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.

Problems:

1) I can't afford the DVD

and;

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.