The Skunk (2)

   
   "The Skunk (2)"
    
   Stinky made an exotic exodus from his laboring duties at TACO BELL; specifically, flipped the bird to some rednecks giving a teenage girl some, well basically--shit.  Saying stuff like:  "Yo young thang, hook up with us and we gonna take you outta such mundane places--put you in the heavens."
   Stinky, noticing them a mix of street thug, dirty cowboy raised in the south, and all the iniquitous rest that did pugnaciously penetrate the perimeter into Wyoming, wanting to drop their filthy bomb on his beloved locals, which were pure cowgirls and cowboys--in the sense of gelling with the freedom of the American West; moreover, he knew those dudes would follow him out to the parking lot; plus, that whatever they were carrying--it could not match his Totem of primal piss.
   He loaded his metaphorical bladder, preparing his urethra to bull's eye them--his perverted and pursuing targets.  It's best to upset a man; next, his arms are in the air, and he is exposed in certain sensitive areas.  Stinky took aim and pissed brilliance all over them, taking them to their knees.  
   He knew it wasn't their fault for being such proud pricks with a bloodthirsty taste for the inviolate and innocent.  They were controlled, having been monitored from birth due to their lascivious obviousness; thus, fueled by venom, like a big-mouthed woman with penis envy--she can't dick somebody, so she uses her obnoxious mouth to give it to you.  They should've read the bodacious bard's:  The Taming of the Shrew.   

automatic Miranda Lambert (Lyrics)

The Skunk (1)

   
   "The Skunk (1)"
    
   Sam "Stinky" Tecumseh, knew how to right a wrong; moreover, knew that it was okay to raise a stink over injustice, as had his new Commander in Chief.  Too, knew that respect should not be freely given, but earned, yet dignity is deserved by even the diabolically demonic and dastardly.
   Stinky worked at a local TACO BELL in Wyoming, gelling with the locals, yet aware of their otherworldly vivid virtues and venomous vices.  He was in the underground business of helping people.  Solace of the wretched and unwanted--like Saint Joseph.  Folks thinking gregarious gain and iniquitous imperialism is so totally vogue, yet what profits a man if he gains the whole world and loses his own soul--the shinobi taught the samurai this lesson.  
   Anyway, there was this teenage girl afflicted by belligerent bullies and she had not the steel to defend her inviolate self.  Cowboy was a dirty word at first, but like all things, history is erased and replaced by the fabrications of false testimony.  Though all is relative, or can be.  
   We have friends; on the flip side, we have enemies; next, the pussy neutrals that Dante poetically mentioned.  The Swiss being neutral when the entire world was falling apart.  Yet what did Great Britain's True Sergeant At Arms boldly proclaim:  "Never give up."   Verily, make a smelly stink for juicy justice.  Like Saint Joan of Arc invocations go:  "Let me do my Earthly tasks, even if it means my own death."   And as Saint Francis knew:  "It is in dying that we receive eternal life."  But he was just a FOOL for Christ--some would say, not knowing that he fought in the Crusades, never became a Priest out of humility, threw his naked body in the thorn bushes to cure an evil erection, and tamed a wild wolf.  

My Pap's Right Arm

    
   "My Pap's Right Arm"
   
   Birthed with mighty steel in Pittsburgh, my Pap, the son of a Serbian immigrant dubbed Dragan Radulovic, was talk; plus, imperative action and walk.    
   As Schwarzenegger said as he hung the little man over the cliff in the movie Commando:  "I warn you--this is my weak arm."  Pap held his boss out a second story window by his legs; furthermore, he was put on Haldol, due to his friendly nature and arctic-blue eyes of justice and peace kissing; specifically, he was bullied, yet took no shit when pushed to the maximum limit, snapping and morphing into concrete iron.  
   Ultimately, they took him back to work, and he was a teacher to me and loved Tesla, having many articles on the Serbian genius who did outshine Edison, though in humility, hung out with Mark Twain, and had a mustache like the dandy Proust.  
   Pap re-forged his name from Radulovic to Radulovich, and told the lady at the bank (I was there) that he was Russian.  I asked him:  "Pap, why did you say you were Russian.?"  He responded:  "Cause then they're afraid of you."  Moreover, the Serbians are cousins to the Russians, as Clinton found out with Boris Yeltsin. 
   My Pap was my Saint Joseph--terror of demons, as the Litany goes.  Not once did I mess with him, for he would've broke my neck.  I love and adore his eternal spirit in a bold and illuminated Christ, strongly. 

Hey Chief (8)

   
   "Hey Chief (8)"
   
   Paul was reflecting upon his childhood; moreover, how he willfully wended his way to a somewhat accomplished adulthood as a dandy barber, and though dandy he was--he knew how to put on Solomon's sincerely sophisticated countenance concerning strength. 
   Paul was afflicted as a child.  Tortured would be a better word.  Numerous clinical psychologists, and an older sister that attempted to play the part of his absent biological father by God-smacking him into a piece of metaphorical steel.  He resisted her discipline, and now knew he was woefully wrong.  Strength births strength.  A bully can sometimes be divine, forging a flashing sword within a well-lit soul, if that person sells their soul to Christ; however, some bullies are garbage. 
   Paul ultimately took his sister's advice, knowing she was only attempting to craft him strong; next, got his barber's license and sought out Christ--God's ultimate champion for humanity, remembering His Mother's words:  "Do as My Son says."
   Christ had no doubt, and if actually tempted--it was a wimpish and weak temptation, as He told one of the Twelve:  "That was the prince of this world, but he has no power over Me."  Like Jango Fett's clones, Christ did His job, perfectly.
   That's why Paul was steeled now; plus, why he would not engage Max in immediate intercourse, testing every spirit as commanded.  And yes, some shrinks do know the difference between mental illness and diabolical intrusion, as Paul had found a Native American psychiatrist, a former Chief mind you, that took him to Catholic Mass one day; next, let the budding barber build his foundation on the ROCK, getting baptized by water; then, his first Holy Communion, eating the true flesh of Christ.
   It wasn't that the invention of therapy was nefarious, yet it explained the supernatural through the weakness of science, which constantly changes, while God does not.  The bad hombres don't want people to know their leader exists, a great trick, or they're unaware themselves, pursuing a life of lascivious lusts and cruelty--they won't believe and give verbal or spiritual glory to the champion of God--the Christ.
   Anyway, Paul had made up with his sister, and while she lived outside of the Arkansas perimeter, he still pen wrote her letters of appreciation, but didn't kiss too much sibling ass, having that edge, knowing not even angels deserve as much praise as the Trinity, though part of it themselves, from a certain perspective concerning the Holy Spirit Itself.
   So, as Paul had tested Max's spirit--he knew she was a lady he could trust; hence, he would take an innocent shower with her, be polite and adore her; next, if futurity had scripted it--ask for her loving hand in the super-mundane act of matrimony.     

Hey Chief (7)

   
   "Hey Chief (7)"
    
   Beauteous Max and mild-mannered Paul enjoyed the flickering candlelight and frozen lasagna, but Paul had no wine, and they drank tap water; however, he did have ice cubes for some "splash" in his mini-fridge.  EDDIE THE EAGLE was an inspiring movie about a determined dreamer and a washed-up lush resurrecting his potential.  Anyway, after ejecting the DVD, Max snuggled in close to Paul and injected her tongue under his manly mustache--right into his shocked mouth.  The dude kissed her back for a while; next, pushed away and explained his desire concerning the relationship.

PAUL
I do wish to engage you in intercourse; however, not this night, but I'm okay to show you myself naked, so you can see the goods.

MAX
Snorted a giggle.  Do you want to see my goods?  Ran a hand through her butterscotch pixie cut.  I can see your Rosary over there, and your Crucifix over yonder; plus, can tell that you're an honest and nice guy.  So, I can wait.  But you're kinda Old Testament, huh?

PAUL
Not particularly.  In fact, Christ's words are more terrifying; moreover, He gets most of his material from the Old Testament, quoting Isaiah, David, other Psalms, and all the rest.  Too, He talks about the winnowing fork used to separate the wheat from the chaff, a pitchfork.  And Saint John further goes onto to display that a life without repentance is not healthy, but eternally damaging to the soul.  

MAX
Yeah, Jesus can be scary.  But isn't that the point?

PAUL
He was no Elmer Gantry--those who can't do, teach.  He was pure light and salt.  

MAX
So, how long do you wanna wait to make love?

PAUL
We'll know.  Now, let's take a ride on my motorcycle.  Plenty of wildlife to see, and I can go slow or fast.

MAX 
Smiled.  Sounds like a good start.  

Hey Chief (6)

   
   "Hey Chief (6)"
   
   Paul was hanging out at Trevor's, informing his singular friend about the upcoming date he had with the lovely and statuesque Max.  The dandy barber had already gotten a copy of Eddie the Eagle from the local Redbox machine and placed it in his saddle bags that hung over his dual action Honda 250; plus, purchased a frozen lasagna, some nice plastic plates with plastic forks and knives; also, a few candles to set a somewhat romantic atmosphere; however, being the ascetic Catholic that he was, he didn't know how he felt about laying the lascivious pipe.
   As a result, he inquired upon Trevor for wisdom, but all the perverted dude offered was:  "Get some."
   Paul continued on about his lifelong dedication to Catholicism, and Trevor stated:  "Hell, be a Christian first.  Just give all the sin to Jesus--that's what he's there for."
   It sounded like cheating to Paul, the entire Protestant approach, forgetting the sacrifices of Saints and Angels that would not become fallible; regardless, he considered Trevor's advice; next, placed some peach chaw between his lip and gum, voicing:  "Okay my man--I hear ya.  But I'll play it as my conscience tells me.  As Obi-Wan told Luke--you must do what you feel is RIGHT of course."
   Trevor back with:  "Hokey religions and ancient weapons are no match for a good blaster between your legs."
   Paul grinned, grasping Trevor's uncouth style; nevertheless, Paul knew who he was; moreover, what he was about; plus, that the Kingdom of Heaven was in the midst of him.  He would do things the right way.