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?"