I'm Running for President...Of Kenya

This is reminiscent of the ITHACA, NY airport, where the lights go out in The Rainbow Rebellion. Do I need to go to India's "Bollywood" to make a damn movie? How about Nairobiwood? Just another idea all will ignore...or steal. Congratulations to the Negro President's troops for deleting another blog posting today. NANCY PELOSI, you need to get "crack"ing on a certain type of committee, because Hughes says so. Watch the USPS mailbag, will 'ya?

Hey Maslow!

Is Pete Conrad still alive? Can I have some capital? Please? Pretty please?

They don't seem to "get it" around Cali-for-nia that computer hacking is illegal, so leave it to the Northrup Grumman pensioner to show this a.m. and discuss it with Mr. Hughes. What he found was that putting the "secret password" in more than once will do the trick. "If first you don't succeed, try, try, again" was another family-ism, yet I get tortured by every standard--Geneva, Army Field Manual, and U.S. Code--for over three years, messed-with "psy-op" wise for over five years.....for what? Can't count all of the money, so I simply state to what I call the "surveillance crowd" declarations like, "I am the money! I am Daddy Warbucks!" It's free and lots of fun...sometimes.

Now, let's review the hacking from yesterday in my piece about Jimmy's that did not address all of the Jimmy's in my life--not yet. For non-spies, spy-catchers, and there's only one Hughes--so don't label me, thank you--it may be important to note this business of standing behind a person, be it in a line, or as they say in the UK, a queue, a plane, train, or automobile, when a spookie sneaks up behind you, oh sure, he or she could hurt you, but when they just stand or sit there, I think it means they support you, as in, "I'm behind this guy." So, when the Boeing 707 pilot sat behind me in 1977, I'm polite, so I just glanced a few times, no staring like a rodent. He spoke to someone in the middle seat as I thought, "I guess the plane flies itself, or the co-pilot is flying it." Why did JOAN ARMATRADING release "Drop the Pilot" in 1983, then "they" played it to death (but I did not die) on the radio in Ithaca, NY during 1985? How about "Willow" in 1977? Could that be the location of one of PAL-in's not-so-secret prisons? Only Hughes and AT&T know for sure.


Paragraph 4, Sentence 1: By changing the word "here" to "her" cuckoo-bird spies think I know (Cali) Cocaine Queens. I can't help it if one of them was faking an orgasm "Harrry Met Sally" style in my New Hampshire driveway at 4 a.m., not once, but twice. What do you think this is, an action movie? The surveillance record shows I did not let her in, but sometimes, normal guy that I am, I wish I had. "The Platinum Blond" was her nickname, and if more spies try to remain on a first name only basis, I'm demanding ID, like the policeman. Have there not been court cases over whether the real policeman can ask for ID if you are not upon the public roads. Here's an impromptu presidential candidate position: IF YOU ARE NOT OPERATING A MOTOR VEHICLE, WHY SHOULD I HAVE TO SHOW A PEACE OFFICER AN ID? Mr. Hughes is opposed to this practice. "National ID Card?" Are you kidding? Next question, please.

Paragraph 7, Sentence 1: Hacker Spies like to remove one set of quote marks. I guess to Maf-IA lawyers and the DOJ Gulfstream-jet chasing bar, this means it is not really a verbatim quotation. Can you get a job in St. Petersburg, Russia? No you can't, because you are an idiot.

Paragraph 10, Sentence 2: From "He's" to "He'd" changes meaning, especially when in reference to Christian radicals, and when we are talking about death, this is a "no-no." "Trash Food" at Southern California churches? No way! The USDA feeds Hughes, when I could feed the whole world. He thinks he's Jesus? Don't let the long hair and kindness fool 'ya. BTW, Dick Cheney, where's my F-15 with low miles? I'm tired of this crap, sports fans, and can you believe prior to homelessness, when I stayed in cheap hotels and duped Penske Truck Leasing into about 25 counts of mail and wire fraud, the guy who did the silly hacking to AbolishTheCIA.org finally showed himself for an ass-whuppin', but would mild-mannered William do that? Not then, but I might now.

On with the show!

Some people pray every day, and I do too, however, my requests are rather unusual, and as social workers know, they follow Maslow's Pyramid to a "T."

-- May I take another breath?
-- May I urinate indoors?
-- May I defecate indoors?
-- May I finish my screenplay and not be murdered?
-- May I engage in commerce within the City of Thousand Oaks, Republic of California
-- May I sell my intellectual property?
-- May I direct a movie someday?
-- May I fly an airplane someday?
-- May I break ground for a new aerospace company in France?
-- May I build a spacecraft and travel to the Planet Mars?
-- Should I reach Mars, may I show you what is there?
-- May I try to get an interesting and challenging job?
-- May I run for public office as my job?
-- May I attempt to make my new job that of President of the United States?
-- Should I get enough votes, and electoral votes, may I be inaugurated?
-- Should I be inaugurated, may I govern the USA?
-- If I end up president, may I work with the U.S. Congress to fix your problems?
-- As president, may I change the "flow chart" of the Executive Branch (a lot).
-- As president, may I put a black powder pistol on the Oval Office wall and threaten Pentagon types with it?
-- If I should fix your problems fast, may I resign the presidency early, like Nixon?
-- If I resign early, will you please not gossip like I did something bad?
-- If I am elected president, fix all of USA's problems, and resign early, may I live in peace?


From the diary:

12.30.09 12:12 p.m.

"So, do I trust [ ], the cop, to get police reports in? No, I'd ask [ ], to go to the police station. On the bright side, the SPOOKY PIANO LADY with the "goin' to Mars" Moonlight is from the Ukraine, and is there a problem in Kiev with homelessness? "No," she said, and looked at me like I was nuts. NATURAL GAS? WHEAT? PIGS & COWS? Russia does a better job of housing people than we do, although the apt. is nothing to brag about.

[Just realized [ ] and [ ] were at a fake game show at DISNEY, where they did audience shots--where's the video?] On the former, Goebel is going to DR. PHIL'S show, so it reminded me of that, and I refused to press buttons and "vote" at the game show. So, of PIANO PLAYERS, we have FINN'S MAN, CHRISTIAN LADY, and UKRAINE LADY, and she said I could be "candid" and get "Moonlight," but would not give permission to record it. I joked about Candid Camera, and showing my age once more, I said I could not do that. However, all of the spies know I want a recording of that to play if I could build a spacecraft and go to Mars fast enough, because the way the lady plays it is a musical representation of our space program, where we should have had humans on Mars at the time the Challenger blew up, and by Columbia disaster been selling condos on the moon. What happened? Somebody wanted to lock-down planet Earth with my technologies.

What's for lunch? Oops, I slept through it, like on the weekend when I had a W-2/W-4 job. And, what did Ukraine Lady say? Her Moonlight is no good, because "I don't follow the notes," and guess what? I don't follow, I lead. Got a problem with that? Habla inglais.”


"Jimmy": A Bad Name When It's Cold Outside

Can you believe it? A photo of me in the seized PENSKE truck that I often said was the best one of me. Where? At the end of a dock, just like my distinguished opponent in running for president. Embarrassing that the Watergate Spooks had to put it on the senior center "Free Table" twice for me to "get it." Sorry, I'm slow, because this is not a spy--this is the Royal Policeman. Hey Palin, will it be MSNBC or Fox where we debate whether your thugs took my stuff or not? The real policeman is on donut break, and I can' t blame him.

How could McDonald's keep the restaurant cold enough to cure quality sides of beef that will never be in a Double Cheeseburger, yet not be accused of losing their minds? Mr. Hughes has quite a traveling show, but no thermometer is included. So, feel free to put another designer virus in my coffee, because the free health clinic where they do have a thermometer needs to be busted for fraud, but unfortunately, the quicker route to action would be snitching to clinic patron JANE SEYMOUR, rather than calling the coke cops.

Slowly, William the Not So Fast is learning the California "justice system," where it is de rigeur to sell a street urchin a bike, then later snitch him out over a drug squabble. No doubt many have observed that Hughes will indeed consort with the Hitman's daughter, because:

A) She tells the truth;

B) The Hitman may be impressed with such bravado, and stay away;

C) The Hitman's daughter disclosed she is the Policeman's friend as well.

So, the cosmic flow favored Hughes again, when on Christmas Day an Officer Friendly finally appeared. He's new on the force, and must have chatted with, oh, maybe 100,000 policemen nationwide who know the H-man does no crime, even when severely and persistently provoked in the direction of rearranging your face.

Hey, I watched Dragnet as a kid, but something must have changed out her in Cali-for-nee-ia--a lot. Facts? Nobody wants them, except to, guess what? CHANGE THE STORY, thus "they" are excited by my space-based toys that can change anything.

Fool that I am, I thought that monstrosity on the beach in Ventura had the "transporter beam" within. Oh no, silly, that facility controls the weather. No wonder it is so cold for the "hill people homeless," yours truly included.

Leave it to an apparent neo-Nazi to help keep me warm and be ripped-off to create a fictional character in a movie you will all gladly pay $10 to see, right? Oh I know that's right, because we are apparently casting the movie at the Salvation Army, Starbucks, and the Dollar Tree. I'm not dumb, so I knew this would happen, because I do not watch many newly-released movies and more importantly, have not watched television regularly since the 1960's.

Oh, sure, there was the "married in the 1980's phase of Hill Street Blues and Dallas, but hey, Spelling, were you maybe passing a message with the "J.R." character? See 'ya in court. As for the Hill Street "Animal" character, I did not want to morph into him, but don't you understand? "They" don't act democratically, not yet, anyway.

It's not big news, I suppose, to Internet cynics, but I've concluded all former presidents of the U.S. "richly" deserve to be tossed in jail. Or, we may well "balkanize" into four separate nations, maybe five, because you know how Texas wants its old flag back on top of the pole, and so does California. Don't argue with me, I'm a prisoner here, much like the remake of The Prisoner, and I DO NOT think it funny, or lawful.

No rights! No law! No justice! These are my battle cries on streets where the young ones tell me you can't play Metallica without a black & white swooping down on you. Oh yeah? Mr. Hughes finds this as unacceptable as Metallica found bootlegging their music. Laws--have 'ya heard of them? No, no, I don't mean regarding false spook allegations against me, I mean the real justice system thugboy and drugboy do not have to worry about in Arnoldland.

That's because the girls like their cocaine, and they won't tell me why. "Corruption...that's why we win," said the Christian PAC Man in Syriana, and he'd dead wrong. Keep it up, nitwits, and it will be the rest of the world vs. USA, and though brutally tortured for over three years, I'm a good enough guy to not like those odds. Plus, I'll run for president and fix it all. Whaddya say, Beav?

Let's save more true grit for tomorrow and simply tell you how "Mount Billsuvius" blew. 1977, it was, on my first plane ride. I'm surrounded by nurses, average age of 30-ish. (Sorry, I was 21 at the time, so they were "old.") The girls wanted to party in London, and I made "tentative arrangements" to look one up, then stood her up. Heard of that Sigmund Freud guy? Never mind.

By the way, I figured out the "Hughes in Europe, Summer of 77" was "In the Black" a very long time ago, but it was just more why?, why?, why? Oh, now I know why. Hello Mossad, how 'ya doin'. French Intelligence? Why gosh, they have some in their heads, and in the field. Dutch "anarchists?" Gimmie a break, and I did not deserve a break today at McDonald's in Amsterdam, or Thousand Oaks.

You'd think I'd have gotten the message when the I said to the girl I was smitten with, "Oh, you're in the Israeli Army? Tell me all about it." Hey kids, if you knock on the doors of Abbey Road Studios, let me tell you something. They are not going to let you in and say, "There's the piano John Lennon played," but I shall reserve additional comment until we all get sworn-in as I put your hides in jail.

My next book after the one on being homeless? Try: The Spy's Justice System: How We Almost Shredded the Constitution. Why will I get all 1947 on you if this crap does not stop? The nurses were "wired," and how do I know, all of a sudden in 2009? A bit past midway over the Atlantic, the pilot--you know, the guy who flies the plane--sat behind me in an aisle seat. William the aisle seat man,eh? Yes, I'm pissed, and yes, we do need a lawful "revolution" in the U.S.A. Yes, we do.

In 1978, it could have been, "Drop that marijuana cigarette, and report to the airfield, but "they" did not do that. In 1983, it could have been "Dump her, and save your company," but "they" did not do that. In 1985, it could have been "They are all spies, get out of there, the GM sale is for terrorism," but "they" did not do that. In 1987, it could have been, "You made it home, guess who you are," but "they" did not do that. In 1991, it could have been "The Swiss bankers know you're fine, here's the money," but "they" did not do that. In 1996, it could have been, "Trouble brewing (like 9/11), and you are now on the job," but "they" did not do that. In 1998, it could have been, "Guess who that was on the boat (a 9/11 "hijacker")," but "they" did not do that. And, USA, world at large, this one really infuriates me, in 2001, "they" could have said, "That lady in Florissant, Missouri is "depressed" because she is trying to snitch on an upcoming act of domestic terror, but they did not do that.

Tell everyone from President Carter to Sarah PAL-in, you have told your last lie about William Hughes, and guess what? Many are, as I like to say, "Goin' to jail" over, as RAY ADAMS, one of my old mental health supervisors joked, the preposterous assertion that be it terrorism, sabotage, assassinations, or not flossing enough: "HUGHES DID IT."

No, he did not.

24/7 Sarah? Try Instead: "We Have Ignition...and Liftoff for Hughes Trashing-Up Palin Every Day as Homeland Renegades are Arrested and Prosecuted"

More of "The Troops" PAL-in talks about? No, it's "Special Ops" and CIA. They die too, needlessly and senselessly. Don't call the "Sheriff-Cop Combo," because I just told a roomful of people I am raising hell at Starbucks tonight--you all know which one, don't you?

This is the Royal Policeman. Spy? Are you crazy? I'm not. Terrorist? May I blow your ass out of court? Where's ALBERTO GONZALES when you need him?

Can you believe the Conejo Recreation and Park District (CRPD) hired three Mexican thugs posing as gardeners to swing pick axes at my head while I used their Wi-Wi at the spot pictured above? And, leave it to old spookies to complain in saying, "What did you do to the shrubs? The new ones look terrible."

Joe Kennedy got his boys started in politics, now didn't he? With HUGHES, it's always a long story, isn't it?

The Iranians are getting rowdy, are they not? Why, our CIA's been right in there since 1954, eh? "Mr. A" hollers about destroying Israel on a regular basis, right? "Desert One?" Rescue? Please, Soldier Boy's avionics were better than that. Welcome to the show!

Where's the photo of me at age 19, looking just like this? The parents hollered all summer for a real short haircut, and I complied.

Where's my stock dividends, you robber barons? Mellon cut-off Hughes Tool Company? Like Howard would be permanently short on cash? Dosed with meth in 1986 I was, and saved by a house full of spygirls in Pittsburgh. Where's "Rod," their fearless leader? The girls said Pittsburgh was "retooling" as the steel industry evaporated. "Tool" jokes? Now, the joke is on you, my slutty ones.

Under siege by Negroes in Newbury Park, and for how long was that? 55 days? Born in the USA in 1955? Maybe, maybe not. 1956, say the spookies, but it could be "disinformation." And, what did "Jay" say at the front desk? "You should have complained earlier." Uh, I think it is called "Stockholm Syndrome." Take my affinity for black folks and torture me with it? Good job!

I knew this "mess" went back to WW I, and Hughes, brace yourself, because you are...right again! Meet the OVERMAN COMMITTEE, busy discussing Bolsheviks and radicals, when? That would be 1919, kids.
Is this man going to put the CIA in jail? No, Hughes will, when he gets a little jingle. How's that movie deal going?

I hate to tell you, but there has to be a law against radiating microwave energy through human bodies. The local cuckoo-birds like this one so much, they have little suburban sidewalk lights that look just like the microwave zappers. No law yet? Sacramento, get on the Hughes bus!

The FBI interviewed Ms. PAL-in where? Where was that? Oh, it was St. Louis, Missouri? Really? Are J. Edgar's swami's worthy of being wiped off the bureaucratic map? I say "Yes," and guess what, Thousand Oaks? I have a right to say it. President Hughes? The FBI is gone before I step off the inauguration stand, and that's a promise.
What? Where am I from? It's another inside joke, because Howard always said "Houston," and this one will always say, "Saint Louis." So, thugs, spooks, and provocatuers, ask away--it's free and "fun." Uh, fun for you, anyway.
Oh my Lordy, Hughes is bellowing, "Who's that cop pulling his hand out of his pocket?" He seems to "disappear" in subsequent photos as others rush in to help. In real 1981 time, I disappeared from the Student Union and went home. Jodi! Jodi! Was it the Capitol Times that told me Hinckley was in Madison one time, stalking a girly-friend of Foster's? Oh yeah, my new saying is, "I can do it too, and I can do it better than you,"--even with no money.

Dick Nixon's "double-peace sign" is big in Iran lately, and does Hughes know why? Of course he does, and that sort of stuff is on-the-record-only material, so attention spies & stalkers: Please back off, because I can call the local policeman, too.

It's always support the office and not the man lately, but that said, how did these people get in the White House? When I was in Washington, I "cased" the back door, because I can't figure how certain people get in and out of the building. Oh well, maybe I'll get a "double-double burger" at the In Out burger joint. Oh no, no "and" no "ampersand" (&), it's just "In Out," and "they" almost killed me there last Super Bowl Sunday. Why? Don' t know. Why not ask the E.T.-chasing bureau of the United States Air Force. Me? President? Air Force? What Air Force?

Look how sad the man looks. Grandpa, I'm the next generation of your pain. Sorry, we are discontinuing POTUS-approved "donut code" in favor of real above-ground leadership. Just in time, I might add.

What a cool tail on this Fokker 100! Can I have one for Christmas? Oh, that's right, my "gift" was just staying alive. As the legendary local "Bobby" said, "It's like they want you to pay them just to stay alive." Bobby, as we said in the N. County St. Louis 'hood, "You got that right!"
I did save a photo of the Delta plane! Make up your mind, intel nimrods! Was it Northwest, Delta, Nigeria, or Amsterdam? Two incidents? Full body scanners? What about full body pain from that garbage in space? Is there a secret colony on the ISS? Hey buddy, you're getting boarded when I get some cash. Star Wars? As we cried as spykids, "I didn't start it!" And, for the record, my man is from Liberia, where the soldiers come in the night and kill your whole family if they feel so moved. I'm glad I moved to Cali-forn-ia, thereby stopping this practice from becoming common in the USA.
A Maplewood, Missouri church is to be in a CLOONEY movie? How about when the whole force came out for the Hughes boy? "They know things" at the policeman's station, spies, and guess what? Your spooky conclusions are wrong. USAF trying to kill me? Why did Mormons believe the rantings of a schizophrenic? They ran 'em out of Nauvoo, Illinois, didn't they?

This is the place where my ex was held at gunpoint. Are we famous yet? Not yet? Aw crap, it's the same old stuff. Made it through Howie's birthday (12/24/2009), and now, the second most favorite "Kill Bill" date on the calendar looms--New Years Eve. Yes, it was New Year's 1988 for the Maf-IA one-way car ride, and you want to be me? Not many can make it a two-way ride, so if you desire to be me, you need strong medicine. How about New Year's 1996, when a spygirl's car got crashed on purpose? It's an old one, isn't it? Wreck the car, save the boy. Watch those insurance premiums, girls!

How did a Hilton work with me "under cover"? Getty? Ford? Moody? Now, I've discovered the "Morgan" is maybe that Morgan? Verizon, goin' to jail! Morgan Stanley, goin' to jail! How about the "Kennedy spy" trying to seduce a married man during the 1980 Democrat primary? They don' t miss a thing, and neither do I.

May I mount my horse and kick some ass? The king has a lance for a reason, I've learned.

Snow in the south of England? Do you have an ounce of humanity in you? When I saw this photo, I felt homesick. Yep, I've already got a "Kenya Problem" over the UK business, but I think dual citizenship will solve that. Hey, Maf-IA lawyers. Have you rushed to Lexis Nexis to see if that prevents me from running for president? No, it does not, you vile horse's asses.

Heeere's Johnny! No, it's grandpa. TOWER TEE spies, you know the story, don't you? I cannot hit a little ball with the face of a club that small, and I'd f--- up all of the clubs trying. (Like break them over my knee, as I did in 1989 in protest to "The Great Psy-Op of 1989.") Hey, I replaced the #8 iron, did I not? WHO PUT THE METH IN MY COFFEE? I'M NOT PLAYING GAMES. Will it be Altec or JBL speakers in the courtroom for a playing of certain master tapes, and what will be heard? How about a rock star yelling, "OBAMA, OBAMA" in 1991. Hmmm, 1991--a most interesting year for Mr. Hughes. Back to golf briefly, may I have some of Tiger's cast-off's. I am normal that way, don't 'ya know? Even AT&T likes me, and they don' t like him no more.

Meeting in Annapolis? You mean that place closed-down for a Unified Service Academy (USA)? See, I can do it, too. (Make up gov'ment acronyms, anyway).
Cloony, act right, or report for your free ride to a nation that ends in "stan." The in-flight movie will be Jet Pilot.

Bush and p-girl liked to play games like this. Who's the president? Sorry, I don't know. You see, I've been tortured in the USA really bad since 02/2009. I think it is some Negro who does not call a "terrorist" a terrorist who got elected. That's mighty convenient, or to use another Hughes-Leonard expression, "We'll see about that." And, when is CNN coming for real?

Traffic bad in Beirut? No wonder she said, "Who would want to go there?" Maybe she was there, with what's his name. Right, NSA? Right!

Long lines? Lost baggage? Man locked in the potty? Man on fire? Can't the Sky Marshal put him out, arrest his ass, and not create so much damn drama? Yes, you will get good service on HUGHES AIRWAYS, if spy-kooks would stop obsessing on blocking the airway in my throat. Keep quiet? I don't need a lawyer, really, just a live TV camera.

Is the transportation museum in Saint Louis County, Missouri ready for my goosey goose? Mafia! Maf-IA! How much? Just like Howard's question regarding his first casino: HOW MUCH?

What is this? Please refrain from killing me because I think I know. Meantime, ask Gannett.

What is this? A guy who looked like a Catholic priest? Super-fast sign language? "They're drinking baby blood in there," Hughes hollered to the surveillace stiffs, in a yet another very real Big Brother House. Can I go home now?

Cheerio-ooo-'s! What's it gonna be Crow? Talanya's or Cicero's? They won't kill you if you pick the wrong one. Me? I think the pizza is far better at the "T" place, and the atmosphere superior at the "C" place. May I continue breathing? Thanks.

How much is that fighter in the window? Are the Conejo Hills as ugly from the air? Am I dropping water balloons at the "Hughes Festival of the Locusts and Chili Cook-Off," or.....

Oh, NASA! Enhace to look like a face, enhance to not look like a face, right? May I go there and find out for sure? My weekly allowance should cover it, but Eddie Haskell can't come, as he might cause Apollo 13 type trouble, and we don't need that.

An ex-Marine skeptic on TWA Flight 800 is laid to rest, when? He died on 08/22/2001, whereas Hughes was supposed to die on 08/31/2001. What went wrong? Apparently, I've got a Cheney, too. May I overthrow the United States Government? No? How about I order a Grande Americano at Starbucks and finish HUGHES SCREENPLAY #8, formerly d.b.a. Poll Numbers?
Whatever.....and Happy New Year to all.


Circle the Wagons, Loaded With Haldol, That Is

Illegally bugged up the posterior, and I actually gave money to the Carter Center. Live and learn.

Many thanks to the lovely "FERN," who reminded me of yet another "fake medical problem" the United States Intelligence Community put on me, William Charles Hughes. Either Fern has trouble with her thyroid, or she wants a part in a movie, and I suspect it is the latter. Low TSH? Bad thyroid? Forget it, nimrods, and prepare to be boarded.

Please explain how so many enjoy the show of your oil man, "Dollar Bill," marching E. & W. on Janss Road. I swore off it, but now I flaunt it, as what I call a "spy counter-demonstration." Sad fact is, after--just counted 'em--43 months of torture by any definition on Earth, a fist to the face ought to be in the future of any extremist still daring to blabber "spy code" around Mr. Hughes. But, don't you all know I have to be "perfect," so I can't do that, and please do not allege a "conspiracy," even though the aunts and uncles told me about the "perfect requirement from toddler time on.

What did I say about crime as a recent college graduate in 1977? "If you're gonna do it, make it something big." That kind of talk, along with joke lines like, "What this country needs is a good violent revolution," got spy-tongues wagging, and sticky fingers stealing, even back then. How come my fan letter from 1974, never sent, to Mr. TODD RUNDGREN was still in the box before PENSKE TRUCK LEASING seized all I own in June, 2008, but the yellowed "This is the end of the world" Associated Press ticker sheet has been "missing" a very long time? "Thieves!" cried Dr. G at 5300 Arsenal Street, and she would know. Yes, it was one of the better off-kilter lines I'd ever heard when the good M.D., who car mechanics liked to rip-off--it's a CIA thing--said, "I have to get along with my husband; he could kill me in my sleep."

What's a ticker? Are you a dumb .mil spook who dropped-out of high school and joined my Army? Mr. Hughes is asking the questions now, such as:

1. Why has Mr. Rundgren released a gadzillion LP's and CD's on Warner Brothers and--"What's up, doc?"--"they" will not let me buy Time Warner? Why not? Because I'd fire all the lousy WB acts and scour the garages of America for that rock 'n roll we all like so much? Why Mr. Todd had his own label for awhile called Bearsville, but Warner still made the albums, cuckoo-bird. When he came to the Loo once when I was otherwise occupied dipping fries to the meticulous requirements of CIA kids who knew they were all of that, the reviewers came rushing in. "Wow! He said to melt-down all of our Todd albums to recycle, given the A-rab oil embargo." "No way!" Hughes replied from behind the heat lamps, but now I do want another one, so soldier boy settles down regarding his conquests, Exxon Mobil has some extra jingle, we build a new refinery, for God's sake, windmills will be more than metaphors to tilt at, and maybe, just maybe, I could drive a fast car on electricity for less than $100,000. Hey Tesla Motors, what say ye?

Why is stuffy old Time Magazine so much better and Newsweek makes no sense? There's a "flip" for 'ya, because I always thought it was the other way around. Am I the Wizard of Oz? Hell no! And, who would want that job anyway? Circling back to Todd-budee, why did a lead with her right fist spygirl look as scared as I' had ever seen her when I mentioned wanting to go interview this particular pop star in 1986? Questions, questions, questions for the inquiring mind. Hey, Todd probably doesn't mind the record clerks gave him up when he personally spied on me in The Loo; in fact, he probably told them to as he escaped with a box full of no doubt rare LP's. Where are my 1400 LP's? Never mind.

2. Why won't anyone in the Republic of California give me a ride in their automobile? Did I drive 20 or so seriously mentally ill clients all over creation for seven years in my little blue Mazda or not? Yes, I did, and Air Force One really did nearly dent the roof, I looked up the date this occurred on Soldier Boy's Internet, and you can't change reality. Coincidence? No, but I can change my mind and want the "other" William--no, not the UK one--tossed in the slammer, and don' t tell me it would be difficult.

This is real stranger, not no movie, so it is good some know for sure I am DUDLEY DORIGHT, but it looks like some of the locals with big wheels and halogen headlights are bad, bad rotten. So, we have 15 month accrued following the intentional wreck of the mighty FORD FOCUS, you know, the one with the computer chip in it that shows how Nazi ding-dongs were disabling the ABS. Wheeeee! Another skid with locked brakes on U.S. 101!!! See how "they" take care of me? No car, no more skids. Who's goin' to jail over that one? The dealership changed names? No it didn't, more lies.

[Oh, at press time I / we wonder how Delta/Nigeria ends up Northwest/Amsterdam, except to say those soldier boys are phishing' in the wrong pond. Alright, here's the quick & dirty Delta story. Did I have to have so much light in my face from planes breaking separation over Chicago, I could have pulled nose hairs in my window seat reflection? See how they are? I was brave enough for the window seat, and it's all about, "Shit! Those other planes are too close." Tomahawk Chop? Where's the radar data?!!!, Hughes will holler to future P.I.'s, and ESP is not required to deduce that. On the way back from Chi town 77, after not banging any hotel hookers (and there were--ahem--plenty of 'em), not smoking any pot with my computer instructor and his lovely hot girlfriend, and in fact, not discussing D-R-U-G-S at all, I got on the plane home no wiser about mainframe downloads, from NYSE or anywhere else, so the businessmen were hollering, "Why are they taking so long to de-ice this goddamn plane? I wondered as well, but hell, I figured more de-icer = good, less de-icer = bad, in Chicago, anyway. The trip home was uneventful, and thus I was almost not skittish about flying, but then my old airline, TWA "got me," but to get serious, who "got " Flight 800?]

Anybody getting sweaty? Not me, you big ass. How about Ft. Hood? Got it covered, soldier, if you'd kindly keep outta my face. Oh, you put a hole in your own building on 09/11/2001 and you won' t do that? Yes you did, expletive deleted, yes you did.

SOUND: SCREEEECH. Back to the odd lack of transport. Who has given me a lift? As AC/DC sang, we salute you:

1. CABBIE GIRL: On the hunt to bust Amgen she is, and who could ask for more?
2. MAZDA MAN: On a ride with Soldier Boy? Hughes was on guard to the right of Mr. Soldier, and his texting. Ready to jump out of the vehicle? You bet your bippy! Who gave up that scam? Uh, someone who used to spy on BOB DYLAN. No help? Holy cow!
3. WHITE LEXUS MAN: The car was white, the man and his wife very black. Polite as could be, both he, his spouse, and I. Terrorist? What terrorist?
4. BRONZE BMW MAN: I know drug dealers when I see them, and they took flight when they saw this man, whatever that means. Account numbers, phone numbers, secret .net passcode numbers, and--hey Palin, you lousy, good for nothin'...excuse me--poll numbers. "Don't put the cart before the horse," the family said, but how about a movie deal? I won't spend too much.

And now, on to the wagons. I have, in all seriousness, threatened to call the Department of Homeland Security to request emergency mobile treatment vans full of antipsychotic medicine, if you Ventura County vultures, stalkers, drug thugs, hypnotized soldiers, and associated whores don't start acting right. HALDOL, PROLIXIN DEPOT RISPERDAL. whatever. Yes, I am very tired of declaring, "You are all crazy, and I'm not!" Would you like to put some Kleenex in my ears? No way, but I shall give out free samples of the stuff when I am allowed to run for president. And, Proctor & Gamble knows I'm right...right? Yer damn right!

Sorry spookies. Be you .mil, .gov, or .mafia, I know it is coming together, because when the senior center ladies have spoken on too cold rooms, too hot rooms, fans, chairs, tables, foodstuffs and chatter that all mean something to spies but not this Hughes, the verdict is clear: "THESE PEOPLE ARE CRAZY!" they cried, and I agree. Plus, I almost fell out of my CRPD chair when one of them fussed, to wit: "Remember so-and-so, she caught a cold from those freezing rooms, and I haven't seen her since." Hmmm. Missing persons from all ages might be a problem around here, but I did not say a word--I just blogged it for all to see.

It's puzzling, but it looks as if the townsfolk have been fascinated by how they have been compelled to put away their torches & pitchforks, as 100% true stories have spread of AF-1 flyovers, a suspected female B-2 Bomber cowgirl diving at my humble abode, the too-frequent duty of the "You're late for work, she'll write you up" F-15E squadron, and Dick Nixon smiling at me from just a few feet away. Can you believe it took a long time to realize Nixon's stunt was ONE MONTH after Neil Armstrong's radio cut-out on him as he stepped on the moon. Did grandpa do that? Shame on him!

i know Mr. Runtgren will have no hard feelings, so here's the "Hughes Top 3 All-Time Best on TV Rock Show and Sort of Rowdy Country Music Performances":

1. FRANK ZAPPA, "I Am The Slime" (SNL)
2. Todd Rundgren, "For the Want of a Nail" (Letterman, in NBC)
3. Shooter Jennings, "Wheel Keeps on Rolling" (Letterman, CBS)


The ISS Torture Platform: Why Congress Should "Re-enter" Reality

If not for a WARREN ZEVON album photo, I would never have figured it out in NH. Mafia! They sit and wait on you, don't they? "My Ride is Here," eh? No, as LOU REED sings, "Baby, I've got stats," on the number of White SUV's purchased since Mr. Hughes hit town. Why? They all know of my photo depicting JOHN KERRY'S Secret Service Detail standing by a White SUV with the doors open, gawking at me. In 2004, I thought they were airing-out the vehicle. Who wants to go to court and allege otherwise?

What happened in Thousand Oaks, California when Hughes picked up a pen to detail the space-based torture program? The big man in the red beanie changed into an orange sweatshirt, and subsequently offered transport to a high school where free Christmas vittles were located. Thanks, but no thanks, because HARDEE'S beget CARL'S JR., which is open all day. Heat, light, and a "writing surface" is all this man asks for, amid a Marx Brothers movie, Plan #9 From Outer Space, Invasion of the Body Snatchers, Night of the Living Dead, and Stepford Wives all rolled into one.

Oh, don't forget money for coffee, and it is now another icon in this adventure, because the policeman is looking a little too much like the Maf-IA Man, in that the H-man is pounding with bare kcuckles, yet peace officers in the unmarked car don't get out with dramatic updates, they merely raise the cardboard coffee cup as another T.O. crosswalk is utilized along with foul language that surely must have the man from Yorba Linda smiling from above.

Getting right down to business, on Howard Hughes' birthday (12/24), the innovative attack from orbit involved lying in wait like astro-rodents, then disrupting my inner ear on the narrowest stretch of sidewalk Janss Road has got. Are you misbehaving on Janss Road? The policeman may not care, but the letter-to-the-editor writers published in The Acorn are bristling with tales of both the policeman hiding behind trees (a Loo inside joke) and rowdies going 65 in a 45. I have felt the breeze from these vehicles, and between the inner ear thing, and micro-grav fun run on the big red, crème, and black backpack you all love to hate--hey, hey!--I did not die on another Christmas Eve, which led to some New Year's resolutions.

My fellow Americans, the mighty "they" have convinced me it will have to be the top floor of your neighborhood Hilton, with select guys guarding the elevator & stairwells, because there is no sense in re-inventing the physical wheel, and as for the Karma wheel, that "is what it is." There will be some modifications, however, such as no curtains on the windows, because I am only scared of heights when I am sitting on patio furniture that is way too high off the patio nine stories up, and I am sipping coffee with a spygirl who billed herself as a middle-management box on the real CIA's flow chart. That's a long way down; for her, not me.

Not to the concrete, silly, I mean the jailhouse. Returning to the Hilton, Paris is optional, because I'm not all that, but I did note with the girl from the neighborhood, Sheryl Crow, I requested a photo shoot with UPS short-shorts & work boots, but got a pretty naked Crow on the cover of LA Magazine. This represents progress, even if it is all "deniable." Does every single person in New York City know about me? How about D.C.? You know I love to gridlock 'ya. How about Nashville, home to the tentatively titled "8-9 Millimeter Films"--that's my new studio, and just like my aerospace company near Lyon, France, I think many are ready to fill-out an application, but I'm still stuck in T.O. and.....never mind.

On we go to the rationale for a "SKYLAB II DE-ORBIT EVENT," during which I will not say "burn," or "burn-up," lest some misguided, fat, backwater federale hiding at the Newbury Park La Quinta think I'm talking "spy code." Ready, Planet Earth? Here are the "operational capabilities," in order of disclosure to me:

1. HEADACHES FROM SPACE: Why did the USAF girlie and I suffer from them so much? Don't know, but she had the good meds, while stuck to Excedrin. Yes, I asked my PCP (Primary Care Physician) for the "good stuff" to relieve my pain, and was told I did not need it. This was the same M.D. who said, "You writers know things," and as it developed, so did she. It's a bit like the Canadians spinning me and the Black Ford Focus around and back out the chute goin' south with this quote, AND THERE WERE PLENTY OF WITNESSES IN UNIFORM: "Mr. Hughes, do not go and buy-up Canada."

What did I say? Hey buddy, the surveillance record supports it: "No, I wouldn't do that. Prime Minister Harper would be unhappy with me." U.S. Marines on the other side of the bridge? "Don't they have anything better to do?" I wondered. Sorry, it's easy to drift off the topic when your life is like a damn movie.

2. SWELLING EXTREMIDIES: Girlfriend, and certain other family members, went to an M.D. and got diagnoses on this one, but not William, because this is what I call a "fake medical problem." Oh, it's not only illegal drugs being sold to alter your reality and ease the pain. How about the explosion in pharmaceutical drugs for pain in the USA? This reminds me of how a relative dissuaded me of a DJ job with one line: "That's a good racket," and so is Oxycontin, right? Right! How about the old American murder-suicide? I feel the deceased assailant's pain, literally and spiritually, but I'm afraid suicide-by-cop is not in my weekly planner. Oh, I'm wrong? How about the march from Jay's Best Value to the Debut Inn? Feet as big as watermelons? For the record, I don't like watermelon, even if it is sweet.

3. HYPERTENSION: Feeling like you are about to throw a rod? Maybe you are, and while I cannot legally give medical advice with only an MSW and no license due to Homeland terrorists, you might want to consider the 81 mg aspirin regimen to prevent a "potential" heart attack or stroke the ISS crew is attempting to throw down on you. My PCP calls it "body aware." No vampires, no space aliens, no secret devices--it's just genes, because when you poison the king, it gets spit out, because he knows what you are doing. DNA--ain't it wonderful?

4. NOSEBLEEDS: Wasn't this one out of the Edgar Casey/Art Bell file? The CIA marchers were approaching what I called "Pastor Sudan's non-denominational church by the highway," but California calls it--zzzzzap--"Get off the freeway...get off the freeway...get off the freeway." Free? Anyway, a girlie who was in the running for a canned ham as either a schizophrenic, or a female from outer space, passed Mr. Hughes and his freshly bleeding nose and said, "You're moving too slow." Maybe, if you are the "next generation" of SDS, but I'm not. Later, an old Navy boilermaker said, "Your nose is stopped-up with bloody crap." "I know," I replied, and carried on. Why? mess with that impacted stuff, and it would bleed again. What? Me worry? Not when I know exactly what you CA terrorists are doing. And, as a bonus, the church where that comment was made later had its trees trimmed by a Navy helicopter and a C-130, whatever that meant.

5. MUSCLE CONTRACTIONS: These are very powerful, and can knock you off your feet. They are also commonly nicknamed a "Charley Horse," which is another bit of an inside joke at this point. Can you feel the power of The Loo?

6. COLLAPSED LUNGS: Many are headed to jail and the brig over the by now very famous "30 Centre," where Asian corpses did smell bad, and Mr. Hughes almost died on 12/24/2007. Let the record show our resident Army Man went from stomping up the back steps in uniform to sneaking up the steps like a cat burglar. As I often bellow, "These are the facts!" and so we must get to courtrooms over the breathless facts of New Hampshire living. Take notice, USA, if I ever get my Harry Truman made by a tailor suit, they will be breathless up there again in 2012 for very different reasons.

Now I've found, due to laying around with coyotes, moles, squirrels, rabbits, foxes, and rats as big as beagle puppies, the low Earth orbit "they" I call "Gravity Boys" have a way to squish the air right out of your lungs, no respiratory arresting toxins required. This is your version of a Civil War? Please, dear God, where is my pre-owned F-15 with low miles?

7. SHARP PAIN: Ouch! Got trouble with your nervous system? No, you've made some corrupt spookie nervous. Good job!

8. CHRONIC PAIN: Here, we enter the world of legal drug dealers. Fibermylogia, my ass! What did you do to run afoul of the Prussian Secret Police? Did "The Arnold" know I'm partly from Austria, but they moved the border, so now that town is in Hungary. They do that sort of thing in Europe fairly often, but you can't do it here. Why not? Because I said so.

9. ARTHRITIS: Are you in your 40's or 50's? You probably don't have arthritis yet, so do not blow-out your liver on ibuprofen. Instead, follow advice from the main Mike on the podium, and just "Keep moving."

10. BLADDER & BOWEL PRESSURE: A beloved client of mine called it an "accident," and when I figured out his beautiful secretary and smart-assed attorney were hiding big money, I merely, as we said in the 1970's, "Shined it on," but now, my life is more complicated. Now I know why that enterprising but mentally ill fellow often wistfully said, "That's a lot of money," because he was talking about my money, not his.

Yes, it is true. No expedition to Mars, but NASA can brown your britches? It was John McCain who coined the term "exquisite torture," was it not? Yes, having the urge to urinate and defecate at the same time is painful, and a strange kind of pain to have. But, when homeless in T.O., you must scowl and bear it, or the policeman will roll-up in his black and white car and be "shocked, shocked" at the mess you've made. In California, "round-up the usual suspects" is a procedure they don't even bother to execute, because in the spooky dark they can just execute you, period.

Did McCain really dump a few planes in the ocean? Navy, I would not do that, but it is a bit late, and I'd rather mothball your aircraft carriers, to tell you the truth. Well kids, that's it for the ISS round-up, but a Hughes' work is never done, and the number kooks must want to see a #11, so we can add:

11. NUMBNESS IN THE EXTREMITIES: You jerks, go ahead and try to convince me I have diabetes, but I don't. Free clinic? They're as good as busted for fraud, but that's the easy part. Nutcases with a colony in orbit are a bigger issue than my $20 and Food Stamp card can handle. Then again, why be pessimistic? There are no cherries on the Space Shuttle, so maybe I'll appoint myself "Space Marshal." As the homeless guy with obnoxious Mormon relatives on his ass said to me in front of Carl's Jr. the other night, "I got money."

Casting in the Dark II

So sorry to have blamed the Maf-IA, when it was more likely soldiers who stole my glasses.

Let's review, as we continue noting how Hughes does not get out much, is seldom kissed by girls, and Soldier Boy remains so stingy with his Internet, a nice guy of means had to tell me about "Shoebomber II" from Nigeria. More on my grudge against Delta Airlines later, which has just gotten worse, thanks to terror twits. Back to the story so rudely interrupted by Father Time, when a suspected Rapper of Means appeared without dyed hair, he was just joining the coffee crew that has to pass for my campaign for president with no money, no staff, no plane, no bus, and most annoying, given I write much better than Howard, no books to promote.

Yet I do have temporary use of a shopping cart, courtesy of Ralph's, Von's, or the Dollar Tree. Is the latter retail establishment an "embedded joke," or what? The uncles and aunts said it more than once: "Money does not grow on trees," but petroleum can mimic this process, and now I'm really sure, given the speed with which my oil-drillin' outfit e-mailed Rig Count when I registered the proper html.

See how good they all are? Or, should I say "skilled," because it seems everyone does bad things these days, except this most uncooperative heir to the "Dark Side." Maybe that's why everything of mine has been seized, and I'm homeless, 'ya think? Yet Mr. Hughes seems to be meeting Junior College people writing screenplays, film school drop-outs, and people who know how to edit with the magic Macintosh blue screen thingy. Wait a minute! Son, who taught you how to do that? Ah, then it's the old "Uh Oh," as Hughes pieces the "op" together and realizes, "Hey Rap Man, your movie was good, they said." Those guys must get a kick out of my stories of Mr. Mental Health taking guns away from crazy people and making the coppers jealous. I guess I pulled that one out because a good public speaker knows how to fit his tales with the audience.

By the way, the ST. ANN, MISSOURI POLICE had better "refine" their stories, because I sense the "MO MO Monster" is coming to life. It's nice to be a hit when you don't even know you are on-stage, but wasn't it Momma who stole a line and said, "All the world's a stage." Yes, like it or not, Hughes is becoming a code maker as well as code breaker. Want proof? How about my parting shot at the rap retinue of, "When I get famous, I'm sending a plane out here trailing a banner that will say: "T.O. SUCKS!!!"

Yes, they apparently like the show.

Stay tuned, as I somehow lived through Howard's 12/24 birthday again, so now I'm scheduling a trip to Home Depot for consultation with hardware spies on building an inexpensive device that will stop--can this get any weirder?--my own mind-reading technology. Don't bother to call the "Mental Health Crisis Squad," or the regular police, because once more, you can thank me later.


The Psychological Pogrom Rolls On

Are you regularly accosted six times in walking one block? Hey, America, that's an honest count, with no reference to spooky "6," or "9" material just a day after Christmas. Christmas cheer? Not much, when there's no room at the inn for a guy with all the money who just did the Home(land) Home Plate Umpire crow hop and hollered, "Alright, that's it! All living ex-presidents to the jailhouse!" Maybe God, Allah, and Yaweh, will sort them out when the time comes, but I'm convinced that's a Federal Magistrate's job in this life.

This is another one that must be a "To Be Continued," because my feet hurt, and I have no dry socks. Why isn't the FBI Director in jail? Why do I say that right before the public computer place closes? Maybe it's because a .mil spook broke my computer, and neither Hollywood, nor the old Watergate Spooks will buy me another one. If Mueller won't give me my file like Howard, I vow he's goin' to jail.


Casting In The Dark

May I sell my intellectual property? May I go Back to NH and run again, for real. Thanks.

I guess the word is out the one "they" want is titled II, and given I was almost murdered over it about 200+ times, I may take it off the "NOT FOR SALE" table. Meanwhile you are getting the political thriller that needs a new title whether you like it or not, and yes, if someone will pay for it, I absolutely will blow up a limo or two right down the block from where they made Escape From New York.

The "Pyro Man?" I don't want to know him yet, but I know modest budget Hollywood movies do not get cast on darkened parking lots, or do they? I'll get with the program if that is required, but everything is way different with the H-man, isn't it? Right, and that old Soldier Boy should know the civvies plan things too, by first accosting Mr. Hughes with hooded thuggies in search of cigs and maybe more. Bite may be catching up with bark, as Hughes snarled, "I'm not handing out any cigs. I've got no SSI Check, no job, no nothin'."

This was the first checkpoint, as the hoodies turned friendly. You were on heroin at age ten? Really? What's that little device? Aw, who cares. No more mental hospital? Really? Yes, I really did lock-up the loonies. In the next wave of security forces, I found that they made that movie for that little? Really? I liked it; it was very funny. They made another one? Really. I'll have to find it. When I have a normal life again, that is.

By this time, Mr. Hughes had noticed the additional security personnel marching around out front of the darkened market, on cell phones, producing the Hughes "Hmmm." Before the third wave of spookies arrived, the first responders informed me they had created a diversion for the valiant policeman by yelling at passers-by from a rooftop, and this might mean something to spies.
Ah, but they are all in bed together, aren't they, as the policeman's siren was likely a signal for the "Who's Next;" that being who wants to talk to Mr. Hughes when he's pushing the homeless shopping cart and not your lazy Holly-butts on a movie set.

To be continued.....


The Socratic Method

Hey Bank of New York, could you quit playing games by changing phone numbers? Verizon, could the call maybe go through? And, to all CIA middle-management familiar with telecommunications infrastructure, I say, will you please knock it off? Is there really such a thing as a "citizen arrest?" Just wondering, policeman, as I ponder how to get to a relatively paltry amount in Mellon's clutches. See Ventura, HSA, I cannot tell a lie.

The aviator sunglasses indoors on the noses of foes goes back a long way, and was it Howard's Three Stooges who said, "Twenty-three skidoo?" That was a "signal," to leave the party many times, and as angry as I am, here's a begrudging "Thanks" to all of the spygirls who said, "Bill, we gotta go."

Now, down to business.

Why did RON BROWN'S aircraft fly into a mountain?

Why did STEVIE RAY VAUGHAN'S helicopter go the opposite direction of the previous two rotary wing aircraft at night and fly into a hill?

Why did a 737 nose-dive and crash outside Detroit?

A new 737 in Africa? Down she went. Why?


Who shot down one of the last of my old TWA 747's off Long Island?

Back further, why did one of Howard's beloved LOCKHEED CONSTELLATIONS collide with the DOUGLAS AIRCRAFT competition over the Grand Canyon?

Why did super-safe AIRBUS commercial aircraft start crashing after I disclosed (in an always "bugged" environment) I might someday use one for a campaign plane?

Does the whole freakin' world revolve around me, William C. Hughes?

Is there a God? [I can answer that one "Yes," because I'm still alive and lookie what I stumbled on].

Why did I name my photo file of the Reagan assassination attempt "Who's that cop?"

Here's another one I will answer, because:

1. He's looking right at Hinckley.

2. The cameraman maybe knows what's coming.

3. That particular policeman "disappears" in later time-lapse photos.

4. JOHN HINCKLEY is from an oil family.

5. JOHN HINCKLEY I do not think is really "mentally ill."

6. If Hinckley really has schizophrenia, upon meeting him, I guarantee he'd say, "I know you from somewhere."

7. I had a professor with the same name as the potential presidential assassin at the time.

8. When the President of the United States is down, I was told at a young age, "Go home."

9. In 1981, guys with aviator sunglasses on at the U. of Wisconsin Student Union hastened my fidelity to #8.

10. When I got home, I kept saying, "Gayle, why is Bush sitting on the ground in Texas;" he's the President right now.

Would it trouble the U.S. Intelligence Community to stop trying to blame me for crimes both great and small? At this rate, my book on being homeless is going to be bumped by: The Spy's Justice System: How We Almost Shredded the Constitution, by little old me:


The Lyrica Lie

Don't dare try and blame Hughes for an epidemic of 737's skidding off the runway, or a pandemic of mental illness in the Republic of California. Calling your attention to the "Every a.m. Coffee Spill," please consider that my involuntary movements are not from epilepsy, but please do think about how you may not need a "Shoebomber" to bring down an aircraft these days. Hey U.S. Congress--when are the hearings on these lousy spookies?

You have to be damn good, like Hughes, to in your first book on mental health policy discover fourteen times as many livers in the USA are blown-out annually by ibuprofen than the number of people who died abusing cocaine. This tied-in nicely with the second book, a hot seller in Beijing, thanks to Chinese pirates who I suppose care more about U.S. national security issues than we do.

What's the connection? Try space-based torture that mimics arthritis and that mystery illness Fibromyalgia. I see Pfizer has hopped on the bandwagon of moneymaking through orbital misery-generating technologies. Secret? If this is a secret, why has the entire Republic of California gone what I've termed "Cuckoo Bird" over Mr. Hughes' humble presence?

Oh well, the Soldier Boys call it FUBAR, I believe, but maybe it is not so bad, given FUBAR is often standard operating procedure within our gov'ment. Near Scummywood, you can't fool me; there's always a really crappy slasher flick in production, or a zombie movie at the Bijou. As I've long said, my screenplays err by following the standard three-act structure, with 100% happy endings.

In other words, Quinten I ain't, but maybe he's not my enemy, after all. Tossing a whole script idea into a second act may actually do something "revolutionary," because isn't that when you head out for a box of Goobers or a $7.00 soft drink? It is probably legend that one CIA bad girl filled water bottles at BURGER KING with soda so we could suffer quietly through Van Helsing, although the gay vampire was kinda cool, and what's her name is easy on the eyes.

Two questions:

1. Why are people taking LYRICA when they are actually being tortured from space-based platforms of "Homeland" terror. Hey buddy, don't "act out," near me, as this too is no "secret."

2. Why don't I have a deal yet to make a damn movie? Can you believe people actually quote stolen lines of mine from scripts? Yes, they are already somewhat famous with not one cent in my pocket from 7.5 screenplays.

It's so nuts, Soldier Boy may be willing to lend me a few A10's for Act I and I'm quite sure the Missouri State Patrol will give up one of their cars for Act II. What's the title of that one? Sorry, it's "confidential," as is my request for some LYRICA from the local free clinic, right?


Too Much Drama

We seem to have some technical difficulties with the Senior Maf-IA Center computers, so will MIKE REAGAN get on the digital stick so I can e-mail you? Or, expect a call as soon as Soldier Boys do not phish the .net so much I cannot find out when your radio show is on. "They" were going to say I put Hinckley up to this one, based on his ONE visit to the town where I resided in 1981. Something to do with JODIE FOSTER, as I recall. Jodie! Jodie! This mess may have been because I was heard hollerin' at 441 West Mifflin, Madison Wisconsin. As I recall, it was something like, "The goddamn CIA killed John Lennon!" So, of course, life got more interesting from that point on, until they introduced me to the whole "Assassination Team" (for Lennon, not Reagan, silly).

A pot-shot at Ronnie "who done it" cracked open by the H-man in real time, and how do the denizens of our Thousand Oaks public computer room behave? "Shut up," they said. Oh yeah? What hallucinogen are you on? Hey, let's buy some powerful legal cannabis and act stupid. Don't I love California? No, I don't, but the policeman has refused to pass the hat and finance my escape, so I have to assume that, as with many, they love the show, and buddy, it shall go on.