Loup Soup (2)

   
   
   "Loup Soup (2)"

   "Choose not to be harmed--and you won't be.  Leave other peoples' mistakes where they lie."   Jasper put down the quotes from Marcus Aurelius, finding Boxer the cat phasing in-and-out between this world and the Otherworld, meowing for some albacore tuna with a dash of mustard to protect from feline thrush.  Verily, once Boxer tasted mustard--the cat could not get enough of it, and Jasper felt the same way, though he had dog in him.  
   Didn't mind the skinny and scrawny comments, for like a coyote--he was lean and keen.  Wasn't going to mention their diabetes attraction, or that male genitalia ornamented in red pubic hair was like a girl waiting for the Great Pumpkin that never would arrive with a dark brow--so sexy to the ladies.
   Jasper gave a damn, just knew--when your adversary has his arms up; next, that's the best time to go into him, and very low, putting the Dim Mak right up into where it belongs--their fragile and unprotected urethra.  He was a peaceful man, yet knew liberalism was a disease, as was the other direction of bullying, both directions putting you in a depraved ditch; plus, a diabolical den of demonic devils.
   So, Jasper went to work at the comic book shop, piloting his Ninja 300, easing the high RPM level with a smoothness untold unless experienced, though knowing:  experience is useless, unless met with the identical experience; thus, he would try some spicy mustard tonight.  

Loup Soup (1)

   
   "Loup Soup (1)"
   
   Like PREGO pasta sauce--it's in there.  Jasper knew this well.  Possibly, maybe too well.  He never said shit or damn or hell or offered up any profane vulgarities with vociferous announcement--instead, he kept it inside, like PREGO pasta sauce--it's in there. 
   Jasper lived in Nebraska.  He was tuned into the native formation of the landscape.  He collected Canadian silver coins, preferring the kind with canines ornamented upon the mint.  He was a strange fella, and would tell you he was stupid, and he was, but wasn't.  Like PREGO pasta sauce--it's in there.  
   He had a cat named Boxer, but didn't own the cat.  Nobody did.  The cat walked between both worlds, owning itself, and a bit of the spiritual realm.  But nobody believed.  Plugged into machines and driven by stones crafted beyond their purity, it was all goofy, yet Jasper liked linguine, the narrow ribbons, and was a French pastry taster for the local gas station, the attendant, right from the geography of Toulon.  

Huck Finnegan (3)

   
   "Huck Finnegan (3)"
   
   Huck and Peanuts finished an odoriferous day at the dump, and he wondered why William Blake had compassion for the fly.  Regardless, he did his dirty duty, went home to some noodles and kidney beans, light red; next, drank some ginger tea and evacuated his bowels.  He could hear Sally's husband pestering her in his head.
   Huck took Peanuts out for a quick sniff and leg-lifting urination on a life-giving tree, it imbibing the liquid-like force of urine, forever marked.  Then, Huck went into his quiet, little house and played some records, really fancying Dean Martin, even though he knew the guy was a playboy, but hey--if you were friends with Ronald Reagan, all was not so bad.
   Huck blessed himself, said his prayers, and lit himself up inside, so that any invaders would feel the light of Christ--all in a day's work.  And that was his life.  Not ostentatious or to be bragged about, but getting by, his trusty crossbow always next to his bed, along with a copy of Shakespeare's Macbeth, for Mr. Finnegan knew the shinobi art of hiding in trees and graciously granting himself a better life-force, and he told God he loved Him, further praying:  "And not even at death will we sadly part."  Just sweetly simple and so ever close to God.  That's it.  Too, Sally birthed triplets.  It was a hayride after she started church-going.       

Huck Finnegan (2)

   
   "Huck Finnegan (2)"
   
   Huck loved his dog Peanuts so much that the dog got testicular cancer; as a result, perhaps now, the canine's name should be Peanut, but he kept it kinda/sorta plural, as if tempting.
   Huck didn't love much save the dog and God; plus, the Holy Family.  Loved Peanuts at first, so much so, that THEY pinned him down and made him submit the dog's name; hence, the cancer in the social beast's scrotum.  But the dog lived, thrived, and went beyond the normal state of health, Huck knowing now to let him off the leash a bit; moreover, to consecrate himself to God, for nothing can hurt God, the Christ, the emanation of the Holy Spirit, and the Virgin--or God would give them the Godsmack; therefore, Huck had no attachments save Peanuts, and mastered chastity by way of releasing the seed through contemplative energy, so as not to get seminal backup.
   His sister was a fancy banker named Sally.  She loved EMFs, not knowing the hidden dangers and toxicity, and Huck wore a quartz-powered watch; also, he humbly worked at the junkyard, Peanuts alongside his wiry weird.  He worried about Sally's evolution into a numbered robot.  Tried to cautiously warn her.  Tried not to love her too much.  Was hard on her.  Would give her his total and forever life.  Would keep them guessing.  But not about the Trinity and the Virgin.  He was always down with the everlasting jazz to proclaim his lunatic love for something indestructible.  
    

Huck Finnegan (1)

   
   "Huck Finnegan (1)"
   
    Sally didn't like that; moreover, mama don't like that; nevertheless, Huck said:  "Datum est."  And with sincere and total love.  Sally got wise, asking:  "And Huck Finn is more real than me, huh?"
   Huck explained:  "His name has been mentioned more in reality than yours as an investment banker.  He's been studied, put in schools, on book shelves, read, talked about--way more than you; thus, how is he not more real than you?--I doth proclaim; indeed, he exists more in reality and truth than you do.  You may think, therefore you are, but he exists and outshines your existence."
   Sally went back to her cornbread.  Thick, greasy, bad for the colon, and without taste, but she loved it--so absent of reality, but she loved it, fueling her closer to diabetes.  
   Huck munched on the high vibrations of his Rainbow Chard, not thinking Nordic, but knowing that God transcends the Fates and Norns, if you accept death and suffering beyond the stars' authority of ALL things.  Next, he tuned into a old radio show on his double A-powered radio, listening to the croons of those gone, but so alive; indeed, so alive, much more than you, and still, yet, beyond the stable and hay of it all.   

Crystalline Cool (50)

    "Crystalline Cool (50)"

   Duncan returned home, the 2-cycle KX 200 leaving him with severe shakes and tremors after the protracted and mystical journey, following the Canis rufus, which disappeared into the Otherworld as he put the Kawasaki on the kickstand and slowly sauntered towards the entrance of his humble habitat.  He noticed the El Camino but not Dad's truck; plus, looked back, and the lime-green machine was absent.    
   Upon entering the less than modest house, he felt no presence of corporeal humanity, nor was Roadkill around--and it had all been like a dream.  But as every dream offers an awakening, he intrinsically knew the truth.  He had not traveled to the North Pole, nor had a Dad, nor been at Saint Vincent Island, nor met a beautiful girl named Aimee; furthermore, Dad had died alongside Mom, having perished himself due to cardiac stress, and Duncan had always been alone, without a dog, and castrated by the grief of every scenario in his life, abandoned by brothers and sisters, being a bizarre eunuch digging ditches for less than minimum wage, unable to afford anything save crackers and tap water, no electricity in the house, just a car/truck hybrid and a shovel with a singular pair of pants and a few work shirts and some gloves.
   He examined his blistered hands, realized it was Christmas, gave thanks to the Christ child, and continued on, as all the poor in spirit do, hoping to inherit the Kingdom of Heaven, and quickly; hence, he muttered to the Christmas Spirit:  "Lord, make haste to get me out of here and into Your Family's embrace."
   He received no immediate response; thus, dug a ditch, went home, slept on the floor, as always, and talked to the scrambling rodents, his only friends, wisely knowing--others had it even worse.  
   This is the way of those targeted due to crazy faith, yet steeled by dreams into the Divine, wending beyond hope, into a perpetual state of desiring everlasting grace.  

A Charlie Brown Christmas - Scripts