Jazzmin Flush (58)

   
   "Jazzmin Flush (58)"  
  
   Jazzmin Flush didn't have time to be petty concerning a stepdame's pretentious persona; specifically, the L.A. Derelict had sent her on a labor-like duty--to forge an obituary on a living guy, but he would soon perish in cruel fashion as did dictate a cursed circumstance.  His guy name was Merlin Pope, and he wasn't to give his complete story--not yet.  Jazzmin Flush was imperatively instructed to only ask a few questions, take meticulous notes, and craft a literary brainstorm.  She entered a dilapidated shanty, near where Girthy Gilda used to reside, and wending further within, she found Merlin Pope reclining on a chaise lounge, looking a bit lime-green.   
   
MERLIN
You must be Miss Jazzmin Flush--what a quintessential California girl you are.  A flowing, golden mane, and very hearty thighs.  Please sit down.
  
JAZZMIN
Are you hitting on me--being uncouth?

MERLIN
I'm dead in the loins--not even your curvaceous physicality could resurrect my blood flow.
   
JAZZMIN
So, what's the scoop Mr. Pope?
  
MERLIN
Born under a shimmering, beautiful blade.  Carved like a jive turkey from my mother's obedient womb; next, placed in incubation--cooked to life, more or less.  Growing into a skittish coyote, androgynous in face and body, yet athletic and goofy.  I had no chance.  My greatest destiny is death.
  
JAZZMIN
I'm sorry.  Really.  I know some low people--low in a sublime way.  Why does life have to suck so much?  Doesn't God know--we've already been tested.
  
MERLIN
Plus, immune problems.  That's all I'll say save--don't ever indulge in a romantic dinner with a hungry lass who ingests lobster bisque and doesn't brush her teeth before carnal play--if you do, or if I did, and I did--you'll get a monstrous case of epididymitis.  
  
   Jazzmin Flush sat on the edge of Merlin Pope's chaise lounge.  Jazzmin wept.