A Wicked Gastroenterologist

   
   "A Wicked Gastroenterologist"  
   
   Calmly cruising through the physician's door; however, not a Doc; moreover, a Nurse Practitioner of the cruel imp family, some imps are awesome and nice--but not him.  He was intrinsically hostile due to his own corporeal aspects, pre-judging my highly-paid necessity of his so-called, medical services. 

NP
Your insurance doesn't cover that.
  
ME
I had REMICADE Infusions for years--of course they do. 

NP
Maybe you have another insurance and just don't know it.
   
ME
How could I be paying a colossal amount for another health insurance and not know it?
   
NP
Anyway, a prescription for PREDNISONE for 2 weeks is like putting a Band-Aid on it.
  
ME
Aren't Band-Aids good?  Too, the only cure for Ulcerative Colitis is removal of the large intestine, more or less.  And why don't you look me in the eye, and why didn't you shake my hand?  Why do you study the asshole for a living?  And I'm the liar and freak?  Why give me COLAZAL instead of DELZICOL when it doesn't offer the same protection against cancer?  Change REMICADE into HUMIRA when REMICADE, which I had for years, did indeed fix me without side-effects?  Put your hands near my junk when you examine me?  No other medical man treating me for this condition did that, nor ask me if I'm ticklish, nor invite me to their non-denominational church.  And why refuse treatment cause I bleed out, having required a blood transfusion, becoming anemic of the IRON kind; thus, am phobic concerning too high of a capacity of blood being drawn by cackling and jeering phlebotomists?  Not drops of blood buddy, but cups--I got pics on my cell phone of the sanguinary circumstances.  Have you no idea of the Hippocratic Oath?  And no Organic, Western Medicine--that has been studied by myriads of suffering patients, and it calms and soothes them--this not legally allowed in the American South, though it is by a Higher Davidian Power.  Who is this leader of the American South?  May I remind him that they lost the biggest terrorist action launched upon the sublime turf of the United States?  Do you know what it is like to have painful, bloody diarrhea and agonizing constipation for near 20 years?  This is bullshit.      

Jazzmin Flush (84)

   
   "Jazzmin Flush (84)"
    
   Thomas--his wolfy blood boiled; indeed, telepathically attached in enchanting fashion to Miss Jazzmin's complete self--her soul, actually, more of her cerebral self; regardless, Thomas knew, as most canines do, what was going on in the head of a member of his pack.  And remember, Thomas was the Spirit Wolf--forged by surfing the Holy Spirit as an energetic, ubiquitous wave of everything SUBLIME, like a Brahma Christ, merged with the nature of the complete Multiverse.  
   Anyway, to blow off the essence of angry steam, Thomas got wolf angst, deciding to morph into his arctic lupine delicious, remembering the whale blubber he munched on once, and took a trek into the wolf-like aspects of his supernature, becoming more of a garden-variety werewolf, even thinking about banging, after hunting, tail.  It was all the improper myths of werewolves not ever being magnanimous--some are!!!  Yet Thomas wanted blood at that moment.  Wended ruralwards, finding a bullet-holed barn full of chickens. thought about Mister Merlin Pope touching cleverly his Miss Jazzmin Flush and her puristic pink; next, slaughtered the chickens--blood and broken bones galore, but his intestinal tract could handle it.  

Beer and Blondes

    
   "Beer and Blondes"
    
Pulled back--it is flowing flaxen--
A rat's nest of cascading champagne--yup, I'm Saxon,
And I honor and revere the Irish and their ale;
Plus, I don't get skunked and give away my precious tail;
Alas, I'm a lonely crayon configuration,
Wetting my crimson lips on the stutter of a poet's coloring fixation.  
  

Jazzmin Flush (83) "Gnarly"

   
   "Jazzmin Flush (83)"  "Gnarly"
   
   Jazzmin Flush was not crushed concerning her circumstance of being on the boyfriend lam with the seductively sick Merlin Pope; moreover, ignoring Thomas' telepathic, canine howls in her head, begging her to arrive at her common senses, the California girl blocked him by way of being bizarrely bought and purchased by the gnarly danger of it all.  Pope and her along the rocky shore in the Pacific Northwest, watching many an Orca dive from the cold water, before summoning their fleshy selves downwards into their aquatic turf.  
   
MERLIN
This is nice.  A fine young female and her escaped, deranged, and yet dashing middle-aged manfriend.

JAZZMIN
Cut it out Pope--I'm just figuring things out is all.

MERLIN
I think you dig the danger.  Young, fertile lass alongside a man that offers feline femininity; plus, the bold, saddle-riding determination of true man.

JAZZMIN
Are you trying to brag on your carnal abilities?

MERLIN
No--I am not good in bed.  What did Christ say in the Gospels?  Nothing is "good" save God.  As a result, I am weird, pulsating into the other, drawing their crushing wave out of them, and into me.

JAZZMIN
A real soul sucker.  Great.  Now lets talk about something else save sex.

MERLIN
Am I making you blush dear Jazzmin?

JAZZMIN
Don't feel honored or special or anything dude.  I blush easily.

   Merlin simply smiled and looked away to the unearthly Orca.  Jazzmin Flush bit her lip; next, blushed.   
  

Jazzmin Flush (82)

   
   "Jazzmin Flush (82)"
    
    Merlin Pope smoked a little dope; alas, meeker, performance-enhanced, and cosmically philosophical; regardless, he was still Mister Merlin Pope, and may no medicine ever alter those feline eyes, or that potent John Wayne swagger of mouth, or his cat-like dexterity to dodge and defy the angel of death--on his own tenacious terms too.
   Okay, okay--yes!  Jazzmin Flush, as a young female and very incarnate--had physical attraction to the creepy dude, cause she knew he had uncanny OCD and was meticulously clean.  The guy would not tolerate jungle rot, burning incense over the area, and igniting the neutral angels through reverent invocation to heal his affected dermis.  True, genuine ladies--like clean guys, and, they can be bad boys with feline eyes.  Thus, Jazzmin Flush was physically curious, smitten, and yet as a hard-core, underground Catholic, repulsed by Mister Merlin Pope.
  They sat on the levitation train together, reaching Oregon northwards; plus, the quack of ducks and blazers never trailing, fueled by the fire of the Holy Spirit--and Jazzmin hoped she was too; verily indeed, wherever this weird adventure was leading, if she ended up in bed with Pope; next, she'd probably kill herself, and it would kill Thomas too.  

Jazzmin Flush (81)

   
   "Jazzmin Flush (81)"
    
   Jazzmin Flush was in a ruthless rush--to get away from Thomas.  Not we should be friends chatter and all that hurtful jazz; alas, without packing a single item, attempting to rely completely and solely on the Holy Spirit lighting her retreating fire, she walked underneath the purple sunset of Los Angeles, knowing the crescent Moon would soon shine bright and that Thomas, her frigid love, would wend wolfways, if only in his dreams as he transcended the garden-variety werewolf.
   So, with less than bravado to back her up, just meek confidence and some lip gloss in the front pocket of her jeans, she pulled down tight her Dodger cap, and with intent eyes, boarded the levitation train out of the city, needing her own time for a bit, to reflect, draw unicorns in notebooks with glossy, sparkly ink, and forge wondrous prose for the sometimes vile vagrants locked within a dystopian society.
   The levitation train, magnetized, partially to the tracks, shot her away with muscle and mercury, Jazzmin twisting knots in her flowing gold, chewing nails downwards, and then as if Gomer Pyle with fantastically feminine eyes, and yet wearing a potent male aura, Merlin Pope emerged, sitting softly down next to her, uttering:  "Surprise, surprise, surprise."
   Jazzmin wasn't prone to profane utterances herself, yet let the uncouth goose loose, verbally spouting:  "Oh shit--is this gonna take long?"
   Merlin Pope grinned, but with discomfort, feeling Jazzmin's odd attraction towards him, a creepy crush of some sorts; thus, knowing their was possible soul-washing entrance, he suggested:  "We should run away together.  I really could use true youth and sonic beauty; plus, a lap dance every so often."
   Jazzmin Flush offered no response and felt no disgust.  Maybe she should just be a tramp.  To hell with whatever love she sought in life--go get some.  But whatever, nothing bothered her now.  Just riding a train with a sicko.  Indeed, for all her quasi-asceticism--she had a sense of adventure after all.  

Jazzmin Flush (80)

   
   "Jazzmin Flush (80)"
   
   Jazzmin Flush did conclude--nothing.  Lost to a whirlwind of weird from Merlin Pope; plus, nagged by Thomas' ultra-carnal intentions into sharing his divine energy with her in corporeal fashion, merging and making her become a synergy with the dandy dude.  Yup--she adored the arctic wolf, but violation of her carnal fears; her puristic ability to see why Christ addressed women in the New Testament as simply:  WOMAN!  He did!  Knowing their intentions, for they were incarnate--in the freaking flesh!!!  And hence, they must be bothered by the lust in their loins--but, is intercourse ever not lascivious?  Would it always feel so to the very very asexual Jazzmin Flush, California Girl with cascading strands of gold, blowing it forth from her effulgent eyes with kiss-me lips to reveal a sophisticated Saint?  Yet some Saints simply:  Got Some.  It was all too obvious.  She could either enter into mystical matrimony with Thomas, or run away.  All that damn simple.