Jazzmin Flush (50)

   
   "Jazzmin Flush (50)"
   
   Donald and Jazzmin Flush--daughter and derailed Dad embraced, tons of tears raining forth from their watery orbs, and Jazzmin noticed how nice Daddy smelled--like Brut aftershave save the "Brute" of it all.  And the cleansed scent was wisely welcomed.
   Separating from the synergy of love's hug, Jazzmin blurted, "I really want to know everything about you and Mommy.  Especially why I never got to know you guys save the myth of it all."
   "In time."  Donald promised with a stoic glare.  "Anyway, it seems you have some special friends."
   And Swiss, whiskers rapidly twitching, poked his mouse head out of his hole, noticing Donald as did Donald notice him.  "Come over here little guy.  I don't want to hurt you."
   And Swiss scattered in Donald's fatherly direction, sniffing his shoes that smelled like stinky cheese and anchovies.
   "He likes you Daddy."  Jazzmin Flush smiling.
   "Does he like that boyfriend of yours?"  Donald asked.
   Jazzmin Flush, of course, blushed.  "Daddy, Thomas is the nicest guy around.  He reveres and respects me.  I've never even french-kissed him."
   Donald did his best Clint Eastwood squint, as if fueled by hemorrhoid pain.  "I hope so, or I'll have to tell him that I'm not afraid to go back to prison."
   Jazzmin Flush got wide-eyed.  "You were in prison?"
   Donald like, "I swear--the politician had it coming."  

Francis: "Come on man!" - Dad -

   
   
   
 
 
Francis:  "Come on man!"  - Dad -
   
   Rarely weirder than myself tales of tortured souls featured; however, at a time of immediate crises concerning a pubescent child gelling with the wrong crowd; plus, his own lack of confident steel, what can I do but ask you guys to pray for:  "FRANCIS"
  
   What happened to the scent of paperback books and letters mailed with crisply-ironed 5 dollar bills included within?  When growing constantly allergic to the Internet, reliance upon the specters of the past seem wisest for a quirky, couth-filled gentleman, him wending within illness and seemingly perpetual turmoil, yet risking further poverty, throwing himself in the rodeo, and I've done it before.  
  
  For all children of step-families--yes, it sucks, and you don't know if folk are friends or foe; regardless, trust in this life to resonate you sweetly eternal, and you'll definitely BEHAVE.  What's better than staying out of trouble!!!  Who wants to look over their shoulder!?!  Stay straight, get religious instead of independently spiritual, and glam yourself for God.  Too, read a book every once in a while.  A real one.  Made of paper.  

Jazzmin Flush (49)

   
   "Jazzmin Flush (49)"
   
   Rascal escorted Donald Flush into the humble underground of Jazzmin's basement.  There, after nodding a classy greeting, the arctic-wolf-cool of Thomas departed with coydog Rascal; plus, little Swiss scurried into a well-deserved hole while Jazzmin uneasily exhaled curiosity and excitement, positioning herself in front of her bygone father.
   
DONALD
I can't believe I found you.
  
JAZZMIN
Were you hiding from me or something?
  
DONALD
Don't be like that--I was shanghaied!
  
JAZZMIN
Complaining?
  
DONALD
If people don't complain; next, they just end up submitting to injustice.
  
JAZZMIN
Where were you Daddy?  What's the real story?  And why now, when I'm getting my life together?
  
DONALD
Selfish women are proudly prone to sink their carnal fangs into a well-groomed man, obstructing his relationship with his family and especially children.  That's what happened.  I cheated on your mother.  Look, to have a few Bluebeard-like secrets is okay, but to be forced into imaginary love with that secret, well, I'm just so sorry Jazzmin. 
  
JAZZMIN
I want you to tell me all about this unworthy woman who was the ruination of my family.  I'll find her and kill her.  No.  But I'd sure like to punch her in the poonani.   

A Yankee Coyote Observed Near Grant's Tomb

   
   "A Yankee Coyote Observed Near Grant's Tomb"
   
A Yankee Coyote observed near Grant's tomb;
Thus, erase not the mystical, and acknowledge the boon,
Knowing:  pity and mercy a soul complete;
Hence, keep your vision on love and heaven you'll meet,
For life is but the blink of an eye,
And leering at temporary power is like thieving your own pie.  
  

Jazzmin Flush (48)

   
   "Jazzmin Flush (48)"
   
   Donald Flush attempting to explain and visually-enlightened comedic with two, lime-green gummi bears squished between his pearly-stained and aligned chompers.  "Look--like with the trans-gender types during that metamorphosis of physical revolution, or the Reagan-era 1980's with pierced punk bands and all that loud crap screaming from their imaginary faces.  This is the future.  We grow.  We accept.  It becomes normal without blinking or thinking weirdly about it,  Plus, it was only certain parts of the American Region that fought to accept growth, not constricting it, conservative-ing it; regardless, somehow--it all worked for us--the United States."
   Rascal thought she might need baby powder mixed with aloe for her butt scratch thing she had going on.  "You're totally right dude--uh, Mr. Donald Flush.  Now come on in, and bring a large pizza with blood sausage.  Your daughter is stranger than you.  Can you believe it--she has a pet mouse named Swiss.  Unfreakable . . ."  

Jazzmin Flush (47)

   
   "Jazzmin Flush (47)"
   
   Like a swift spy--Rascal got on the cosmic case of Jazzmin's Dad.  The coydog girl was ecstatic that she could help her new friends, like:  "Can I?  Can I Thomas?  Please, can I?"
   And Jazzmin agreed.  Rascal should investigate the pizza delivery guy.  As a result, Rascal rounded Jazzmin's basement, getting on the asphalt ballet of it all.  Walking with a girl's skip towards the magnificent, 1957 Chevy.  She made no secret in her approach.  All smiles.  Wagging her metaphorical tail.  Dude in car blushed, and Rascal knew it was Jazzmin's Dad.  Right up on him, she asked, "I wanna know if you're the father of Miss Jazzmin Flush?"
   The man responded, "I am Donald Flush.  And yes I am."
    "No crap about that dude--you just owned it.  But I figured your name was Danny."  Rascal said.
   "Plenty of people think they have me figured out."  Donald Flush admitted.  "But do they know the bard?"
   "You're sounding waaaay wacky now guy."
   "What's wrong with a little literary adventure.  No machine gun sentences.  Plus, Jazzmin should know."
    Rascal scratched her bottom--just for a second.  "Know what?"
   "That her father was rich and brilliant once, a great mathematician."  Donald smiling, almost with pride.  "Alas, stolen away, thieved and hijacked by a shrew yet to be tamed.  Like to a stepdame or a dowager.  Long withering out a young man's revenue."
   Rascal couldn't help it.  Weirded out.  Scratched her bottom again.  "You got any more gummi bears in that hot rod?"  

Jazzmin Flush (46)

   
   "Jazzmin Flush (46)"   
   
   "You can't have a torrid Tolstoy story, written in eloquent sequences, before being divinely spawned everlasting and eternal--without a pizza delivery guy as a main character!"  Thomas cried.
   Jazzmin Flush didn't blush, but passionately pushed back:  "The L.A. Derelict published my first obituary on Girthy Gilda, but--I'm not a novelist.  I'll never be a novelist.  I don't wanna be a novelist!"
   Thomas sideways, sideburns growing Wolverineways.  "Just check it out, will ya?  This dynamic dude dubbed Danny--he may be your father.  Why else would he deliciously deliver an anchovy deep dish decorated with baby, multi-colored gummi bears?"
   "He thinks I'm pregnant."  Jazzmin Flush biting her lip at the resonating remembrance of an entire rainy year.
   Thomas continued:  "He's got your goldenish hair, same almond-shaped eyes, and his 1957 Chevy with two, mind you--TWO, four barrels is constantly rumbling, like tough pit bulls, outside of your basement habitat.  And he's too much of a geezer to be stalking you.  I would sniff out that testosterone-laced crap, easily.  I can smell him, and he smells like you--this dude is your Dad."
   "But he's a pizza delivery guy?"  Jazzmin Flush snarled.
   "Now that you are a hot, sexy reporter--you think you're too good for him?"  Thomas imperatively probed poignantly. 
  "Okay--I officially hate myself."  Jazzmin blowing a strand of gold out of her eyes.  "And I do love gummi bears."