"Does Trump like dogs?"
Extravagantly more independently interesting; plus, less politically correct--
The Donald--give em sincerely honest grief and tongue-lashing heck;
Moreover, Megyn Kelly, the glistening glam of pink lipstick vociferously announcing
While horndog men on their lime-green couch--imagining and mentally pouncing--
Call the Republican, brethren-like nepotism what it is--a bimbo is a bimbo;
Indeed, only the mercurially wise are agile concerning Trinidad's Limbo.
Does Trump like dogs?
Regardless, President Clinton did call em Hogs.
"At Baptist School"
As passionate and curious children, iniquitous entities were conservatively removed from us by Southern Preachers calling upon their personal fabrication of the Holy Spirit Itself, using their deep drawl-like invocation of Jesus' Name and all that country-cooking jazzmustard; next, Rock and Roll labelled as Devilistic--me: 6th Grade mind you, Reagan thriving and brilliantly alive in a commonly corporeal sense; moreover, the Evangelical Erudite Folk of the Southern Church would sing and say: "Country Western (as it was known back then) has some dirty messages as well. Men having wicked affairs and scandalous women sipping whiskey till beyond the couth of tipsy, and her socks may come off too; alas, boy--get you some Gospel Sound."
And then, while not canonized, told me Judas was most-definitely in the Poor Pits of Pandemonium. Yet I witnessed no Transfigured Souls in my teachings; at the same time--me either.
"Jazzmin Flush (96)"
Bodaciously bouncing BOOBS--yup, Thomas was regally reminded of sweetly scoping, sooooo kinda truly, Jazzmin's holy cupcakes--freckled, little sprinkles ornamenting the mammary flesh. And what did Tim Allen, the comedian of ancient days kinda/sorta voice concerning the magical misfit movie that uplifted a mental midget--it dubbed: FORREST GUMP? "Mamma told me--life is like a box of hand grenades--sooner or later, you're gonna blow the hell out of something."
Alas, Thomas reflected more, swallowing a squirming mouse and the wiggling tail, burping remembrance, like: I napalmed myself in the macabre past with guilt and grief. Regardless, he liked being a quasi-Saint gone dejected, ascetic, and yet deserving of the holy training known as suffering; indeed, Thomas needed that unique suffering and megatons of humility to not hungrily hump and hunt human tail, wisely knowing: The Wolf Totem is not purely about savagery and painfully desired sex--it sings a song concerning loyalty and taking chances to play beyond the pack. Thus, he went back inside the hotel, taking his white paw and igniting the elevator button. Looked back with his arctic-blue eyes, noticing again--the witch did have remarkably nice breasts, so perky and full of spirit behind the confines of a tight-pulled, purple sweater.
"Fuzzy Bunny Survives Full Moon Frenzy"
Blue Moon--twice does please,
Illuminating the enduring coyote's fanged desire to ease
A gastrointestinal tract that like hungry quicksand can devour
Any small mammal; plus, not result in a tummy gone sour;
Thus, as pleine lune did eerily glow and beam beyond
The capture of photograph or even this song--
This adorable bunny on my suburban walkway
Thrives with life in the Sunny Morn, and I got me some organic carrots on the way.
* * *
Step-Daddy was like: "Boy--ya don't feed em critters--come on now." Too, being out in the suburban sprawl, on your own property mind ya, approximately near the Witching Hour--you can get the Fuzz called on ya for simply smoking a cigarette. The cherry ignites; next, blue lights I tell ya.
"Tongue-Lashing for Captain America"
We luv ya Cap, but you are a perfect man--
Many other creations don't intrinsically give a rat's ass damn;
Regardless--what I'm say'n:
"Asymmetrical creatures hungrily thirst for Liberty's Nation."
The Shapeless Divine
Need a brilliant beacon that opens up the throat chakra for us like a mime,
For there are differing levels of severity in disease,
And the Web of Wyrd does with existentialism what it does please--
Ya get me?
And in a honey bucket do I gotta squat and make pee pee.
Just give the freaks a chance,
Not axiomatically deflating their trophy's golden dance.
"She-Ra: Perpetual, Valentine Fascination"
Her wondrous name be: She-Ra;
Indeed, like Farrah Fawcett in Cannonball Run she wore no bra;
Moreover, what the hell with Joe Theismann in Cannonball Run 2?
Specifically, Adrienne Barbeau was great; alas, Swamp Thing made me blue;
Thus, I think Prince Adam is more handsome than He-Man,
And if a woman understands this--email me your number and a date plan--
Like shouting in the Hamburglar's face while purple Grimace puts the order through.
Girls!!! It's not you!
I've dated many a junk-in-the-trunk chick, curved for the mate,
And never vocalized suggestions that would their prestige taint;
Anyway, Bless She-Ra--
Like I implied: She looks better without the boa-constricting bra.
"Jazzmin Flush (95)"
Thomas and Jazzmin Flush had barely enough of the Cash King to find lodging; still, they managed. It was not a luminous and romantic room, with throw pillows comfortably crafted in pink hearts or a sex-shaped Jacuzzi to induce pulsating water sports, of sorts. Regardless, a basement-like interior, painted in olive green and illuminated by cryptic candles hand-made from the witchcraft manager, who had nice breasts.
So, as Jazzmin and Thomas unpacked--basically nothing, tiredness overwhelmed them as if from the Sandman's spirit, Miss Jazzmim melting onto the "ouch" of an outdated mattress and flagging fairyland, swimming deep into the sea of enchanted or otherwise dreams. Thomas, his mind on BOOBS, shifted into the arctic wolf and went outside to slum it and pounce on some mice, like a coyote would. While ingesting the wiggling tail of the cute, little vermin, he couldn't remember the mention of werewolves having had packs back in the days of television and movies until the illustrious release of: HOWLING 2. The reason he remembered being due to having telepathy that ran backwards; plus, there still are libraries in this futurity. Anyway, he remembered Sybil Danning, the hot-blooded blonde who ripped her shirt off while partying with the pack--it was an awesome explosion of gleaming-pink nipple and ripe, symmetrical buxomness, a sincerely beautiful moment for the movies. Then, he pondered: "Wonder if Jazzmin has nice boobs?"
Jerry Dingle followed them to the hotel. Salivating over Jazzmin's strut of curves and California cool. He waited an approximate half hour till they checked in, watching the arctic wolf take the elevator to the lobby and go devour some mice. Afterwards, he went inside the hotel dubbed the "Dandy Days Inn Or Outt" and maybe it was. So, he went up to the Wicca-wild receptionsit/manager, probing: "Do you know what room that glistening blonde checked into; she gave me a blueninja and I can't get my mind off of her?"
"I know your kind soul sucker, and you are a sucker if you think I'm gonna give that info out to you--now exit my real estate before I hex you with a garlic-crusted pizza."
