Jazzmin Flush (40)

   
   "Jazzmin Flush (40)"
   
   Jazzmin Flush monstrously manifested no pulsating panegyric about Rascal within her own cerebral lines--no sir; nonetheless, there was something wickedly delightful concerning the female, coydog chick, to say the limited least.  And, within her (Jazzmin's) telepathic empathy, she heard Rascal boldly barking at her "in tune" whereabouts, offering:  "I am not a piece of, you know profanely what.  No--I'm a piece of CLASS."  And Jazzmin Flush knew not to be a kingfisher, labeling Rascal a pesky insect to be divinely devoured alive.  She must trust the imperfect symphony of that cool babe's well-aligned weirdness.  Remembering how the weirdo poet woefully wailed about President Clinton after backwarding his empathetic excellence in bard-like Blogs.  For President Clinton, as he evenly admitted, truly felt YOUR pain, loving, loving, loving, and doing so to awesomely assist the elderly, broken, poor, or yet-to-be recognized as great; indeed, President Clinton, simply:  CARED.
   Snapshot, Jazzmin Flush out of Rascal's rascally and mini Mindcrime, not purposely invading, but soaking her soul's terrific truth into Jazzmin's mercurial spark of jealousy, to simply let her honestly know:  "I'm not after your quasi-boyfriend.  Too, we should hang out and get a taco."