Jazzmin Flush (58)

   
   "Jazzmin Flush (58)"  
  
   Jazzmin Flush didn't have time to be petty concerning a stepdame's pretentious persona; specifically, the L.A. Derelict had sent her on a labor-like duty--to forge an obituary on a living guy, but he would soon perish in cruel fashion as did dictate a cursed circumstance.  His guy name was Merlin Pope, and he wasn't to give his complete story--not yet.  Jazzmin Flush was imperatively instructed to only ask a few questions, take meticulous notes, and craft a literary brainstorm.  She entered a dilapidated shanty, near where Girthy Gilda used to reside, and wending further within, she found Merlin Pope reclining on a chaise lounge, looking a bit lime-green.   
   
MERLIN
You must be Miss Jazzmin Flush--what a quintessential California girl you are.  A flowing, golden mane, and very hearty thighs.  Please sit down.
  
JAZZMIN
Are you hitting on me--being uncouth?

MERLIN
I'm dead in the loins--not even your curvaceous physicality could resurrect my blood flow.
   
JAZZMIN
So, what's the scoop Mr. Pope?
  
MERLIN
Born under a shimmering, beautiful blade.  Carved like a jive turkey from my mother's obedient womb; next, placed in incubation--cooked to life, more or less.  Growing into a skittish coyote, androgynous in face and body, yet athletic and goofy.  I had no chance.  My greatest destiny is death.
  
JAZZMIN
I'm sorry.  Really.  I know some low people--low in a sublime way.  Why does life have to suck so much?  Doesn't God know--we've already been tested.
  
MERLIN
Plus, immune problems.  That's all I'll say save--don't ever indulge in a romantic dinner with a hungry lass who ingests lobster bisque and doesn't brush her teeth before carnal play--if you do, or if I did, and I did--you'll get a monstrous case of epididymitis.  
  
   Jazzmin Flush sat on the edge of Merlin Pope's chaise lounge.  Jazzmin wept.   

Remembering: WEREWOLF BY NIGHT

   
   "Remembering:  WEREWOLF BY NIGHT"
   
Name:  Jack Russell--more or less . . .

First Arrival:  1972--Marvel Spotlight #2
  
Hangs Out With:  Legion of Monsters & Night Shift
   
Talents:  Hard to kill by conventional means; however, items with silver sublimity might slay.
  
Too:  Full Moon Fury morphs him into a hybrid of human and wolf--intellect replaced with fangs, fur, and fright.

Appearing:  Early 1970's and into the Carter Administration; plus, WEREWOLF BY NIGHT spawns one of Moon Knight's first manifestations of his mystic self. 
  

Union Blue--a very underground and android song

   
   "Union Blue--a very underground and android song"
   
   Got poured a Bud Heavy, me:  Heavy with empathy, and she oozed carnal sophistication, and I ran to the Saints, happy for God's sense of EVERYTHING STYLE, and I'm grateful for the divine differences, that asymmetrical mix of man; plus, got a confederate-loving kin; hence, what needs to be penned with pulsating purpose:  CONFEDERATE CYBORG CHIMPANZEE, or better:  TRIPLE C!    Heston on the pony, well-groomed generals, and the mystical mix of simplistic man submitting to the machine gods.  It will happen, sometime, place, or where . . .
  
  Here's the dubious ditty:
   
The South don't brave none android galore--
Give me a "for sure" Carolina girl;
She's a bit more fleshy with organic jugs,
And I don't give no artificial consciousness country hugs,
Resisting them Yankees pushing the Queen--
Her forged with pride that ain't spiritually clean--
I love my Dixie and all the dogs;
I voted for a President who called them Hogs!  

Jazzmin Flush (57)

   
   "Jazzmin Flush (57)"
   
   Rascal electrically elongated her canine telepathy, mind-hunting Thomas, barking her boldacious bewitching persona in his arctic wolf's direction; specifically, being a bitch in heat, offering, "I want you to stop being a stick in the mud and help Jazzmin too.  You can't be a wimpy weasel and walk away from your girlfriend's needs.  Do you even know how to be a boyfriend?"
   Thomas, frozen forever in ascetic awesomeness--never to be tarnished or twisted by tempting circumstance other than that which was directly knighted by the Good Ghost, barked back:  "Maybe you need to leave this wolf alone coydog girl.  Or perhaps you need a deliberate dose of wolf's bane to repel your passionate instincts, or perhaps a less organic approach--a scientific exorcism like Haldol, the anti-psychotic--both put supernatural mange into remission; I know you're in heat--stay away from Jazzmin's Dad.  Now, how's that for being a boyfriend?"
   Rascal like,"I never sniffed your hindquarters cause of flirtation--it was just kicks; I'm nobody's junkyard tramp."    

Jazzmin Flush (56)

   
   "Jazzmin Flush (56)"
  
  Jazzmin Flush was emotionally crushed; specifically, her father had, not angelically, architected a pistol-packing plan to regain his stolen funds from the self-obsessed woman he wrongfully married, rightfully returning Jazzmin's sacred inheritance--long overdo, this lack of family trust twisting her into a magnanimous vagrant of sorts.  But Jazzmin Flush was no thief.
   "I am."  Rascal boasted upon her return, her hindquarters still a bit inflamed and itchy.  "Coyotes are renowned for righteously ripping off larger predators.  And Jazzmin's stepdame sounds too selfish to ever attain spiritual peace without our interference.  Totally, she's building up some waaaay bad karma for herself with all that greed, and we could straighten her out with a spanking."
   "She likes to be spanked."  Donald Flush admitted.
   "I'm out."  Thomas stoic.  "Gonna check on Fredrica."  And he made like Tom and cruised.
   "We can't do this Daddy."  Jazzmin confessed.  "I don't have it in me to be naughty."
   Donald Flush was like, "I get it girl.  But now--so should you.  I slaved my way working as a mathematician--your birth mother getting me through college with her labor.  The myriads of monies I worked for in hopes of bettering my offspring belong to you.  You, by blood, deserve a little nest egg."
   "I'll help you Mr. Flush."  Rascal grinned hotly.  "Uh--I mean Donald."
   Jazzmin blew the gold out of her eyes, blushed, and profanely uttered:  "Shit."   

Spirit versus Machine

   
   "Spirit versus Machine"

   A strong, biological family member I knew, fully equipped with an artificial pacemaker and implanted cardioverter-defibrillator (ICD), was--under the antiquated rules of the English language, a living cyborg--part man/part machine.  His thoracic cavity having had more mechanical hardware than Darth Vader's--it kept him alive.
   On the flip side, a woman willfully enduring to near 90 years of age, Grandma, abusing 2 to 3 packs of coffin nails a day for over 70 years, only hospitalized for one week her entire life before being birthed elderly--she seemed, I surmise, ignited by pure spirit.  I could see the determined dauntlessness in her olive-green eyes--them energetically shimmering with this spiritual gift from Anotherworld.
   Humans can harness the Spirit of God, and soon we'll learn if machines can.  Being conscious is one thing, but having a conscience is groovy and sublime.

Jazzmin Flush (55)

   
   "Jazzmin Flush (55)"
   
   Rascal got control--was REMINDED of the SPIRIT of it ALL.  Still, rebellious and cute in rascally fashion, she knew--Thomas didn't need to be her telepathic babysitter or her complete conscience; nevertheless, she crushed on his spiritual probings.  
   And in this Future Year of Our Lord, Rascal witnessed an obvious android plugging itself into an energy diner.  Now away from the park, she approached from an escapable distance, swallowing the yummalicious remnants of a thieved, dug-up bone, attempting to infuse Spirit into Machine.  Later, she muttered to herself:  "I just evangelized an android."