Thoracic Animus (21)

   
   "Thoracic Animus (21)"
   
   Miramaxus was a tall blonde from another world--not of this world, fighting with the Confederate Nordics in Antarctica against the leprous lizards.  Anyway, she was an angel, but had a guilt complex, for angels are fallible.  She attempted to arouse a married essence, due to the horrors of hostile war wearing down her loneliness, making her yearn for, or in the least, have communication with another soul of the opposite gender--in galactic terms.
   As a result, knowing many divine humans practiced mortification of the senses, she wanted to punish herself, for her sin, maybe scald her face, to stay inviolate and pure.  But as she attempted to burn herself with a flaming torch, the Great Nazarene super-positioned Himself in her direction, saying:  "Peace be with you.  As this is not your world--neither was it Mine, as you know, but you are rolling out the red carpet for My return; thus, fear not and look upon My cross, even as I willed Myself to die; next, willed myself to live again, in a transfigured state."
   Miramaxus didn't attempt to argue, but mourned the history of Calvary, yet accepted the Nazarene's obedience unto death, though cheating its sting, knowing He was the LIGHT, and will share it with the chosen.
  Therefor, Miramaxus got her laser rifle, and soldiered back up, into the macabre horrors of the angelic wars.  

The poetry of Jimmy Stewart : Beau

Thoracic Animus (20)

   
   "Thoracic Animus (20)"
   
   Doc had ignited the internal cockpit light, and having jury-rigged an auto-pilot off of his Smart Phone, adapting it further to take voice commands, he escorted Mutt into the fuselage made into a small dining area, where he had fresh salmon and sweet and sour glaze, going for the macrobiotic nutrition; anyway, after popping open a few Dr. Peppers, the feast began; then, the twosome burped up the carbonated colas.

DOC
Ya, Dr. Pepper is healthier than Coke, for it has the name Doctor in it.

MUTT
How long before you can make the jump to light speed?

DOC
Boy, what the hell you saying?

MUTT
Sorry--just always wanted to say that, and the time feels right.

DOC
Oh ya--like that old Obi-Wan in STAR WARS.  But boy, we going to Antarctica, not Han Solo's frigid Hoth.  And it's like that 1980's sci-fi flick, THA THANG.

MUTT
You mean, THE THING.

DOC
Don't give me that Yankee vernacular boy; I'm taking you to see angels and demons.  Hell, it's better than a John Wayne Western.  

MUTT
I was always partial to Jimmy Stewart--he was a wiry scrapper.  

Thoracic Animus (19)

   
   "Thoracic Animus (19)"
   
   Doc was all like:  "Boy, we gonna get them snakes, those shape-shifting bastards, even into the blondes with a frenzied frequency, but the true blondes emanate clean white and all the rest.  What did Jesus tell Pilate?  My world is not of this world.  He was a Pleiadian, in a sense, and He is here, in the Holy Spirit.  Don't wait for Him to come back, but ingest His platinum presence, and He will truly be with you.  That non-canonized Gospel of Thomas the doubter is wily and weird, making yourself a duplicate of Christ, a man becoming a woman, and a woman becoming a man; plus, the Oracle of Mary--love My Mother and you love Me--more or less.  Therefore, let it be!  Engage the opposite of the Holy Spectrum, but be of not two minds, though gel into gregarious glee--you hear me Mutt?"
   Mutt was chewing on his lips again at a high altitude, wishing the B-25 Mitchell was below the frozen ocean and all the rest, but he carried the werewheaten-terrier with dignified duty, knowing he had to bite some snake ass.  For a dog, even though Saint John the Eagle spoke against them, as they would eat the dead bodies off the cross if an Orthodox Jew didn't preserve even the criminals and wrap them in spice, but a domesticated dog is no less than a man following the Koran's instructions to eat cattle--we are killing hamburgers dude, and they got pickles on them.
   Mutt just trusted in Doc's two, old-school .357 Magnums, single action; moreover, his instincts to lick and kill snakes, loving blondes, and what guy doesn't love blondes, or girls, for there is Brad Pitt on the Big Screen, and the ladies swoon over his golden locks, like Christ's chestnut mane, as described by Pilate himself, and possibly hanging in the National Library of Congress.       

Lady Antebellum — Long Stretch Of Love (Lyrics)

Audience Reaction - Detention Center Shootout - Star Wars 1979 Re-Release

Lime-Green Machine: KDX 200

   
   "Lime-Green Machine:  KDX 200"
   
   When I had my Suzuki GN 250, or my two Ninja 250's, people always told me they were little kid bikes--"Bravo Sierra!"  I do rightfully exclaim.
   My Suzuki GN 250 could sprint to sixty as fast as a 1985 Camaro with a 305 small block and four barrel; plus, my Ninjas could hit sixty in five seconds and do near 115 MPH--this is not a little kid's bike, bucko.
   When I was 11 years of age, having a small Yamaha 80cc, some kid in Richmond let me drive his Kawasaki  KDX 80cc, and it ran like a little, scalded dog.  Moreover, I had the green eyes of jealousy over the Kawasaki's mean, lime-green radiance, it driving me to yearn hungrily to own one.  It has always been my dream to have such a potent enduro-type of on-and-off road cycle.
   The old-school KDX 200 is mean and alive in furious green.  It will hit sixty under seven seconds, and top out a little over 80 MPH.  I find no other cycle more aesthetically-pleasing; plus, in some cases, you're dealing with a 2-cycle, which causes superior velocity and more vibrating-energy--it offers more torque out of the hole, I'm talk'n.  
   I had an ethnically Nordic friend during my dropout of adolescence who had a Honda XR 200, and it was severely swift to sixty, but my GN 250 could take it, especially on the top end.  I had that little Suzuki up to 83 MPH on Hinson Road in Little Rock during 1988, blowing past the rich kids coming home from private school.  I was so shaken by the quicksilver of topping her out on a winding road, that after the race, I found a quiet patch of real estate and nervously smoked an unfiltered Lucky Strike, it ignited to life by a sulfur-stricken match, back in the days when they made matches--hey, it's toasted.