Harley Davidson and the Marlboro Man (3/12) Movie CLIP - No Excuses (199...

Coydog Chalcedony--Chaste Marriage

   
   "Coydog Chalcedony--Chaste Marriage"
   
   Celestine entered her double-wide with everything gleeful, yet--no pride.  Cody was not far behind her angelic strut, it humbly moving, like a Number 9 Queen on the Chess Board.  Her hubby, Hamish was drinking a cold beer, the heater low, and he was thriving in the somewhat frosty temperatures, frigid by many standards himself, yet highly potent, if triggered.  Celestine hadn't triggered him at this time, enjoying only hot showers and gentle touch, but no entrance, until their finances blossomed baby-ways.  
   Celestine loved Hamish and his perpetual wardrobe, which always seemed to consist of electric-blue shirts or jackets, him pulling them out of the rabbit's hat everyday, not needing a magician to afford the Walmart discounts, their clothing not usually implanted with micro-computers that record washing times, and so on, as many clothing brands are stamped secretly, as is most everything else.
   Hamish didn't greet her "hard day at work" with a warm embrace or find her lips, getting drunk on them like wine, only simply saying:  "Hey sugar.  Cool to see ya."
   Sure, she could've listened to her bogus girlfriends and gotten the quintessential ass-grabber, but no mystery resides in such obvious souls save their phony camouflage easily spotted by Moon Knight and other super-mundane detectives armed with high-levels of intuition.  It was cool.  She loved her boring hubby.  He basically, never said a word.  Just was always there, having a purely light synergy with her, and never drug her duties down.  
   Cody jumped in the lap of Hamish and licked his face.  Hamish actually managed a smile.  Celestine thought:  "That's my husband.  And he scares the hell out of me, which isn't necessarily a bad thing."  

Big Trouble in Little China Pork chop express

Coydog Chalcedony--Puppies

   
   "Coydog Chalcedony--Puppies"
   
   Celestine cruised home, her coydog pal dreaming of having puppies, or so Celestine thought, noticing there seems to be no more garden-variety coyotes, like folks, we're all so mixed, some shaken and some stirred.
   But it was the simplicity of the dog; moreover, the loyalty that defied ideas of consciousness, and while dogs possessed such in her mind, so did they have a conscience, for a dog sometimes feels guilty after he pees on your STAR WARS sleeping bag.  Celestine knew androids have consciousness, from a certain point of view, and even if they develop a conscience; still, there's always a way to manipulate empathetic forces, until the snowman from Hoth touches their heart.
   Celestine pulled up in her gravel driveway, glimpsing the glare of a setting Sun and the Moon hiding, but showing a real rise.  It was rural.  It was country--bucolic beauty did she appreciate, away from the high-speed stupidity of lazy, so unlike coyote spirit, which is fast too, yet has the purpose of making us all laugh, even at ourselves.  
   Thus, before she exited the car, she popped a zit, and its semi-toxic fluid splattered the rear-view mirror.  She cleaned it up, and was glad to not wear the mask of make-up, like back-in-the-day, when high school morphed her self-absorbed, forgetting nature without cell phone towers. 
   Cody the coydog followed her into a pastoral habitat, tail wagging.   

Coydog Chalcedony

   
   "Coydog Chalcedony"
   
   Celestine sat @ the dump, more like a scattered junkyard for waste; plus, plenty of mechanical debris, such as lawnmowers, old trucks, and an Indian Motorcycle that had more rust than wheels; moreover, while it was the local county dump for those not subscribing to trash pick-up services, it also housed a spirit of things recycled and gained--Celestine's queer but heavenly name described her modest demeanor and controlled passion for existence, especially with her fancy coydog she bought off of the Internet, Cody.
   Cody was always there, wearing a snazzy collar with a small Chalcedony stone, it having in-growths of quartz and moganite, as if quartz really does grow like flowers, especially in Arkansas, where crystals are a natural abundance.
   It was a walk-in-the-park gig for Celestine, this life, yet not without Herculean tasks, or seemingly so, like a lot of Cinderella labors.  As long as Cody was there, and futurity hinted at every possibility targeted by Celestine's dreams, she knew she wouldn't have to make it out, but make it farther into her interior life, yet mesh with the masses, stay away from media save the sophisticated, and remember that dogs are always loyal when working on the reward system, though fetch for fun.  

Hawk On A Deck - Nashville, Tennessee

Amos Hart--40 Punch

   
   "Amos Hart--40 Punch"
   
   Ginger was cranking up the nicotine by way of a non-filtered Lucky, going old school, and Bucko was one big tail wagging in the back while Amos Hart piloted the 350 Rocket; next, on a clue to the highway, no traffic save the drones overhead, a tuned-up Toyota approached the archaic eight-cylinder, sounding like a screeching zipper mixed with a naughty nurse's nails on the chalkboard; however, the Olds sounded smooth.
   Some good-old-boy with a Mexican mustache, very fancy for Johnny Depp and the Jump Street Gang, leaned his head out into the Arctic temperatures and shouted a 40 Punch challenge to Amos, which of course he accepted, not liking competition, but having pure love of the game.
   The Toyota shot-off like a loose condemn when the confetti sprayed, Ginger said a "Hail Mary" for thinking such things; then, she realized this world has given us all "Grody to the Max" images, and the Cutlass just hummed like a hair-dryer, not winning, but remaining eternally classic--a well-respected construction of the highly cerebral granny cooter.
   And for her sins, Ginger would pray the Rosary today, adoring the Glorious Mysteries of Sunday.