Illegally bugged up the posterior, and I actually gave money to the Carter Center. Live and learn.
Many thanks to the lovely "FERN," who reminded me of yet another "fake medical problem" the United States Intelligence Community put on me, William Charles Hughes. Either Fern has trouble with her thyroid, or she wants a part in a movie, and I suspect it is the latter. Low TSH? Bad thyroid? Forget it, nimrods, and prepare to be boarded.
Please explain how so many enjoy the show of your oil man, "Dollar Bill," marching E. & W. on Janss Road. I swore off it, but now I flaunt it, as what I call a "spy counter-demonstration." Sad fact is, after--just counted 'em--43 months of torture by any definition on Earth, a fist to the face ought to be in the future of any extremist still daring to blabber "spy code" around Mr. Hughes. But, don't you all know I have to be "perfect," so I can't do that, and please do not allege a "conspiracy," even though the aunts and uncles told me about the "perfect requirement from toddler time on.
What did I say about crime as a recent college graduate in 1977? "If you're gonna do it, make it something big." That kind of talk, along with joke lines like, "What this country needs is a good violent revolution," got spy-tongues wagging, and sticky fingers stealing, even back then. How come my fan letter from 1974, never sent, to Mr. TODD RUNDGREN was still in the box before PENSKE TRUCK LEASING seized all I own in June, 2008, but the yellowed "This is the end of the world" Associated Press ticker sheet has been "missing" a very long time? "Thieves!" cried Dr. G at 5300 Arsenal Street, and she would know. Yes, it was one of the better off-kilter lines I'd ever heard when the good M.D., who car mechanics liked to rip-off--it's a CIA thing--said, "I have to get along with my husband; he could kill me in my sleep."
What's a ticker? Are you a dumb .mil spook who dropped-out of high school and joined my Army? Mr. Hughes is asking the questions now, such as:
1. Why has Mr. Rundgren released a gadzillion LP's and CD's on Warner Brothers and--"What's up, doc?"--"they" will not let me buy Time Warner? Why not? Because I'd fire all the lousy WB acts and scour the garages of America for that rock 'n roll we all like so much? Why Mr. Todd had his own label for awhile called Bearsville, but Warner still made the albums, cuckoo-bird. When he came to the Loo once when I was otherwise occupied dipping fries to the meticulous requirements of CIA kids who knew they were all of that, the reviewers came rushing in. "Wow! He said to melt-down all of our Todd albums to recycle, given the A-rab oil embargo." "No way!" Hughes replied from behind the heat lamps, but now I do want another one, so soldier boy settles down regarding his conquests, Exxon Mobil has some extra jingle, we build a new refinery, for God's sake, windmills will be more than metaphors to tilt at, and maybe, just maybe, I could drive a fast car on electricity for less than $100,000. Hey Tesla Motors, what say ye?
Why is stuffy old Time Magazine so much better and Newsweek makes no sense? There's a "flip" for 'ya, because I always thought it was the other way around. Am I the Wizard of Oz? Hell no! And, who would want that job anyway? Circling back to Todd-budee, why did a lead with her right fist spygirl look as scared as I' had ever seen her when I mentioned wanting to go interview this particular pop star in 1986? Questions, questions, questions for the inquiring mind. Hey, Todd probably doesn't mind the record clerks gave him up when he personally spied on me in The Loo; in fact, he probably told them to as he escaped with a box full of no doubt rare LP's. Where are my 1400 LP's? Never mind.
2. Why won't anyone in the Republic of California give me a ride in their automobile? Did I drive 20 or so seriously mentally ill clients all over creation for seven years in my little blue Mazda or not? Yes, I did, and Air Force One really did nearly dent the roof, I looked up the date this occurred on Soldier Boy's Internet, and you can't change reality. Coincidence? No, but I can change my mind and want the "other" William--no, not the UK one--tossed in the slammer, and don' t tell me it would be difficult.
This is real stranger, not no movie, so it is good some know for sure I am DUDLEY DORIGHT, but it looks like some of the locals with big wheels and halogen headlights are bad, bad rotten. So, we have 15 month accrued following the intentional wreck of the mighty FORD FOCUS, you know, the one with the computer chip in it that shows how Nazi ding-dongs were disabling the ABS. Wheeeee! Another skid with locked brakes on U.S. 101!!! See how "they" take care of me? No car, no more skids. Who's goin' to jail over that one? The dealership changed names? No it didn't, more lies.
[Oh, at press time I / we wonder how Delta/Nigeria ends up Northwest/Amsterdam, except to say those soldier boys are phishing' in the wrong pond. Alright, here's the quick & dirty Delta story. Did I have to have so much light in my face from planes breaking separation over Chicago, I could have pulled nose hairs in my window seat reflection? See how they are? I was brave enough for the window seat, and it's all about, "Shit! Those other planes are too close." Tomahawk Chop? Where's the radar data?!!!, Hughes will holler to future P.I.'s, and ESP is not required to deduce that. On the way back from Chi town 77, after not banging any hotel hookers (and there were--ahem--plenty of 'em), not smoking any pot with my computer instructor and his lovely hot girlfriend, and in fact, not discussing D-R-U-G-S at all, I got on the plane home no wiser about mainframe downloads, from NYSE or anywhere else, so the businessmen were hollering, "Why are they taking so long to de-ice this goddamn plane? I wondered as well, but hell, I figured more de-icer = good, less de-icer = bad, in Chicago, anyway. The trip home was uneventful, and thus I was almost not skittish about flying, but then my old airline, TWA "got me," but to get serious, who "got " Flight 800?]
Anybody getting sweaty? Not me, you big ass. How about Ft. Hood? Got it covered, soldier, if you'd kindly keep outta my face. Oh, you put a hole in your own building on 09/11/2001 and you won' t do that? Yes you did, expletive deleted, yes you did.
SOUND: SCREEEECH. Back to the odd lack of transport. Who has given me a lift? As AC/DC sang, we salute you:
1. CABBIE GIRL: On the hunt to bust Amgen she is, and who could ask for more?
2. MAZDA MAN: On a ride with Soldier Boy? Hughes was on guard to the right of Mr. Soldier, and his texting. Ready to jump out of the vehicle? You bet your bippy! Who gave up that scam? Uh, someone who used to spy on BOB DYLAN. No help? Holy cow!
3. WHITE LEXUS MAN: The car was white, the man and his wife very black. Polite as could be, both he, his spouse, and I. Terrorist? What terrorist?
4. BRONZE BMW MAN: I know drug dealers when I see them, and they took flight when they saw this man, whatever that means. Account numbers, phone numbers, secret .net passcode numbers, and--hey Palin, you lousy, good for nothin'...excuse me--poll numbers. "Don't put the cart before the horse," the family said, but how about a movie deal? I won't spend too much.
And now, on to the wagons. I have, in all seriousness, threatened to call the Department of Homeland Security to request emergency mobile treatment vans full of antipsychotic medicine, if you Ventura County vultures, stalkers, drug thugs, hypnotized soldiers, and associated whores don't start acting right. HALDOL, PROLIXIN DEPOT RISPERDAL. whatever. Yes, I am very tired of declaring, "You are all crazy, and I'm not!" Would you like to put some Kleenex in my ears? No way, but I shall give out free samples of the stuff when I am allowed to run for president. And, Proctor & Gamble knows I'm right...right? Yer damn right!
Sorry spookies. Be you .mil, .gov, or .mafia, I know it is coming together, because when the senior center ladies have spoken on too cold rooms, too hot rooms, fans, chairs, tables, foodstuffs and chatter that all mean something to spies but not this Hughes, the verdict is clear: "THESE PEOPLE ARE CRAZY!" they cried, and I agree. Plus, I almost fell out of my CRPD chair when one of them fussed, to wit: "Remember so-and-so, she caught a cold from those freezing rooms, and I haven't seen her since." Hmmm. Missing persons from all ages might be a problem around here, but I did not say a word--I just blogged it for all to see.
It's puzzling, but it looks as if the townsfolk have been fascinated by how they have been compelled to put away their torches & pitchforks, as 100% true stories have spread of AF-1 flyovers, a suspected female B-2 Bomber cowgirl diving at my humble abode, the too-frequent duty of the "You're late for work, she'll write you up" F-15E squadron, and Dick Nixon smiling at me from just a few feet away. Can you believe it took a long time to realize Nixon's stunt was ONE MONTH after Neil Armstrong's radio cut-out on him as he stepped on the moon. Did grandpa do that? Shame on him!
i know Mr. Runtgren will have no hard feelings, so here's the "Hughes Top 3 All-Time Best on TV Rock Show and Sort of Rowdy Country Music Performances":
1. FRANK ZAPPA, "I Am The Slime" (SNL)
2. Todd Rundgren, "For the Want of a Nail" (Letterman, in NBC)
3. Shooter Jennings, "Wheel Keeps on Rolling" (Letterman, CBS)
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