The Space Scow: Pre-Edwards 09.11.09

The Space Scow spyonauts report one of eight cables just wouldn't connect to the International Torture Platform, and they all took a turn at it--kind of like with soldier boys and today's "black op" spygirl. When I was toiling on Gangster Nation, my book that I shall publish by swimming to Taiwan, a retired "C" ("M" in Bond movies), took the highly unusual step of emerging from the UK fog and saying there is too much sex in spying. He said no better intelligence is gained by testing Cosmo's latest sexual suggestions, and while I did not think the statement had anything to do with me in 2004, maybe it did.

Using myself as a case study of one, spygirls who were "friends" with me know MORE about me than those who claimed they may no longer be ambulatory unless we concluded the festivities; yet more evidence, absent DNA test tampering, that I am who I am. Yet please, do not run your scantily-clad, inadequately supervised teenage daughters around Mr. Hughes, as you very obviously: A) Are an old pervert; or B) Have an inaccurate psychological profile. Please, continue to squeal your brakes and go "sniff, sniff" (whatever that means) and I will never fail to holler out by the horse-hockey park that Mafia gets not one red cent.

Reds? Why did AIG give me a bunch of crap during 2003-2007, then folded like a cheap circus tent? Or, let's put it this way. Who owns "Banco de Obama?" YOU ALL DO!

Now, please send me a complimentary subscription to Barron's promptly at my simpleton's address:

William C. Hughes

General Delivery

Thousand Oaks, CA 91362

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