Coyote playing with a ball

Kooky Lucy Frost (24)

   
   "Kooky Lucy Frost (24)"
   
   Lucy's Serbian, immigrant Pap was @ the barber again, his inner OCD always prepped to get the silver fox tamed--a domesticated dog is cool, even Saint John the Eagle would admit this, for they don't eat dead bodies off the crosses, and an Orthodox Jew like Joseph of Arimathea made sure Christ was gently taken down, wrapped in spice, and properly buried.
   Anyway, Lucy was home alone save Cleveland's constant pester, following her pacing feet, out of adoration--Lucy was the Sun to him, that daystar of life.
   So, the doorbell chimed.  It had a funky dinga-donga, like a 70's era Carter Show.  Lucy told Cleveland to sit and stay--the obedient hound submitted to her loving instruction, not a rebuke; moreover, she pulled her dirty-blonde back in a lime-green ponytail stretchy-thing and answered the door without looking through the peep hole; furthermore, as she opened the door, the blonde angel lady from the grocery market was standing there, armed with facial protection; specifically, mirror shades, like motorcycle cops used to wear in the 70's to intimidate their pullovers.  Lucy was astonished, yet knew emerald-green eyes were cloaked beneath her own reflection, yet the golden flax of the woman's hair was beyond the platinum glimmer of champagne, so wheat-like, and verily Notre Dame gold-like.
  The woman said:  "My name is Alva.  You can read me, but I can read you better."
   Lucy felt no intimidation or threat, calmly responding:  "What's this about?"
   Alva responded:  "You are partially one of us.  Yet you attempted to merge, wanting in life, yet wanting is a waste; on the flip side, doing and being is pure sublimity.  That man Conor is of our folk too, halfway, as are you."
   Lucy pushed her cupcake cleavage out like a little Schwarzenegger, boldly probing:  "Well, what should I do?"
   Alva smiled toothy pearls:  "Don't gel.  Keep the blood as pure as you can.  Mate with Conor.  Your eggs are still able, even though you are approaching menopause.  So, don't pause.  Make your own tribe, and we will be guarding."
   Lucy became a bit frustrated:  "What the heck is this all about?"
   Alva stated:  "Remember when you were an adolescent and nobody understood you, saying you were making all your problems up--we knew you weren't.  But your problems are your shield, though let it down for Conor, for he deserves entrance, and you deserve offspring.  We need all the help we can get.  Later, no gator."
   The tall, blonde chick departed, as if into nowhere.  Lucy bit her lip, blew her blonde out of her face, and her forest-green eyes went on an imaginative safari for the seed of Conor.  Why the holy hell freaking not?  She was getting long in the tooth as it was.   

Reagan's ALIEN speech to UN

Kooky Lucy Frost (23)

   
   "Kooky Lucy Frost (23)"
   
   Kooky Lucy was back in her house, chatting it up with Pap in an almost manic state about how she had kissed Conor on the asphalt ballet of the suburban sprawl, but no tongue, just a mere peck--the first time she'd kissed a guy in over 13 years.  Too, she said he didn't taste like rancorous adultery, but was minty fresh.  And she rambled on about this without the slightest of a radish's blush.  
   Pap was cracked up, ignited his coffin nail with the spark of sulfur, and exhaled his happiness, being merry for a flaky grandchild, her never realizing her awesome beauty, as if innately protecting it due to an act of persevering for the perfect guy.  Pap knew of Conor.  Some bad seeds in the neighborhood had called the guy a gimp, a skeletal freak, him having hyperactivity of the Basal ganglia or some technical shit that gave him funky motor skills due to playing football in high school @ the position of free safety, having taken many head on collisions from larger, though slower guys--the damn Irish were crazy, Pap's internal Serb thought, but he knew Conor was no drunk, just a guy that lived with his parental units, kinda like Lucy, having a mild job as a janitor for the Catholic Church, paying his taxes, and taking no shit, as the Irish don't give a damn about what people think, but only of what God thinks, and as the Burgundy of the situation metaphysically goes--a just war is honorable, just control your power.
   Thus, Pap told Lucy:  "Interesting that after Twain penned his Saint Joan of Arc book, saying he never gave a damn about writing anything else, the Western Rite offered her Beatification; next, made her a Saint a decade later.  She fought though was of God, and you too Lucy have to fight.  You are incarnate, and a true old school guy will always look after you, especially if they have the intangible steel of a hardcore spirit.  And I know of Conor--he is a loner like yourself, nearing fifty, and would treat you as a delicious dame through all the dastardly deeds of this modernized world gone screwed by more machines than spirit.  He sings from the heart, and I think you should pursue your interest."
   Lucy was like:  "I do really like him Pap.  Even though we're of the Eastern Rite."
   Pap blew a smoke ring:  "Our Priests just get to have facial hair and have sex; otherwise, no significant difference."  
   Lucy chuckled, and Cleveland howled happily, somehow knowing . . .

Animotion - Obsession (lyrics)

Kooky Lucy Frost (22)--the honey badger

   
   "Kooky Lucy Frost (22)--the honey badger"
   
   Kooky Lucy Frost got up the nagging nerve to talk to Conor, as his asymmetrical walking gait cruised the sprawl of suburbia.  She left Cleveland behind, not needing interference, not even from her best pal--the holy hound that Saint Roch and Raphael knew well.  Therefore, she diligently dashed upon his presence, his buzzcut and mutlti-hued eyes gleaming gallantly over a lean build--a total ectomorph.  She said "hiya" and patiently waited for his radiant glare to respond.  He did so.
   "Lucy Frost."  He stated.  "Have I ever told you of the honey badger and my feminine intuition?"
   Lucy now knew the world was weird, like the STAR WARS cantina, but was determined to keep calm and carry a lightsaber. 
   She asked:  "Can you tell me, Conor?"
   He smiled nicotine-stained teeth, though straight and glistening, saying:  "The honey badger relies on the matriarch.  Its mother loving it so much that she exposes the baby to scorpion venom.  Plus, scorpions are pure protein; next, exposes it to snake venom.  The honey badger is a sublime zombie of supernatural nature.  It doesn't hide in a clean room, but is exposed to toxins and contagion--to make it strong.  A puff adder or cobra can strike it many times, even in the eye or mouth; still, the honey badger consumes the snake; then, it dies for two hours, but resurrects itself, as it is purified by feeding off of the negativity.  Christ said--resist not evil."
   Kooky Lucy understood:  "I should get out more, and kiss you."
   Conor handsomely smiled:  "Of course."  

Jango Fett vs. Obi-Wan Kenobi HD