Howard's Utopia/2.0

"We" have to be very careful in the Maf-IA Center computer lab, because one false move and some lousy hacker is either going to "disappear" the text or upload it before I click the mouse. This is Jimmy Carter "exacerbated" by the fact I just found a great photo of grandpa-pa showing how those long legs were double-jointed at the knee, like MINE. DNA Test? Are you crazy?

You're in the Army now
You're eating Army chow
You'll never get rich
By digging a ditch
You're in the Army now

I sang that song as a kid, and had to reach 53 years of age before I found out my grandfather pissed-off the Army Man by flying around on dates with the hotties of the day when wartime rules made that a distinct "no, no." Not really for Howard, because he had a special Army Man decal on his plane that they tried to take away, because if you were female and grandpa liked you, you were flying, war or no war. The surveillance record will show no famous female has ever jumped off the wing of the plane(s) I do not have, but I discovered the first one to look up at me in Sherman Oaks like, "Hey, it's really him" made a movie in 1999 titled Dudley Doright, which oddly enough is a nickname I've given myself independently, before I saw the DVD while waiting in line at Ralph's.


1) I can't afford the DVD


2) Soldier Boy temporarily broke my "special" computer he sold me at Best Buy that plays DVD's, so I can't get one from the Nazi library and watch it.

Did you know every Compact Disc and DVD has a tracking number on it that the illegal intel types will collect through dirty software companies, then transmit your listening and viewing preferences over the Soldier Boy's Internet, to where we can only speculate? This, I believe contributed to the "surge" of interest in analog Long-Playing thirty-three and a third r.p.m. records on turntables in the late 1990's, because some people knew 9/11 was coming, therefore we would be spied-upon in this manner. I will write about this separately to "needle" stereo buffs and Aimee Mann's pack of thoroughly caught spies.

Maybe it is a good thing I can't play my Jimi Hendrix and Guns n' Roses CD's all day like a little spy-twerp with headphones on, because the Thousand Oaks "City Fathers" apparently think freelance spying is legal. Spies, I've learned, like eating metaphors, and with the Hughes boy in Southern California for 16 months, my know-nothing slogan for you vile bags of worthless protoplasm might well be, "Billions and billions sold."

Ha, ha, ha--are we done yet? No, not yet. So, let's go back in time to about 1926, when grandma and Howard were participating in the "Roaring Twenties," if 'ya get what I mean. I'm quite sure Howard had some big ideas the illiterate Soldier Boys of that era summed-up as "communist." However, grandma did not agree, so to be blunt, Howard stayed alive--a lot longer than you think, because that needles hanging out of the arm of his "corpse" is yet another "inside joke" I will not share until I figure out who died, meaning McNeil or Lehrer, and appear on the show.

Did I tell you I don't get out much? And, oh my, that Soldier Boy is very stingy with his Internet. Yes, one of the first unsolicited communications with today's more skilled spies was when I asked, during the 2008 New Hampshire Presidential Primary (in which I was a candidate, by the way), if maybe grandma was a commie. The spooks then ran off to Hungary and Kenya, and with drama worthy of the movies I'm not permitted to make, the answer came back "No," for my grandma, but as for the other guy's dad, I think the jury is still out.

So, it's kind of "All in the Family" when it comes to lying about a Hughes. When we get to Prince Charles, I think it was a commie cabal meeting on the high seas that "they" tried to use against him, but I have to keep asking who was selling helicopters to our Army, and who was selling arms to the Nazis during the war. I think the historical record is pretty clear it was the Hughes clan selling to our Army Man, while the Bush family was confused about something or other, which from what I know about World War II, would be nearly impossible.

Confuse Allied with Axis powers? Wow, and we get all of the s---, because we have all of the money. With young William it was one college class, taught only one time at the CIA liberal arts boot camp in St. Charles, Missouri. It was called "Marxism," and can you believe before the Maf-IA stole all of my stuff, I reviewed a blue midterm book I still had from that class, and you know what? Karl Marx made sense, but that does not mean capitalism isn't the best way to distribute goods and services.

Mr. William Hughes has been on the record with this pro-Mercantile rah-rah since getting an "A" in the Marxism class during the Year of Our Lord 1976. Do you smell a long-running "set-up?" I lack details, but this may be the case, and no Bible-length indictments are coming my way, but it is a fact that before I stopped drinking, but never beat my wife, I drank beer with George H.W. Bush's Secret Service detail. Sounds impressive, but it wasn't fair, because I knew who they were, but not who I was. So, it looks like we have many dominoes down, with an abject failure on the part of USA's Military-Corporate-Intelligence Complex to paint three generations of Hughes' red.

May I get so angry I see red for awhile? It's free, but no substitute for justice, and my bright idea about running for president is a limited time offer. Why? Because I am completely within my rights to pen a piece titled, "Where's My Warplane?" if you spyin' Californians don't take your anti-psychotic medication and end your pandemic of mental illness that does indeed revolve squarely around me. Spies, you've taken the wrong approach, because I've come to realize that when I talk to you, even about banal topics, it's like I'm spitting out hundred dollar bills. The late Senator Daniel Patrick Moynihan wrote about spy "currency," your damn "bartering," and brother, I've come to understand what he meant. Why don't you just say you are an old Hughes Aircraft Company employee? And, as has been alleged about you-know-who, I'll talk your ear off. However, we are not playing "Sheriff-Cop Combo" games, where there is supposedly something wrong with my perceptions and/or cognition.

"Two wrongs don't make a right," said my embattled Navy grandma, and that is how I will continue to live, even with Howard 2.0 skills. This West Coast is part of the USA? "Third World country?" You all know what I told her: I'M ALREADY IN ONE.

Home, James.

Howard's Utopia

Howard's Utopia

Howard's Utopia

Howard's Utopia


Slitting the Finkel Dingelaker

If this blog really goes anywhere, I'd like the American people to know that as the not-so-secret grandson of Howard Hughes, I have lived half of my life in "psy-op," which typically includes every intel community attempt to make it seem like some sort of war, insurrection, revolution, or coup is in the horizon. (I arrive at the half of my adult life stat by taking the length of the psy-ops and an equal amount of time for recovery). The illegal spooks are really pulling out all of the stops lately, because as I said on the .net months ago, we are metaphorically fighting on the bank steps over trillions. These people are so dirty, I'm about to call for a new OPEC oil embargo, because $9.99 for a gallon of 87 octane will build more windmills than any damn "carbon trading" scheme.

I am presently sitting before a public computer in a public place--just another homeless chump in search of heat, light, and a place to change the world. A few months ago, it was a Barack Obama look-alike going in & out the drive-through at McDonald's in a gold SUV. Flaw? He sure looked the part, but was (ha, ha) a bit too light skinned. Those dum-dums even went to such detail as to have the SUV slow down on southbound Moorpark and be joined by a configuration of vehicles just like the Bushman used when Hughes inspected the empty highway corridor before the King came. Do "they" let you do that? No, they don't. In Thousand Oaks, they formed a little motorcade and went really slow like the President of the United States just had a Big Mac attack with Hughes smoking out front. California morons soon swarmed-in to order a batch of Chicken McNuggets, and let me tell you Arnold, I'll be out here 80 years old with a tiny little backpack I call the "hitman model," then all 1947 National Security Act farts will be long dead.

Slits. Open utility boxes. Open diaper changing stations. Open sprinkler valves. Open electrical panels. Open trash dumpsters. On the latter, have evil Thousand Oaks "city fathers" considered a young child might climb in the unlocked trash dumpster area and die. Don't blame me for that, or your absurd coup-plotting and assassination cabals. What does the "black hole cunt" want? M-O-N-E-Y, and if you think I thought the video on WPTV-Ft. Lauderdale of Biden's plane and her coming down behind Joe was real, I've got a new political party for you called People for the Real Deal.

I'm sick of this crap, and you could not do it in Syria, North Korea, or Libya, but you are all bloodthirsty whores and do it to me here in the good old USA. Look-up's on Soldier Boy's Internet told me the host of Biden's 10.29.09 "luncheon" (spy code word) made his money from real estate. How's that audio holding up from about 1995 of me telling the big spy cunt to take the exam for a real estate license and "get real." No, no, no, the CIA "fake marriage" hubby got kicked out in favor of Ziad Jarrah, who had just hit town in Brooklyn. By the way, I think he is (gasp) a "good guy" and still, as Navy grandma would say, "Out there running around."

I loved the lit ambulances in Angela (first name of my last W-2/W-4 boss) Sachitano's (SAC-hit-A-no's) Ft. Lauderdale report, and I can't wait for the spy "cover story" on a "fundraiser" when there's no election in the offing. Ambulances? I've seen my share of presidents and wannabees close-up and I ain't never seen no ambulances. Is somebody getting shot, Pamela? How did you like my 1981 U. of Wisconsin paper on how maybe we should get a little more parliamentary when butt-ugly governance turns into double butt-ugly black juju. Impeachment is awfully slow when they've taken your job and your house, but one aide was correct when he suggested maybe it's better I'm homeless right now. Whatever you say, as long as I can hold off the tree rats and the CHP continues to chase off bad guys.

I simply can't keep up with this kind of video garbage, where I'm so important they were pointing the video camera through a chain link fence at the vice president just like my unfamous photo of the family jet I didn't know I had. And, why didn't I take a photo of my restored Gulfstream when it was sitting right in front of me in New Hampshire? Blame it on "shock," I guess, but now, those plausibly deniable asses are in trouble, right boys? Why should I worry about such a ship of fools? No cash is ever going in the "slit," and momma warned of it with one sentence: "Stop the world, I want to get off." Zzzzzzzz...excuse me, psy-op also involves sleep deprivation, but I'm doing okay on that when I'm not suffering from homeless hypothermia. Does Joe Biden know Tony Blair, back when Hughes was a news hawk, slid off the runway in Ft. Lauderdale flying commercial on American as PM. Sneaky, sneaky, Tony, but I caught 'ya.

Aaargh! Go ahead and overfly enemy metropolises, but don't drop any bombs, please. Today, an old spooky one stopped by to say, "Just get home, and you'll get it." Get what? This gov'ment is so nuts I'm afraid they'll give me a three-day weekend to rest up from three years, three months of torture after the dirt dumps on the president and Biden, then they'll try and Gerald Ford 2.0 me.

Just remember, the California official state word is "No."

Where's My F-15?

HUGHES not-in-the-media quote of the day:

"I'm a lover, not a fighter, but I don't seem to get an opportunity to do either."

Just where is my F-15? I own them, don't you know? And, thanks to South Korea, I'm still making them. Hey, who took my National Guard F-15's away from the hometown? Hint: Some went to Hawaii, of all places. Are the Japs coming again? And if so, will Soldier Boy keep the air raid warning to his little "MI" self again? Let me tell you folks, nothing turns "conspiracy theories" into something plausible like a presidential library, which is why there are no "papers" in Reagan's, or George H.W. Bush's, and George W. Bush's library will be bare as Mother Hubbard's cupboard as well, because his Executive Order locked-up his, his daddy's, and Reagan's. But take heart, Ronnie does have an Air Force One out back that you can't see from the front of the library, plus it costs an extra fee to climb aboard. (On my old website, I hinted I might steal it, but no gov'ment agents came to call). So, I'd advise all National Lampoon budget-minded, mini-depression vacationers to skip the Reagan Library, and the librarians might agree, because with Mr. Hughes at the door, they came out and hung their heads in shame. Really, they did.

As I discovered at the Truman Library, aptly located in INDEPENDENCE, Missouri, when you have the original State Department cable in your lap, you can draw your own conclusions. What's better, since this is the USA, if you pay the fee, they will let you in the library. Really, they will. The trouble comes when you (don't try this at home, or the library) discover the whole national security shebang in your own country is illegal. This brings in the real gov'ment types, who in my case, oddly enough, were all smiles, because they've known it since 1947.

I swear I will identify the presidential or military secretary who on one sheet of paper numbered, as I often do, the reasons why the CIA won't work, and she was on to the illegal part as well. No date, no name, no signature, not even initials. Hey buddy, that was good enough for gov'ment work in 1946-47. Today, I'm afraid we'll have to "get real," and very bold, to clean up Dodge. Some of my perfectly rational proposals if I'm ever released from Torrey's open-air prison include selling-off Hawaii and annexing Israel. On the latter, as my fictional spy Rita says, "Don't start," because I challenge you to think of a better way to discombobulate Hamas and Hezbollah, plus never trouble Hugo Chavez for any oil, than to have our Stars and Stripes flying above the Star of David at the new Americanized Tel Aviv Department of Motor Vehicles.

In the Pearl Harbor Department, many bad things go on in Hawaii, like out of control spy brats having sex with rock stars in the back of their limousine. It was the final "green light" to murder John Lennon, and by the way, when is CIA Special Prosecutor John Durham stopping by? He'd better make an appointment, because I'm getting a bit busy trying to put governors and presidents in jail. Grandpa did the heavy lifting, but I've got no money and no troops, although I did see a New Hampshire creature I call a "hoody boy" this morning making sure I'm still alive.

Thanks for caring, and I'll keep sharing in between encounters with scallywags gone overboard with allegations I'm affiliated with the Cali Cartel somehow. Sorry to disappoint, but the only news I ever got from cocaine transshipment points was on the DEA website, and I know that in the Dominican Republic, baseball can be very, very good to them, except when as with ex-Cardinal Orlando Cepeda, you put cocaine the duffel bag and someone snitches on you.

When is the Grand Jury meeting? Where's my room full of lawyers? Oh, it's a "black operation?" How long have you been endorsing this delusion? How do I know the Lennon murder so well? "They" told me, you dumbass! "Hey, hey, NSA, why not follow a law today?! Can you see this with DJ William at the turntable and bullhorn? Do you no-life's really want to know someone personally who was spying on Mr. Lennon in Central Park? Do you really want to know about "secret code" Mr. Frank Zappa left on a backstage chalkboard in the old hometown about three years before Hughes muttered, "Who ever heard of a five-shot revolver?" Hey weenie, did you get introduced to all of the principals in the Lennon murder? No you did not, and you are not running for president, either.

Get a job! Punch the clock! Save 5-10 percent of your income! Buy a Japanese car! (made in USA), Change the oil! Do not spy! You will be happy! Please, if "they" kill me before someone makes a movie about me, will 'ya use, "My name is Hughes, and people tell me things" as the character motto?



The Girl I Hated For A Day

Thousand Oaks/Westlake likes a spy novel; they want some pulp fiction, and oh my God, they can't make any sense, because I've got a spy fiction trilogy, and they don't want it down the road in Hollywood, where it belongs. I think too logically, so they built brand-new mental hospital/prison combos that look just like the ones I worked in back in Missouri.

Same architect? Don't get me going, or the "white world" version of the Secret Service might come to call. Instead, let's get going on finding a big warehouse in Nashville, because I've been there, liked that (even though the populace was a bit misinformed about my intentions). Movie studio, like neo-RKO in California? Forget it, because I know where I'm not wanted, so much so, a certain defense contractor with big windowless buildings I saw with my own eyes can no longer be found on Soldier Boy's Internet. They are all "gone." What? I don't have a car to go check on them, I am now officially "worried" about them, and what is worse, no one will give me a ride to the police station to report the eleven crimes perpetrated on me in California since May, 2008.

Scorecard! Get your scorecard, here!

Thousand Oaks (7)
Burbank (2)
LA County (1)
Los Angeles (1)

One, the first, was reported to the LA County District Attorney, but I think they thought it was a bad joke, or a tawdry remake of LA Confidential, which I thought was a lousy movie, by the way. Four of these crimes will not be reported for the following reasons:

1. Too old (Insignificant theft of boxer shorts)
2. Don't care (Mr. Coffee heist)
3. Need stylish new glasses anyway (Cuckoo Von's Manager, you can keep them)
4. No description of perp's vehicle (Struck on leg by rock toss)

Back to the defense contractor, I'm sure they are still there, even if I am no longer allowed to peek at their website. How about Hughes buildings in Culver City? Anything left? The old Watergate Spooks are so clever, when I complained I'm homeless and still paying Hughes Aircraft pensions out here, a man well into his 80's came to me who I am sure was one of them, and asked if I could help him do some research on bank stability. He said he wanted his money to be safe, but he had only "a little bit." Sorry the check is small, but in the old days I've read while the boss was away, the workers would play, so as my little league coach said, "Whaddya want, gravy?"

Grandpa Howard inherited a not so little drill bit, and he spent time improving it before going into playboy mode, so it is indeed a Hughes thing to put business before pleasure. Buddy, YOU are going in the nuthouse for 72 hours if you want to act crazy around me, and a chunk of Eastern Missouri's judges & police know I talk the mental health talk, and walk the walk. Yes, I'll be at your 14 day commitment under the California statute, because I can read laws, and 72 hours is not nearly enough for E.T.-chasers and AmGene splicers.

If great-grandma was an opera singer, how come I can't stay on-key for the Beverly Hillbillies theme? Don't know, but I will "confess" to saying, "Cue the banjo" as I run back into public buildings with hack-a-doodle dooed public computers upon which I keep writing, writing, writing. It's a job, really, it is, but the current pay rate is below what triggers Federal Election Commission nosiness about my benefactors. Keep it under $50, and Uncle Sam will be none the wiser about what you are doing around me.

Correction: As my former assistant would say, "Not really," about gov'ment interest, but at least the real spookies are better at it than Langley kids, or "Dark Side" juvenile delinquents with a spy momma or daddy.

You want spy novel? I want a bigger flash drive that does not "disappear," but to satisfy Tom Clancy fans, there are females involved in this mess, and the one with the biggest mouth I hated recently, but only for a day. I can't do it. I just can't hate someone for being a self-admitted, worthless, meaningless spy. Sad to say such "frankness" can divide the psyche, I suppose, and make a spooky one one of the best at their craft.

This I accept, along with an open source NASA breach that tells me how to shut-down my sinister crap in space with a minimum of fuss. May I get a little optimistic? A New Ager I'm not. A futurist I'm not. A visionary? I'll sleep on it, but it's getting kind of cold to sleep comfortably homeless. Sound sleep for Hughes? This will lead to pipe dreams like me on your flat screen TV wearing a space suit. Ah, I can see a partially peeled-off piece of masking tape on it that says HUGHES in bold Aerial type.

I'm on Mars, kids, and you are seeing red hills in the background. But first, I have to click on the "backchannel" and ask, "Madame President, can I show them what's over yonder?" I think she'll say "Okay," and all non-denominational Christians will have to admit we are not alone.


William Knows Plugs & Jacks: Part Two

Oh yes, 'ya gotta love it when the NORTH (like General Grant) WEST (as in Western Civ.) AIRLINES pilots overflew Minneapolis, where I believe people have been having "fun" plotting against Mr. Hughes for a very long time, and since I can mouse-click with the best of them, it looked to me like they were flying a reverse route of my trip to the Twin Cities in 1982. Folks, always beware when the spouse or girlfriend doesn't want to come along on a road trip. This can lead to sultry spygirls drunk on Hubiedome beer saying after putting the baby to bed, "This might be our last chance."

What does this Hughes consistently say in such a situation? I believe the verbatim was, "I'm married, you're married, and you've got a kid. Are you crazy?" ZZZZZap! Back to 2009, I commend the pilot and co-pilot for not saying anything much about this mysterious flyover, where the cockpit recorder conveniently only keeps 30 minutes of chatter. It's a bit like what George W. Bush said about President Obama's on-the-job performance: "He deserves my silence."

In a late update, Senator Al Franken is now incensed about this selective navigation, and I'm sure no one is scared of Big Al. May I try to practice what Franken once preached on SNL? As in doing only what's beneficial for me, William Hughes.


William Knows Plugs & Jacks: Part One

There are some photos "young" William likes to linger over, like the 747-400F with the Motel 6 light left on where you fly the airplane. Another of my favorites is from the flight deck of the 737, presumably at least a 737-300, where the buttons say "CABIN" and "PA." A Hughes always wants to know which button to press, and I'm figuring CABIN is the right one to tell you something like, "You'd better get the s--- out of your ears," because you are flying on my airplane, and like TWA & Southwest Airline cowboys, I might feel like flying into a thunderstorm.

As with all intelligence agency tricks over a very long time (heard Panetta's goin' to jail?), should we start with the dogs chasing me in 1962, or the 1974 LSD-eaters who tried to scare me? Girls, don't you know it's scare William once, and never again? No matter how you clock it, this gov'ment's MILITARY-CORPORATE-INTELLIGENCE Complex has spent, oh, the late Carl Sagan's "billions and billions" of dollars trying to scare me. Yes I think "family" (like mine) financed Network and Escape From New York, poured it on spook-wise, and sent in soldiers with duffel bags filled full of guns.

I know this is true, because when I hollered at one young rifleman in Davis, California, he held his hand to his back like it hurt, and looked up at the sky, as if to say, "Hughes, you're too much." Now I ask, too much what? Let's put it this way. If the Military and Mafia (M&M) were wondering if they'd get HOWARD BEAL or "SNAKE," my limp and clothing should give you the answer.

Back to the airplane's PA, I had to think a minute about who often said "Ya' gotta love it," and realized it was St. Louis sportscaster turned newsman MIKE BUSH. Yes, I remembered, because I might be more resilient than even I thought when it comes to E. Fuller Brushfireman Torrey's community torture program.

More later...park district handlers are putting me back in my ape house, but both the Empire State Building and blond-headed girlies are safe.


Drug Raid

Blogging must be brief when every Silicon Valley, war machine contractor, and Defense Pentagon rodent is on the scene. This almost makes the Maf-IA look benevolent, and 'ya know what? SARAH PALIN and MIKE HUCKABEE don't have to do this stuff.

Who else but Hughes would reference AARP literature, add up the numbers with pencil & scrap of paper, and determine the USA spends 35.3 Billion dollars on pharmaceutical drugs annually because we eat too much and have many mental disorders. This figure was arrived at by adding the total sales of all medicine for hypertension, diabetes, elevated cholesterol, anxiety, depression, and psychosis (which I do not suffer from, BTW). Cha ching! Big Pharma I like to think is my friend, but Social Security has already denied my claim of disability due to neurological damage from being tortured in the open-air T.O. gulag.

Tell you what. I'll save the SSA Trust Fund if you would knock it off, but I want my $30,000 backpayment as a torture "payoff." And, a Hollywood option could buy me cheap, because I thought about it, and my future legal team will be comprised of seven attorneys who eat junkyard dogs for breakfast, medium-rare please. Got torts? Lordy, no time for that now, because bad boys and bad girls need to go to jail.

Medicare Part D? It alone will bankrupt us unless something changes. And as for the Boeing 747-400F with a mysterious gizmo mounted on top, look for me to fly it, then come flying down the steps and holler, "You assholes are ripping off Uncle Sam again!" It's a "revolution" alright, but remain calm, and have a nice day.


Go Bell Nobel

Hey liberal fascists, hack away, right?

William C. Hughes
General Delivery
Thousand Oaks, CA 91362

e-posted: 10.23.2009

The Norwegian Nobel Committee
Henrik Ibsens gate 51NO-0255

Dear Nobel Committee:

The president was "astonished," and I shocked and sickened to hear of your organization having awarded a Nobel Peace Prize to Barack Obama. I believe it is a matter of public record that Mr. Obama ordered the international embarrassment at Guantanamo closed, but as the late rock guitarist Frank Zappa wrote, "The torture never stops."

Out of Iraq by June 30? I'm quite sure I am oriented 3x, because the World Series approaches, and our troops have merely withdrawn from Iraqi cities to air-conditioned tents, where they are called out like policemen when a bomb or two threatens the supply of crude to British Petroleum.

In Afghanistan, the Commander in Chief has slowly surpassed his predecessor in realizing keeping the Taliban at bay involves more than a token effort and skilled EU commanders, one of whom probably deserved your prize. Over in Pakistan, we've seen a new round of BOOM-BOOM in the marketplace, at the police station, and psychotic U.N.-haters no doubt cheered at news of U.N. offices that are now "gone."

Iran was quick to voice suspicion of U.S. involvement in these bombings, so perhaps President Obama will order troops there, or they will deploy anyway, because he is a totally ineffective leader. Yet he won your prize with violence unabated in three Middle East nations, not to mention the usual Israel-Lebanon, Israel-Syria, and Israel-Egypt broken record.

At home, there is no peace in the stock market, money market, unemployment line, or welfare line. In Obama's America, we're all on the dole, and the president apparently intends to "dictate" our salaries. My name is Hughes, I've never flown an airplane, I've never made a motion picture, but I can write, and I have written to you to urge that you rescind this year's incomprehensible decision on the Nobel Peace Prize.


William C. Hughes


Fun, Fun, Fun

Another little glitch, as I fight spies in real-time.

"Hey, my name is William Hughes, and I'm running for president."

What do you think you are going to do about it. Now don't shoot until I get my own F-15E.

They are mine, don't you know?

What Are You Gonna Do About It?

Hiltons Can't Spell Either

Why did Andy Rooney say to type with two fingers awhile back? Soldier Boy and Spy Slut have their ways of changing your copy, so I'd advise against any blogging in a totalitarian state such as today's USA.

Liberal fascism--IT'S REAL.

Dog of the Week

My piece on Barack Obama as "Dog of the Week" has been delayed by technical difficulties, like blatatn hacking.

Stand-by for the revolution.


My Right-Wing Appeal

Does this blog go anywhere? Google, rig for legal action if it does not go 'round the world, and not in 80 days.

Grandma told me I'd be on KP Duty. Grandma told me I'd be put on bread & water. Grandma told me they'd stare at me like monkeys in the zoo. And, grandma told me both to be good and prepare for big things someday. Yes, grandma was sly; so much so, when I asked for her famous yellow cake, chocolate icing recipe, I think she took the operational version to the grave. I believe it was 1969, and I now wonder if "they" have phone tap audio of this.

"Grandma, it's not quite right. Too much baking powder, or not enough?"
"Too little shortening? It was a little dry"

It is true that I could not replicate grandma's cake, but just about 40 years to the day, I think I know what I did wrong. Have you California health nuts ever heard of LARD? I believe it is made from dead animals. Young William, already a bit health-conscious at age 14, substituted Crisco, another not terribly good for you substance, but at least it was vegetable oil in a solid form. Should have used lard, William, and the recipe? IT "DISAPPEARED!"

My liberalism, however, is not disappearing, but in my advanced age, I'm getting a bit cranky, and hence leaning toward Tory-land on some issues. Here they are:

Are you all aware of the fact that even if I have trillions in Switzerland, they will not allow me to squat there and achieve a healthcare-positive status, or go on "the dole?" No ma'am, they will kick me out unless I have business there. How is it that USA's borders are as porous as ever with "Post-9/11" emphasis and a lot of neocon hollering about the problem? As usual, the problem is being attacked from the wrong angles. Bush and a pachyderm Congress wanted to build a wall like Israel, but the border isn't the problem. As a "free" and democratic nation, we should let them in, but why allow them to stay?

You're a "scientist," eh? Computer programmer? Landscaper? Okay, get a job, but do not think you are going to get General Relief, Food Stamps, and Medicaid, then ride around on a black bicycle day & night under a Hughes Administration. As I hoot to the Conejo Hills, "First you'll learn English, then I'll kick your ass out!"

Can Palin top that?

Michael Moore is an old shooter from way back, and card-carrying NRA member, but he thinks capitalism is kaput. Hughes barely knows which end of the gun shoots, but has been reminded many times when spooky operatives wave them in his face. Free enterprise? He's gotta have it, and please, leave the Starship Enterprise on the Paramount set. Hmmm. Did you know the Second Amendment is the only one still with a pulse among the first ten? Yipes! Where's my invitation to peel paint off the walls with my civil libertarian hot air at the next NRA convention?

Females in the fighter jet? Females on the front lines? Females aboard the aircraft carrier? And now, Navy Times informs me they are considering females on submarines? Here's the Hughesian skinny: Women should stick to spying in a declared war if they want to pitch-in. During presidential "small wars," please continue to fire Predator drones at the wrong guy, CIA girls, because Hughes is going to put your tush in jail.

Rodentia Giganticus

"Call me any name you want, but don't call me a rodent."

- "VHS/DVD Man"

"Don't stand around out here, they'll follow us for sure."

- T.O. Bus Rider

"I should be dead and long gone because of you."

- T.O. Bus Driver 2

"Good job!"

- T.O. Bus Driver 4

There are spy rodents, and there are super-value sized rodents who stare at me as they drive through the drive-through to load up on fries fried in grease that McDonald's claimed several years back is not so bad for you. Back in 2006, my lovely Obamaland assistant told me of a docu-movie where a guy tried to live on Big Macs and almost died. Not surprising, but Hughes is fair and balanced. For example, a nasty spy handed me a McChicken sandwich about a week ago, and I think that may have meant something to spies. What I noticed was the "Slowest McDonald's in the USA" took a long time to serve-up the sandwich, and when I did not fear another poisoning and ate it, it was pretty good. The seasoning was right, but as with all American fast food, and English fish & chips, it must be hot.

Hot it is in the McDonald's (you all know where it is) though the air temperature may be cold. In fact, all public buildings where Hughes treads tend to keep it verrry cold. I think this is an Arnoldland message about a spy out "in the cold," but I'm not wasting my breath hollering about how I am not a spy--instead, I'm writing-up police reports on crimes committed against me in the State of California, so the spies can go to jail where they belong.

"Move all drug boys out of the prison, and put in the spygirls!" Oh Lord, the media is not ready for this out of a viable third-party candidate. What worries me is, there are so many illegal spies and Maf-IA out here, if I make president some day, I will be forced to build new prisons, and frankly, this would be a waste of money. But, maybe not. Another Hughes slogan? "This is the showdown between spies and the law!" For added effect, I may shout, "This is not Watergate!," "I am not Howard!" or, "I'm running for president, and you can't stop it!"

Why just the other day, I was completing a streetcorner serenade on the president thing, and our CHP boys drove by. Guess what? No yellow card police contact report, no tap on the brake lights to pass "secret code;" why no, they just went North on Highway 23, which might mean something to spies, but not me. Don't I encourage California spies to use their debit card when ordering Chicken McNuggets? Yes I do, because that is, to my limited knowledge, the only Bush spyin' program the judge (Here come da' judge!) let stand. Yep, it's a big data-mining project, kind of like the Glomar Explorer.

Are you all excited about how I'm going to ask the CIA for a copy of the Glomar contract? The last time I filed a FOIA with the Central Intelligence Agency, they said I needed to prove who I am, which did not make sense at the time, but I was a about a year away from nailing the "Howard thing," so I thought they were being jerks. Alas! Maybe not, because AmGen follies may have created many me's, and CIA was looking after the "boss"? Hardly, but I like fairy tales, don't you? Hey Robert Baer, why not write another CIA lie or two for Time before I acquire Time Warner? Are Time Warner and DirecTV trucks really swarming around Hughes? Maybe the drivers know more than the CEO and COO, eh?

Spied-on since childhood, I know there is a special kind of spy I've termed Rodentia Giganticus, and I am going to try and send one to jail. Why, I just saw him this morning in the Goebel Senior Adult Center, carrying a little black plastic bag. (I think this means something to spies). And, I see him at the library, Von's, Ralph's, McDonald's, the Dollar Tree---EVERYWHERE. Lawyer I'm not, but I think this is called STALKING, and it's about time to do something about it, because you cannot do this to Bill Gates, Brad Pitt, or Donald Trump. Oh no, they will put your ass in jail. I believe it was in high school when I coined the expression "The Bill Hughes Exception," and it really holds water, now that I know who I am.

Vermin of this magnitude will never introduce themselves, not even give you a first name, but they will flaunt the fact they are following you everywhere. The behavior that is going to spell "curtains" for this particular rodent is his extremely bad habit of conferring with other spies right in front of me. William Hughes is a tolerant man, and having been spied-upon so much, I generally don't give a f---, but consultation with probable Army Men or Navy Scum bosses must come to mean jail time in the present tense, and if I get there, guess what ? Annapolis, West Point, and the E.T.-chasin' Air Force Academy are closing, as "we" will shut-down their "culture of death" that now has bombs going off in the Pakistani U.N. OFFICE (right after I wrote them a letter), the Pakistani POLICE STATION (as I am writing reports for the T.O. police), and the Pakistani marketplace (when I was run-off from Janss "Marketplace" for no reason, and I am very much aware what the "Fresh Market" was up to. Axel Rose, I encourage you to barbecue some more steaks on the hotel balcony, and make it a Hilton property, will 'ya?

The inevitable "inside joke" among spies is that I probably OWN Janss Mall, but again, fair and balanced analysis finds me admitting to a local spy legend that they had good reason to kick me out of the Panera Bread Company, because I only had enough money for their coffee and was eating all of the samples. "Bread" Company? Saint Louis "Bread" Company? Grandma sure did save those bread ties, don't you all know, and so what? Plus, it is a fact she sent me out for luncheon carry-out at an eating establishment with the same name as a restaurant owned by one HOWARD HUGHES, but that's just a coincidence, right? Hey, may I have some allowance money to hire bodyguards so we can go pull the "secret" marriage certificate? Momma used the word "bastard" often enough, but I think it was a case of artistic license. "They" really did try to burn down the Federal Record Center in Overland, Missouri, and so what? Daddy's file was not burnt, like Frank Zappa's weenie sandwich, I was told, but step-grandpa's I suspect went up in smoke. I guess a "Dark Side" arsonist started the fire at the beginning of the alphabet, right?

NOW HEAR THIS...NOW HEAR THIS...None of the Navy/CIA/HH/Romaine Street/Watergate ancient history has anything to do with me forming a new political party and running for president. As I holler to the Oak trees, "Nobody told me nothin'!,"and this is 100% true. Prove otherwise, and Obama will promote you, an envelope full of Ben Franklin cash will be in your mailbox, or both. I said I wanted my states lime green on the plasma screen television my company withheld from Best Buy for 30 years, and now it's a Southern California fashion statement, but I still don't seem to be on TV with Charlie Rose, or some hair-perfect automaton like him.

Those damn spies; when they are "gone" I'm not supposed to know if they are on another "vacation," gone "missing," or dead. Makes no difference to me. Fish or fowl? Military or civilian? When Hughes yells, "That's a damn .mil spook trying to look CIA!" and he shows-up the next day wearing desert fatigues, we have demonstrated again the boy can't spy, but he sure can catch 'em. GOT LAW? GOT ORDER? Still GOT 50 STATES? No job? At home drinking beer? Don't abuse the kids, GET REAL and listen to Hughes. Here is a preview of how I will tell the throng my "secret" for happiness in the USA.

1. Get a job, and do not spy on your coworkers.

2. Save 5-10% of your income.

3. Put money down on your car.

4. Put money down on your house.

5. Buy a Japanese car (Oh, it might be made in Tennessee at a non-union plant, but "So what?" Right UAW? Right!).

6. Change the oil every 3-5 thousand miles (any brand will do).

This is the "key" to happiness in the U.S. And, I will share this with as many as may assemble when the Obama Administration is "finished" trying to catch me peeing in the bushes, as all homeless persons tend to do, and I get to run for president, like Sarah Palin. When are Ms. Palin and I going out on a date? She's married? Really? Does she still act like it? Sorry, this is now my business.

On an entirely different topic, they'd better not write more laws saying the president cannot give his or her Secret Service drones the slip. Not after what I've been through, and I beg your pardon, for this is an American tradition, as is spies kicking their legs as I type, but I swear, I don't know what it means. Yes, "they" analyzed every word of my seven screenplays, and "they" are following the progress of my #8, d.b.a. Poll Numbers. Why, I do not know. Perhaps they are unemployed, like me, or a defense contractor is leaving them envelopes full of cash under a mailbox, a la Robert Hansen--not for me to know, but the policeman ought to do something about this, don't you agree?

So, "they" all know that in a treatment (Soldier Boy, ask the WGA what a "treatment" is), I called for a scene where El Presidente and First lady pull off wigs & masks in an old pickup truck, complete with loud muffler, and drive off into the District of Columbia night to act like normal people. Think I won't do such a thing someday? Think again.


Googly Goo

A Hughes is known to be meticulous, but as for OCD (Obsessive Compulsive Disorder), forget about it. Keep play, play, playing with the line spacing on this blog, because it might mean something to spies, like the big rodents at Google.


Q: What do you do when a California county has no homeless shelter and it rains?

A: Get wet.

"We" are way overdue in reporting the 9/11 BOOM-BOOM. No, not an anniversary terror attack, a mucho strange event. Are you crazy? Hughes is not, but the E.T.-chasers at USAF keep dragging out their discarded prototypes and flying them around "The Aviator's" gene pool. The last one was really loud, and I've got to look up what it was. I think they are trying to tell me something, like perhaps how we waste tons of money on planes that don't fly right, or as Harry S. Truman would say, "On the other hand" planes that are superior but not enough of a taxpayer ripoff for the deeefense contractor. I promise to be on time, on budget, and not cheat, but this, ladies and gentlemen, puts my life in great danger. Go figure. Back in time we go, screenplay style, to 09.11.2009.

HUGHES sits out in front of the senior center reading The Economist and Business Week. He frets about the Space Shuttle to no one.


Those assholes aren't coming down at Edwards. Just this little bit of cloud cover and they'll wimp-out. If you run out of oxygen, don't blame me. Call the Russians, and they'll send a Soyuz. Didn't they think about putting fourteen people in that thing?

The CAT WOMAN walks by with her black cat.


Why did I write a screenplay called Walking the Cat? Now, I get a real woman who walks her cats. What the hell is this?

Hughes flips through the magazines.


If you run out of consumables, that's not my problem. This government has to stop trying to blame me for everything. What if that thing burns-up again? I should have never opened another e-mail account. They'll say I ordered it. More crispy spyonauts.

Another lady approaches in pink.


I'm not shutting up just because you're here. Jesus! They flew all of those aircraft over my head, and now that I want to make a movie, you want me to pay? That's called "product placement, Soldier Boy. Let's see...I need A-10's, F-18's, B-52's, an AWACS, Air Force One, a few tanks, an APC, some Humvee's, old battleships like Reagan shelled Lebanon with, a mine-dumper, as with Nicaragua, so what's the big deal?

The woman in pink walks away robotically.


I guess I'll look for a newspaper to find out what happened to the shuttle. Maybe the local Mafia will leave me a copy of the Ventura Star. They'd better not burn up. You assholes! Flying the B-1, B-2, F-15's, and Air Force One over my head. Then, it took a long time to figure out the "mystery plane" in 1989 was an F-117 prototype, and the big triangular one outside Columbus last year was the B-70 Valkyrie, a prototype of the B-2. Man, that was cool! Why do you do these things to me? Next thing you know, they'll fly that shuttle over my head. They've done everything else.



Hughes jumps up and starts shouting.


I knew it! I knew it! Those assholes! They did it! Yahoo! They're baaack! And what a way to find out. They know I like loud noises. Jesus, I haven't heard that since McDonnell Douglas F-4's. Soldier Boy, were you even alive back then? Unless they crash in the next few minutes, you can't claim I blew-up or burned-up another Space Shuttle. You assholes!

Over Hughes' shoulder, we see he is writing in a notebook. The entry says:

"Double sonic boom at 5:50 p.m. announces you-know-who are back."


Gitmo Alfresco

Hughes rarely misses a clue, as when I noted many oddly out of place homeless people in Jeb Bush's Florida during 2004. How can a homeless person look "Out of place?" True, to be homeless you must have no place. Some "reformers" and Maf-IA apologists use the term "houseless" in lieu of "homeless" because your home is where your Karma is, or some such bullcrap. My way of stating the problem is, "A lack of indoor plumbing," and it does sting after incorporating all of the sturdy Puritan middle-class values you can eat on Fish Fry Friday in the gymnasium at Our Lady of the Black Tee Shirt.

Chicken & egg is what I call it under chilly California skies as I promise the rats and raccoons that we will someday model our national security infrastructure after Canada, meaning the state trooper man would see his direct deposit double on the first day or two of the Hughes Administration. My technology is so good, I know this policy is already a winner, because my ranting is often followed by "GET OFF THE FREEWAY, GET OFF THE FREEWAY" in the distance--a sure sign the CHP has somehow heard about this policy "White Paper" I have yet to even get started on.

And what of the 100% "deniable" 1947 system? So help me God, President Obama is going to be the last man or woman to use that kind of horror house. Or, is that whore house? Never mind. How bad did it get over 62 years? Sorry to say, we now have a rapidly expanding underclass that is indeed a rainbow of black, white, and brown--living in a ditch, living in a "tent city," living in a camper, or living in a trusty pre-emissions inspection jalopy. No postal mail service, no land-line telephone, no address, really. But maybe they have a pay-as-you-go cell phone to text & tweet and wait on the revolution.

I knew I was toast in Concord, New Hampshire when I decided to stay with the bumper-sticker slogan of, "A Revolution Done Right," however, the hometown university man at the print shop thought it was great, he pointed out that Ross Perot did well, and the common ground of oil wells did not escape me. Yet even with all of those reasonable expectations (like maybe getting a few hundred votes), I still had to play "chicken" on the road with .mil spooks sent by Bob Gates 1.0. Progress? Yes, because when I hollered about certain vulnerabilities in nuke security from my bugged Newbury Park motel room a year later, Bob Gates 2.0 revised the policy. And, he even cancelled the F-22! Peacenik? No, he's not, and--surprise--neither am I. Now, on to the "Joint" Strike Fighter before we F-111 ourselves into the super-duper poorhouse.

Do I have to say it every day? Not enough babies, or jobs, to keep grandma in the nursing home bed, and "long-term care" private insurance ain't gonna fix it. Only two things will fix the Social Security Administration:
1) More jobs/more workers.
2) More revenue.
If I read the phrase "fraud and waste" in regard to healthcare again, I'm going to puke, because this sort of activity is run by the PROVIDERS, meaning hospital corporations, reference laboratories, nursing services, big pharmaceutical companies, group health plans, and at times, the doctors themselves.

Why, oh why, does the USA always blame the victim? Or, in this case, the patient. Got a job? Got healthcare? Keep it, because this is looking like a "perfect storm" that could not only fail to reform the system, it might even swamp Medicare & Medicaid which is (and I encourage you to look this up on Soldier Boy's Internet), the only "public option" we've had since 1964. And, student of presidents and healthcare trivia that I am, I can tell you all of them tried from Ike on to get you a comprehensive national program, and all failed except LBJ.

Back at the homeless camp, I'm going to disclose what it really is--an open air prison camp. "There he goes again," they will say, but listen-up. What got the soldiers in trouble with A-rab detainees? Hey, guess what? It's the same when you are homeless in California. I'm nuts? Don't think so, because here's how it is, and policymakers had better "Get Real," before some rabble-rouser proclaims it's "Free TV Day" in America's cities once more.

1) FORCED STANDING--Ever been in the neo-soup kitchen line? My, the doggies move slow. Clothes? Social services? Mighty slow, so you often have to stand in line for long periods. Citizen, about the only thing "they" move fast on is when you lose your cool and the mental health police arrive to lock you up. (Typically for 48-96 hours; consult your local statute).

2) STRESS POSITIONS--Ever try to sleep in a culvert? On rocks? Twigs? Cold concrete? It makes for what I've termed "whole body pain," and don't look for me to seek injections of anything, because I'd rather not go the way of Michael Jackson. Grandpa Howard had an excuse, and it was a good one--three serious plane crashes in service to the Army Man, whereas I intend to cause great pain and suffering for today's "Army of One," and by the way, what the hell does that slogan mean?

3) EXTREMES OF HOT AND COLD-- The Lord baketh, and the Lord freezeth you out; on the church floor, no less. Oh, you're a wise guy with a blanket? I thought Southern California was like Florida. You know, South Beach, girls with few garments, BUT NO! It's really, really cold out here! And, if you'd like to dehydrate and die in the sunshine, this too can be arranged, right Arnold? Right!

4) NOISE POLLUTION--Janet Reno and Manuel Noriega know this one works like a charm. Marry Manilow or speed metal? Which one, Soldier Boy DJ? As I say, God provides, because Noriega is still alive and knows many Bush 41 things, and Reno just might know who needs to go to jail over 9/11. Doubt me? Hey, this is no clone, this is Hughes talkin'. No batteries for your device? Try car alarms, fire engines, fireworks, the policeman yakking on his PA speaker, and trucks with no mufflers. Sweet dreams? Frankly, my dear, I'd rather be in a secret CIA prison.

5) HUMILIATION & DEGRADATION-- No one has yet put me on a leash, in a literal sense, anyway, but rocks, bottles, cardboard, trash, water, lumber, and even a whole couch has been tossed at me, so maybe I'd rather get naked and hold up the bottom of a civilized world shocker of a pyramid. Photos? They take plenty, but none are available for your review in the supermarket check-out aisle. Not yet, because this is all "secret," silly. But, as my lovely assistant used to say, "Not really."

6) BEATINGS--One scuffle with Soldier Boy was quite enough, but the surveillance record should show I held my own, even though I don't know how to fight (with fists, anyway). Where did those girls go who kept me alive by at times throwing punches at big thugs like in an old Western movie? I don't know, but I await the first journalist who reviews the facts and says, "Hughes, how come you didn't figure it out sooner?"

It's About II & Two Engines: Part Two

Here's part two, but first I must note I now thoroughly understand why me mum said, "Stop the world, I want to get off." That was well before computers began robbing whatever bit of freedom we never had.

Save money? Unheard of among California's innkeepers, who would often ask, "Where do you get your money from?" and I could honestly reply, "I saved it." Few Americans seem to grasp this concept, so now, storefront banks are pretty much indistinguishable from the dry cleaners, and no one seems to have any money. Except, of course, in Thousand Oaks/Westlake, where Carl Sagan's "billions and billions" could well refer to dollars spent on thwarting me from simply being me. Lockheed, are you ready for the Powerpoint slides in court? Gasoline sales, restaurant sales, hotel occupancy, car wrecks, tickets issued by the policeman, sales figures at UPS and Fed Ex? Think about it, because Hughes smells "black" money as readily as I smell my own blood when I cut myself with crappy church-donated razors.

Didn't I read a few years back about how there wasn't enough room in Dodge City for all defense industry cash guzzlers? Folks, somebody has got to go, especially when I turn dirt for Hughes Aerospace, and I say it's Lockheed. Did I just commit a crime? No, it's called big business, and just like a spy betrayal, the close association between Howard and Lockheed means grandson is gunning for them, and their plane that needs two engine suppliers. Why is the H-man riled-up? How about someone tell me on the record--not by leaving multicolored trash on the ground or deciphering the air routes of flyin' monkeys--why General Electric/Rolls Royce AND Pratt & Whitney bellied-up to the feedlot of currency. Joe Lieberman, the "fake Democrat," wants Pratt & Whitney to prevail, while ex-Marine and real Democrat John Murtha is cheerleading for the GE/Rolls Royce engine.

What's wrong with the plane? Like President Clinton, I can read between the lines and tell CIA to take a hike, because it looks as if SOFTWARE NOT TALKIN' TO HARDWARE. Not properly, anyway. So do we want a Joint Strike Fighter repairman to have a job for 20+ years keeping a piece of ill-conceived junk in the air? Houston, we have a problem, in that history, like the F-111, repeats itself at our expense. "Grandma needs a Medicaid bed at the nursing home!" Hughes will holler, with what? A few dozen microphones on the podium will do, until I can hustle the ones with the same windscreens Richard M. Nixon used.



Fore? Hackers caught.

It's About II & Two Engines: Part One

Spies, soldiers, and Maf-IA all seem to be highly patriarchal. So, should my dear old daddy pass away before I am freed from Thousand Oaks, this little ditty DAVID OGILVY stole from RUDYARD KIPLING should serve as a fitting and slightly witty memorial:

"They copied all they could follow,

but they couldn't copy my mind,

and I left 'em sweating and stealing,

a year and a half behind."

I gather it is perfectly normal in the intel community to zig and zag. Fore example, when the ARMY JAG played his mind games next door in Clayton, Missouri, I thought he was my friend. And, when the NAVY JAG neighbor took over the drug dealers' central computer in my execution center of a New Hampshire apartment, I thought he was a jerk, because of his anti-Clinton bumper-sticker. Do you have to be subtle with clues like a personalized NH license plate that said "NAVY JAG?" "They" make it hard for me, don't they? Upon reflection, I tried to do the "flip," where Navy JAG was the good guy, and ARMY JAG, fresh from Abu Ghraib, full of treachery, including the illegal "sneak & peek" specialist the FLORIDA BOY, who drove the black-as-night JEEP.

Remember 2006, spies? I bitched in MR. TURNER'S "bughouse" that the FL BOY had poor cover, and next thing I knew, there was a little WASHINGTON UNIVERSITY parking tag hanging from his rear-view mirror. Crap! The only Republican I ever voted for in my entire life until RON PAUL was JOHN DANFORTH, and now I'm about ready to raid the DANFORTH FOUNDATION and maybe find out many (bad) things. Why, FLORIDA BOY even got a little bookbag to carry when he was not directing potential assassins over on the LUTHERAN MISSOURI SYNOD'S football field, which was right out my second-story window. I wondered why when I first moved-in, Mr. Turner cut down a fairly healthy tree that obscured my windows. ANSWER: To get a better bead on "Howard the Duck," and that's me, always ready to hit the deck.

Inevitably, by 2009, I had regressed to my youthful attitude about the U.S MILITARY. That being, you are a bunch of twisted weirdos, fighting presidential "small wars" and carting-off a ton of benefits after 4, 8, or a dozen years of service. Hey soldiers, sailors, and airmen, YOU CAN'T DO THAT IN THE PRIVATE SECTOR. I believe Howard, the uncles, and the old Watergate Spooks planned this perfectly, didn't they? William knows only W-2/W-4 earnings and worked hard for every book, LP, CD, gizmo, and stick of bargain basement furniture the Mafia stole. Now, this is war.

If you think, as I like to say, "After what I've been through," I'm not ending -up president of this corrupted nation, donning a bullet-proof vest, and watching as your #1 Policeman as explosive charges blow on the Mafia Man's expensive home, you are the one who is nuts. These people are Homeland terrorists, and deserve no notice of being summarily hauled-off to the jailhouse. Are my enemies drafting legislation right now that will supposedly prohibit me from flying my own Air Force One? Don't bother, because I think the Supremes would see it my way, right Ron Paul? And, there's also the other little matter--ask Bush & Obama--of me just doing it anyway, because you, whoever you are, couldn't stop it, because you are not boarding my airplane, are you?

Speaking of airplanes, I have long alleged that the "Joint Strike Fighter" a.k.a the F-35, has been not much more than a pool of "black money" to mess with Hughes. "Where's the plane!?" I've cried since 2005. Ah, now the spooks have dropped Aviation Week & Space Technology on me, sans trip to the library, so I see we've had less than 100 hours of flying time for this wonder out of an anticipated 5,000 sorties, and even the LOCKHEED MAN admitted they will be lucky to have 500 in by the end of 2010. Is this the Hundred Year Airplane, or the Hundred Year Civil War? It really gets spooky, given it is true that when a federal courthouse staff member asked me if I wanted to become an honorary member of the bar to enjoy full library privileges, I said, "Thanks, but I don't have time." A year later, after cracking my own genetic code, I read regarding the president thing, grandpa said, "Sorry, I don't have time."

Wow! to jetwash and whitewash, why did my e-mail to Lockheed come bouncing back with "fatal errors?" Is BILL GATES in jail yet? Has BOB GATES scrubbed the F-35 yet? He ought to, because what did I say eight or more years ago about the F-35? "I smell F-111 all over again." Navy, am I right? Admiral, you know I'm right, when I see the mighty F-35B has "beefed-up landing gear" to plop down on the ship. DUH. Why that's brilliant, and even I could have thought of that. Yes, cosmic forces conspired to send me a good buddy who spent his career as the F-111 repairman, and brother, he was never short of work. That airplane was, in my view, as a teen aged Watergate Baby, "Nixon's Folly." Then, as a young man, I suffered through "Carter's Folly," the B-1. Now Aviation Week reminds us the B-2 is twenty years old. My, time flies when you are middle-class and save 5-10 percent of your income.


Green Over Rotten

It's an American tradition to denigrate the generation that follows, however, I will reverse the festivities and here call Tom Brokaw's "Greatest Generation" the "Rottenest Generation." FDR kept us out of the war as long as he could, and lots of dead Russians later, you had to go, Kilroy, then in the aftermath you created a United Nations that just like Hollywood, politicians of a cuckoo right-wing bent have used as a device in stuffing their pockets with cash, and have generally told the rest of us how to behave.

The rotten rubber hits the road in the so-called "War on Drugs." Did you say speak-up in Mexico? Not unless you want your head appearing separate from your body in the town square. Guatemala? Don't ride your bike, because it's far easier to get shot dead over the content of your speech. What "bugs" Mr. Hughes about the USA? Many things, but perhaps most obvious is how this gov'mnet and Maf-IA gets all over you just as a consequence of idle speech. All dwellers in granite federal buildings don't like the fact I can prove the existence of "Death Squads" in the United States of America. Why so cocksure? They put me on one for blackmail purposes, then Soldier Boy made the talon-twit mistake of sending his spygirl right down the road from a MURDER to snitch on...? Terrorists? Drug dealers? White House gate-crashers? No, a bunch of Quakers advising high school students to "Just say no" when aggressive military recruiters come to call. How good are these spies? All criminals want to get caught, so the cliche goes, and it must be true, because why would she complain to me about the same Soldier Boy tactics in regard to a teenager very much in the sights of the "Defense Pentagon?"

Is this a spy movie? No, it's my life, but if you want a movie franchise line, I suppose it's, "My name is Hughes, and I catch spies." Dirty, dark, and 100% deniable has flourished in the "Post-9/11 World," and that's how they've played it since 1947. How then, can I see through their voodoo doo-doo like the spies are dressed in fluorescent orange or lime green? It's not training, kids, it's just GENES. Why are my arms so long, like Prince Charles? Don't ask me, but please do reference the "Long arm of the law" and other Dudley Doright expressions to explain my behavior.

As a brief aside, I've decided if I don't freeze to death in the California wild, and I can raise enough cash, I'd like the networks to color my states Lime Green. Now, as my fictional Rita character says, "Don't start." Please, DO NOT start thinking "lime" or "green" means anything other than I want my electoral conquests to stand out above your mundane red & blue elephant pies and donkey drivel. I lie in ditches homeless but can already see ME, VT, NH, MA, & NY lime green. Wanna rumble over the rest?

It's a bit early with no "White Papers" on Middle East policy, but I'm assembling a team of advisers by reading newspapers from Lebanon, Egypt, and Saudi Arabia. Seems the A-rab media can be counted on to tell me where a sensible-sounding Carnegie Mellon or Notre Dame man can be found when the Associated Press and Washington Post do not. NAMES--they are so important, and again, the old Watergate Spooks must be having more fun than at any time since the invention of automatic lawn sprinklers for their upper-middle class estates.

CHA-CHING! Thanks for putting out the six year-old article about MARK FELT, which told me I went to graduate school with a probable relative of a Watergate burglar. When she invited me to a party, I left early, because boys, wearing sunglasses indoors is a universal, "Exit, stage left" code for the Hughes boy. Did I almost get killed that night? William, you have now officially wandered off the intended topic of drug legalization. Let's skip the details, like 41.8 percent of young adults drinking heavily in Everlast AA training gear and say, "Thanks" for expanding the power of the Executive Branch so wildly, it IS the government now, and the other two branches are akin to little side rings at a circus. The only show that means anything anymore is the XXX-LARGE crime ring under the big top.

God provides, and so forget 100 days, look out for the first 10 days of any potential Hughes Administration. Why? Here is the flow-chart "GONE" list:


Want a good job if I end up president? I'd recommend the two-year program in Criminal Justice, because the world will not end with no FBI, nor will your pet be abducted and taken across state lines, but the state policeman will see his direct deposit double, and the big city policeman would have hopefully much more jingle as well. Oh, I can hear them now. "Mr. Hughes, Mr. Hughes, how can you say drugs aren't dangerous?" I didn't say that, you little twit journalist. I said, YOU CAN'T STOP PEOPLE FROM USING THEM, so here's the plan. I foresee a little enforcement wing within the FDA to go after two drugs only: Crack & PCP. Everything else, LEGAL. Why would you manufacture crack rocks if cocaine were legal? I don't know, but you'd have to be so stupid, you belong in jail. Next question?

And as for PCP, given I've prepared for Kung-fu fighting in the ER battling people high on it, again from personal experience, I can tell you it is a substance worthy of its illegality. Mr. Hughes, Mr. Hughes, what about meth? Son, don't ask me about meth, given the intel community dosed me repeatedly with the good kind, as in no backyard still involved, and I can tell you again with mucho "street cred" that it is, to coin another new phrase you will steal, "Stupid, but safe." Don't dare argue with me, because Eight O'Clock brand coffee beans don't keep you up for three to four days straight, then after many Z's, you wake-up refreshed, with no ill effects.

My fellow Americans, that was the "good stuff" from the CIA's labs, or Hughes Medical Institute. So, I say, why not water it down a bit, put it on the shelf at CVS & Rite Aid, and then, the speedfreak moonshiners of small-town America will have to get a job at Wal Mart, and big bad Obama is apparently going to force the shelf-stockers of China's GDP output to buy health insurance.

Damn! I knew I should have bought Express Scripts stock in the 1990's, but a "player" I wasn't. Now, we've been pre-bankrupted by Medicare Part D, and that was a BUSH deal. For the love of Pete, now there's moths fluttering out of the Treasury Department, and you won't let me turn a few states lime green, save the Social Security Trust Fund, and leap tall buildings in a single bound? You all know I have a thing for Sarah Palin, and I see she even had her toenails painted purple, but that is still not the primary color of money.

Cocaine comes from a plant. Marijuana is a plant. Tobacco is a plant. And, just about everyone who talks to me in California is a "plant," but that's okay, as it is your job to try and drive me nuts, yet there will be NO CRIMES & NO SPYIN', but I think I'll smoke a cig, because it's legal, and you can't do anything about it besides commit the tenth crime perpetrated against me in California by stealing them.

Are you ready to flash-forward to 2012? In New Hampshire, Gardner better stay put, because here is how it went in 2008:

I toured Iowa, and at first I was going to write a book on the caucuses.
But that's not an election, is it?
No sir, it's not.
And in 2012?
Congratulations, Hughes, you outpolled everyone at the Iowa Caucus.
Yes sir, I did, but it's not an election.


Get Your Black Butt Out of My White House: Part Two

In 1977-78, Hughes got the cash for 'ya, and what did I get in return? From Freshman year (1973) on, that's thirty-six years of illegal spying, by my count.


I call what has been in progress from Mid-2006 on a "Total Annihilation Program," run by the MILITARY-CORPORATE-INTELLIGENCE COMPLEX, and don't forget the Mafia. Everything Hughes is to be destroyed--his intellectual property, his possessions, his ideas, his thoughts; everything except his body, which will be allowed to starve or die of "natural causes." I'm a walking talking dead man, but I'm still alive (sort of), because I am also the United States GDP with arms and legs.

QUESTION: When did I get "zapped" with microwave energy?
ANSWER: During the transition period between Bush, who I believe to be a War Criminal, and Obama, a readily indictable drug dealer in cahoots with the Chicago Mob.

This is the truth, and the damn equipment to accomplish the zapping is probably still on the utility pole, because when the Executive Branch and Mafia get into bed together, look for demon children who "play" like the content of your average horror movie. I am tired of the "Community Torture Program," I am indeed Howard Hughes' grandson, and I demand the President of the United States resign immediately, and please, don't bother crashing Google's server due to this post.


Get Your Black Butt Out of My White House Part One

No yellow legal pads at the Dollar Tree?
Microwave on the blink at the Senior (Maf-IA) Center? No coffee for the homeless, eh?
Let it rip, William.

I have written previously on AbolishTheCIA.org about how I was nearly killed many times at a job in the State of Illinois that paid a princely sum of $24,000 U.S. per annum. Given my penchant for research, I found that the psychiatrist I worked with by the name of CROUGHAN was paid close to $250,000 per year to show-up for about eight hours a week. That was while my ex-girlfriend, the third of the confirmed Air Force Spygirls, was employed by a man named CROUGHAN, and was making about double my $42,000 U.S. per annum at that time. Yes, Hughes cleans the potty, Hughes buys the Poland brand water (another "inside joke"), Hughes pays the bills, and Hughes tries to put out the natural gas line when it's on fire because the spook landlord tried to kill us all.

Adding insult to near fatalities, when the Clayton, Missouri firemen finally arrived, as we said in the Alice Cooper Billion Dollar Babies 1970's, their eyes, "Looked like stop signs." Drunk and stoned firemen? I promise not to tell, but I just did. Yes, once to the fire to find it, twice to extinguish it (or so I thought), a third time to the fire after insisting on a evacuation of the building, and a fourth time with the stoned firemen was a charm, because high or not, they knew how to put it out. Mild smoke inhalation? Would the Royal Policeman complain about a little problem like that? No, and the gift of a new fire extinguisher, after I had emptied mine, from the spygirls upstairs was treasured and resides in the Maf-IA's booty, namely all of my personal possessions, which I'd say it's about time to return, right LAPD?

You see, the girls realized, almost too late, that their "boyfriends" installed a gas dryer without a vent on purpose, so we'd ALL perish. What is it like to be a "6" among accursed spies? For one thing, when the rowdy handymen were installing said dryer, I thought, "Those jackasses don't know what they are doing. I'd better check their work." But a Hughes is always busy, I didn't get around to it, and we all almost died. Why a talent agency does not want to make 10-15 thousand U.S. Dollars a day for answering the phone while I go on the road to tell these stories, I do not know. Substantial discounts will be offered to colleges & universities, because this is how you start running for president, and I'd appreciate it if you'd all hold off on the big assassination, as in mine, until I give a speech or two, if you don't mind.

Speaking of presidents, as a homeless person, I don't have the cash to, in Watergate terms, put the tape on the office doors so the security guard will see it and catch the burglars. But, I can get on Soldier Boy's Internet, and see a flight deck photo from a nice Saab aircraft banking to the left and think to myself, "Those assholes!" Did you know Saab makes fighter jets, too, and I'm about to go shopping for some if there is no end to torture from space and extra-judicial executions in the "Homeland."

"Dudley Doright?" You bet, so first, let's go back in time to get a bit personal as to why mom almost killed dad when I was eleven years old. Her theory, I believe, was to repeat the Howard deal, where if my father had died, per Missouri law, on September 15, 1973, William would have been put in charge of the whole shootin' match. Instead, mom wen to the State Hospital, dad fibbed to the cops, he later cried when the kids showed in the ICU, and in 1973, instead of launching some satellites, I was serving as president--of my high school. They were so unhappy with the leadership & "vision thing," the aircraft company had gone bye bye in 1972. Yes, it was already gone. Student leader in college? The bossman never darkened the door of his office, but he sure did get those checked signed during 1976-77. It's a Hughes thing.

To be continued...