Liberty's Sparkle (16)

   
   "Liberty's Sparkle (16)"
   
   Mr. McQuade had passed violently in his sleep, fighting and challenging the angel of death till he had no more; regardless, them blonde Nordic females adoring bravery, took him up heavenways, till beyond the big neon glitter of galactic illumination, into a unified state of grace and eternal peace in a livelihood of loving, being an Irish storyteller forever charmed by sublimity, and having English friends capable of documenting his deliverance.  Liberty and Faye were the only ones at the cremation; furthermore they stood near a crooked creek, water barely flowing, but so alive, dumping his ashes into the challenge of nature.
  
FAYE
He was a tough old bird, and he will be missed.

LIBERTY
Never forgotten--not this year.

FAYE
I heard that in a Roddy Piper movie.

LIBERTY
The poor in spirit shall, uh--theirs is the kingdom of heaven.  Make yourself like unto a child did Christ offer in the Proclamation of the Kingdom.

FAYE
We shouldn't get that deep; he was an old man after all.

LIBERTY
Ya, but he was a freaking cerebral scrapper.  And gave charity as well.  Glimpsed her golden Crucifix the old man had given her, so shiny and full of diamond-like sparkle on the Messiah's wounds.  And Liberty wondered.  Wondered if it was all real.  Life; plus, that of money.  She rubbed the Crucifix; next, offered silent prayer for Mr. McQuade.    

Liberty's Sparkle (15)

   
   "Liberty's Sparkle (15)"
   
   Faye ultimately went back to her apartment and brooded; specifically, she knew she wasn't Trump wife material; still, no guy had ever turned her down for carnal injection.  She just wanted to yell at Tom, like:  "Mr. Miyagi should tell Daniel Son to go get some trim.  To find the rich and savory fruits in life; next--wax on; wax off."  Yup, she was pissed and hurt.
   Tom remained in Liberty's modest residence, Spanky sitting cheerfully on his lap, licking him with love.  Liberty thinking the guy was cute and all but a bit of a flower, and not totally meek, yet a wild flower--very hard to nurture and make blossom.
   Nonetheless, Liberty genuinely adored his gentle bizarre, that not quite counterpoise of spirit, but a hard-working dude he seemed, and just having recently been through so much torturous trauma.
   She sat down next to him, gently squeezed his hand, smiled dumbly, saying:  "It always gets better Tom--at least ya gotta hope and pray so.  Ya know?"
   Tom calmly nodded his head, yet his intense gray eyes were totally locked on the glowing forest-green of Liberty's.  

Liberty's Sparkle (14)

   
   "Liberty's Sparkle (14)"
   
   Tom was completely coherent, at least that he understood what good breasts were--a psychiatrist once told him:  "Tom, it is not uncommon for a man to wonder what a woman's breasts feel like--this is the normal state of being incarnate."  Tom got it; still, being encompassed by Faye's circling strut got him feeling creepy concerning a hot piece of lass and trash, so balanced; alas, people don't know the harm of moderation and counterpoise; it is the axiom of altruistic sublimity that commands the soul into Papa's loving, eternal embrace, not equality.  Whatever, he was drinking.
   
FAYE
So, you don't want to have sex with me--what, are you a complete limp noodle?

LIBERTY
Faye, casual and cool, huh?

TOM
Both of you are lovely ladies.  I am happy and have gracious gratitude for the beer buzz and mercy; however, it is not my intention to engage in intercourse.

FAYE
Dude--you're lonely.  Stops strutting, sitting on his futon anchored lap.  Dude, just engage me.  Hell, we'll all be dead soon.  Let passion burn before the world is scorched by the aliens.

TOM
Faye?  May I call you this name?

FAYE
Yoda, of course you can.    

TOM
I just need to get calm and cool--ya know, get my wheels underneath me.  As a girl might put it, I feel like I've been in a state of menstruation for a while.  It has been shit.  But I don't wanna bang the average customer damn't.  Gets a glimmer in his onward glance.  I want some Aces up here on the freaking bar!  A girl with fight, love, and muster to make me her man!

FAYE
Hell ya!  Gets off of him, slowly, and with hopes of resonating seduction.  Liberty can hook you up; she's a good girl.

LIBERTY
Like heck--I freaking drank beer today.  Blushes a set of darling dimples.   

Liberty's Sparkle (13)

   
   "Liberty's Sparkle (13)"
   
"I am not dead!  I am not dead!"
Next, did Tom think of the sophomoric movie dubbed TED;
Indeed, chicken salad and a checkout girl's buttocks seem the fruits of life divine,
Yet what soul wants to merge the Holy Spirit into suicide-swarming swine?
And did Christ not offer that only against the Holy Spirit is the unforgivable sin?
Thus, embrace the Good Ghost and hope your local hockey team, on the ice, does win.
We all got the mystic mojo to deliver pizza and drink beer,
Yet what soul tames the sinister pride that reflects our inner fear?
Moreover, a cancerous region in the brain,
Or a tumor that cannot be mollified or have a tame
Into the shrink of a Moon waning bad things gone, very long;
Next, the little wax of something that spawns an illuminating birth into something strong.
"Hell," might the cowboy ponder as since Staubach they did squander,
Yet UCLA bred and fed, doing the money launder;
Hence, everything was cool for Tom, but he wouldn't have sex
With Faye's offensively yet sweet offer of a rock and roll hex;
Alas, his heart broke for Liberty--
The one golden girl, surely able to set his inner strength free.  

Liberty's Sparkle (12)

   
   "Liberty's Sparkle (12)"
   
   The disturbed pizza boy was gently carried by two females, both a great lass, having that everfunk of butt-lifting ability, uncanny in their wicked comfort, placing Tom on a beetle adored futon, lopsided, where Faye poured beer down his throat and lit him up some organic tobacco.
   
FAYE
Loosen up dude--we've all been there.

TOM
Inhaling the smoke and chugging the lager.  Have we?  I know plenty of healthy people who read VANITY FAIR magazine and their parents are alive; plus, their big sisters don't put them down for delivering pizza.

LIBERTY
He's got ya there Faye--it sucks super bad for some people.  In the cookie cutter shapes of suburban sprawl, where no art is allowed, and people think everything is normal, there's about one house every thirty where really bad shit is happening.  I read that in a book taking place in Colorado.

FAYE
This guy needs to inhale some Colorado or eat it in a brownie.  Glares hard at Tom.  You're a good-looking guy, a little crusty with the protocols of being normal, but you could get laid.  You are having sex, right?

TOM
No.  Who'd screw a pizza boy?

FAYE
Wanna go into my apartment and have filthy sex?  I mean, like all night long?

LIBERTY
Faye!?!  WTF?

TOM
I need to call work and tell them I've had an accident.  Can I borrow one of your phones?

FAYE
You don't have a cell phone?  You really are a freak, but I'll still have sex with you.

TOM
Shit, I knew anchovies and banana peppers was an ominous omen.  I can always tell what kinda people I'll deliver to by their topping selections.

LIBERTY
Makes some kinda normal sense to me.  

Liberty's Sparkle (11)

   
   "Liberty's Sparkle (11)"
   
   Tom, otherwise known as the melancholy pizza boy, was out running the anchovy miles in his rusted out, old Honda--an engine crafting uncouth steam from the terribly tiny tailpipe, and the vehicle's four cylinders only running on three, with spurts and farts sounding off of every aspect concerning the car held together by the eternal and merciful Godhead.  Anyway, the melancholy pizza boy got an order for a large pie with anchovies and banana peppers, knowing:  freaking stoners.  However, it was Liberty's address, both her and Faye hungry for crunchy sauce and spice atop a crusty styled kinda bread.  Tom took the pie, making his way underneath the darkening and cloudy sky, life seeming so miserable, finding Liberty's residence and knocking meekly on the solid door.  Nobody answered.  He knocked with a bit more muster of his own spirit and was greeted by Faye.
  
FAYE
Hey, you're cute for a pizza boy.

TOM
I got a large with anchovies and banana peppers.

FAYE
Wanna come in.  My friend is taking a piss, but she'll be out after a swift wipe of the privates.  No drippings in panties for girls, unless they're the color black.  My Mom always told me, get a pair of black underwear if you're gonna have a romantic rendezvous, for it camouflages the skid marks.

TOM
His eyes started to water, and his spirit became unsure.  I just got a large pizza--that's all I know.

FAYE
Grabs him gently with her beer buzzed arm.  Is everything okay dude?

TOM
No--my Mom just killed herself two weeks ago, and I hate my miserable life.

Enter Liberty with a cheerful smile, Spanky at her heels.

LIBERTY
Pizza is here huh?  Awesome!  Noticing the pizza boy's tearful eyes.  You okay pizza boy?

FAYE
We got a live one here Liberty.  His mother shot herself a few weeks back.

TOM
She hung herself madame!  Now take the damn pizza--you can have it for free!  Thrusts it in Faye's hand and tries to make a run for it, but stumbles, tripping and falling on the floor.  Spanky runs to him and immediately begins to lovingly lick the tears away.   

My Toughest Uncle

   
   "My Toughest Uncle"
   
   I don't get back to the Great White North often--what, am I Canadian?  I drink Canadian beer--if I can anyway; regardless, Pittsburgh Steel and all the rest.  Freaking Iron City Beer, having reverent reverie of Robin Hood Cream Ale, where I first found the word:  BUZZ!  Good for me.
   A heart transplant, two of a different kidney, and still kicking modest ass.  Awesome.  That's what I'm talking about!!!
   Survival.  The coyote.  Bad things.  Whatever.  The sublimity of survival.  The everlast and macho, Doc Holliday endurance to drink a pint of whiskey and get out of bed every morning.  Nobody knows save the ill and miserably sick.
   Look at you--you're in your fifties and still haven't had a colonoscopy.  Who are you?  You my friend, are special.  You got this.  But some don't.  Not their karmic faults.  Circumstance?  Chance? 
   The Kings die young, I heard a relative say.  Whatever.  I'm Irish:  "I drink; I smoke; I fight; I die."
   Just keep the icy cool, let the aqua blue flow over you--if that's your thing; otherwise, a green-hued Wicca version of willpower.  Still, you survive.  And of the fittest?  Come on man.
   Indeed, there are plenty of wiry gimps with a Colt .45 or blade unsheathed that can survive the most backwoods of card games and still come out with both kidneys, before a Mexican Gang steals your organs and sells them to the highest bidder.  No, not Trump--not yet; still, he seems to be honest, not wearing the mask of devilry, yet so falsely accused.