Grackle Nation (5)

   
   "Grackle Nation (5)"
   
   Jack Soo from Barney Miller couldn't comprehend the moonlit werewolf, as he had no facial hair, being more highly evolved, resonating with a fabulous frequency as do the American Indians, being blood brothers with the Great Spirit--in a matter of speaking.  Harris, the cool, black dude--never ever bought off-the-rack, into the finer sophistication of James Joyce's dandyism, and was penning a novel while trying to solve crimes, like possibly, a cop distracted by the camouflage of the badge, not respecting its loyalty and fidelity towards the true justice of a Red Saint Uriel--in a matter of speaking.
   The true Law, outshines what is to be rendered to Caesar.  
   Regardless, Slim Jim Grackle would not resist the big mouths, the racket of dastardly devils needing Prozac the size of an enormous golf ball to be silent--them women with big and violent verbiage, though the Goddess is white and virginal, yet bitches dismiss Her stepping on the forked tongue, which tempts man like an Eve conquered by self-image, and nobody loves women more than Mark Twain and the Catholic Church--giving them the best HONOR, and yes, they made Joan of Arc a Phoenix, forever.  
   Slim Jim washed Echo, purifying his Northwest journey with the platinum pooch, as it would be, having Saint Raphael as a guide for that Fool Card, knowing a white dog and a wise/fool has all the traits of possessing true power, if they deny the racket and boast of a bodacious blessing that burns some fish.  I like catfish cooking on the slimy creek-water--sung by the bard of cool country circumstance.
   Don't listen to your cell phone.  Don't watch network news.  Put your feet on the grass--so beyond finding Pokemon and his freakish fibs, which unearths only radical robots with nefarious nanotechnology placed within during a debutante's dream-state.  
   Damn boy, Slim Jim Grackle put him in some mint chaw, got a beautiful buzz, and knew the path of light's excess leads to the palace of ultimate illumination.  Thus, get a dog, take the bus, color with crayons, and never wear your baseball hat backwards, unless you have the macho mustache and magnificent might of Mike Piazza.