Jazzmin Flush (47)

   
   "Jazzmin Flush (47)"
   
   Like a swift spy--Rascal got on the cosmic case of Jazzmin's Dad.  The coydog girl was ecstatic that she could help her new friends, like:  "Can I?  Can I Thomas?  Please, can I?"
   And Jazzmin agreed.  Rascal should investigate the pizza delivery guy.  As a result, Rascal rounded Jazzmin's basement, getting on the asphalt ballet of it all.  Walking with a girl's skip towards the magnificent, 1957 Chevy.  She made no secret in her approach.  All smiles.  Wagging her metaphorical tail.  Dude in car blushed, and Rascal knew it was Jazzmin's Dad.  Right up on him, she asked, "I wanna know if you're the father of Miss Jazzmin Flush?"
   The man responded, "I am Donald Flush.  And yes I am."
    "No crap about that dude--you just owned it.  But I figured your name was Danny."  Rascal said.
   "Plenty of people think they have me figured out."  Donald Flush admitted.  "But do they know the bard?"
   "You're sounding waaaay wacky now guy."
   "What's wrong with a little literary adventure.  No machine gun sentences.  Plus, Jazzmin should know."
    Rascal scratched her bottom--just for a second.  "Know what?"
   "That her father was rich and brilliant once, a great mathematician."  Donald smiling, almost with pride.  "Alas, stolen away, thieved and hijacked by a shrew yet to be tamed.  Like to a stepdame or a dowager.  Long withering out a young man's revenue."
   Rascal couldn't help it.  Weirded out.  Scratched her bottom again.  "You got any more gummi bears in that hot rod?"