerk, smiling with hot water and cocoa mix, sat across from her on dilapidated furniture within permafrost habitat; next, deciding to be a visionary with vocal reminder.  "The Harrowing of Hell Today.  The Great Sabbath, you, Catholic Girl."
   Jazzmin Flush regally burped surprise.  "You know I'm Catholic, in a cafeteria but respectful mode mind ya?"
   "Anernerk knows many things.  Your boyfriend--a freaking dog.  But every dog has a day--maybe two, once said a great bard."
   Jazzmin Flush wished a little of the weird away today, and great--her boyfriend is a dog.  Still, she knew--I love you Lord.    

Cover Girl--Joe Team, 1980's

   
   "Cover Girl--Joe Team, 1980's"  
   
COVER GIRL

Primary Military Sophistication:  Armor
Qualified Expert:  LAW Rocket/M-16

A cult character, making rare yet celebrated appearances,
Cover Girl cleaned up well for the Joe Team's defense of peninsulas;
Specifically, she was the best cutie,
Armed with armor-piercing beauty--
Better than I can crappily draw,
But I drank a Robin Hood Cream Ale in 1980's Arkansas . . .

   

Jazzmin Flush (25)

   
   "Jazzmin Flush (25)"
   
   Jazzmin Flush resurrected and revisited her universal Catholicism; specifically, Saints and weird Wolves--uh, dogs too.  Saint Francis taming the torrid wolfen aspects of the carnivorous canine haunting Gubbio, Saint Patrick mystically morphing man wolfways, and of course--the glistening Shamrock, Virgin Mary eternally infused into the lovable luck of Four-Leaf Clover; next, Saint Christopher and the dandy doghead, never stick and balling billiards, or maybe.
   Regardless, there was a myriad of mojo more, yet Jazzmin Flush only had cute, 1980's cartoons in her four-chambered heart for quirky Thomas; moreover, she magically adored the dude.
   THOMAS
   SPIRIT WOLF
   SOUL:  Body and Spirit gel.
   CHRIST DIED ON CROSS:  Only Spirit departed, not entire Incarnation.
   RESURRECTION:  Remembrance of Body and Spirit mesh.
   SPIRIT WOLF:  Retains human consciousness, completely--does acquiesce to wolf survival, on minor level.  Yet, when man, a wolfen will expanded.
   Thomas, now a stallion-like stud, of sorts, as if a mighty and masculine guy with defined chin area in a romance novel about them all-too-wild werewolves, where he flings her responsive nipple with thumb digit for the elation of a reader's nastee--oh boy, Jazzmin Flush blushed--but never bestial.