The Rich and the Infamous

In complaining of super-rich spies slumming in my vicinity, I neglected to note a CARLYLE, which just might mean THE CARLYLE GROUP had a "plan" of some sort. Did Business Week really publish on the mortgage scam while I was lying on a damn church floor at risk of being abducted, murdered, and later eaten by coyotes. "It's like a church," said the most intellectual spy I know, referring to the CIA/DIA/NSA/DNI pile of stinking, steaming, excrement. It also constituted what I've termed the "Hughes Family One Hint Hint" of danger ahead. A word to the wise: Don't crack jokes in a chain-store cafe incorporated as yet another "inside joke" when the punch line is about overthrowing the United States Government.

Did grandpa really open-fire on Soldier Boy's NORAD satellite to scare me as engineer at my mighty 1000 watt college radio station? What a guy! And, no wonder "they" don't want me to get my mitts on any large foreign bank accounts. A pox upon the intel community, and does the Department of Homeland Security limo idle at the curb of your bagel shop? Probably not, but they are law enforcement types, so they were in front of mine--more than once. And now, in chronological order, the undercover elite.

GETTY: A sultry bombshell for 17 year-old William to behold. Why, a woman in her early 20's seemed ancient at the time, but despite a short waitress skirt and bad attitude, don't get all salacious--she was taken by the guy with the opium I did not go into business selling. This petrol peach was immortalized in my script titled Fooled Again as the Porsche-driving golddigger, before I got smart, DNA-wise.

CARLYLE: A blond-headed college girl with a Porsche 914 and a tush that many touched, but not me. I did, however, interrupt my roommate mid-coitus with this particular scion, and was very polite about it. Why no tail for me? Truth be told, I just wanted to drive the Porsche.

HILTON: This is one of the stories that will cost you $100,000 a night soon, but here, it's free. The newly-released film Ghostbusters was big back then with my check-clearing crew at the bank, as recently married William found himself alone in the elevator with the drop-dead gorgeous "Hippie Goddess Janitor Girl" too many times. How many of you can reference Aerosmith and Bill Clinton at the same time by stating for the record, "I did not hit the Stop Button with that woman." Here's the gag repeated more than once:

BANK EMPLOYEE

Hilton, are you related to the hotel people?

HILTON

No, what would I be doing working here?

BANK EMPLOYEE

Hughes, are you related to Howard?

HUGHES

What? Are you nuts?

I rest my case, and ready the rimshot, because I have indeed said, "At Hilton's rack rates, Paris should be included in the deal."

FORD: You're broke? Driving a black Lincoln? Don't give Hughes any hints, like your maiden name in the same breath as complaining about malfunctioning power windows. This Ford continued a tradition of spy boss outrageous stories. Hers were so good, I looked at my lovely assistant after the boss departed and said, "Did she really say that?," to which the blond-headed girlie replied, "Yep. She really said that."

I'm a bit busy, but look for a piece soon on how when I said, "They've flown everything else over my head, so where's the Space Shuttle?" And...BOOM! There it was. Maybe California's not so bad, after all. Does this stuff happen to you snakebellied intel rustlers? No, it does not.