With multiple illegal real-time hackers at the GOEBEL SENIOR ADULT CENTER, Thousand Oaks, CA, and possibly the Cali-Google crowd vandalizing their own service as well, there is no way to format this blog correctly. You see, nutcase spooks like to put one, two, three lines of space in your copy, or none at all. So, I'd use the F-word, but then Google would accuse me of something and I'd have to revive the server for AbolishTheCIA.org. When you are the wealthiest dude in the world, worse things could happen, son.
Hey Hollywood, let's stop playing and make a deal, before "they" kill my ass.
How long has it been since I was warned that in California, entrants to the political arena may well be killed "the sneaky way?" The warnee still has the warner's phone number, so as the New Hampshire cigar boys said, "Anything can happen." What happened for them after chatting with Mr. Hughes, I found with a minimum of investigation, was regional sales jobs, poster-boy photoshoots, cigar in hand, when the girls will never kick-off their heels running for those guys, and maybe somebody was shipping something besides tobacco from the Central American Isthmus, but I won't go there, at least until I look up the Somaza clan and schmooze with Ortega's taco sauce. Could you do all that? Probably not, but you don't have the Austro-Hungarian genes, or Howard's, and we will not get all black-op Navy around here, no matter how tempting it becomes.
Got a problem? Solve it, and leave Mr. Hughes alone, please. I'm on Page 83 of the latest handwritten blockbuster, because have you heard about this computer hacking sensation? It's big, and I again recalled asking my youngest dry well relative how much of the computer's resources were used up by fancy games, and the answer for Uncle William was, "All of them." So, before naming names in the latest "sneaky" murder attempt on 12.01.09, let's review all of Mr. Hughes' diagnoses that are not real, in rough chronological order of quackery:
CARDIAC ARRHYTHMIA
HIVES
BIPOLAR DISORDER
HEPATITIS C
TESTICULAR YUCKY GROWTHS
ELEVATED LIVER ENZYMES
HYPERTENSION
GASTRO ESOPHAGEAL REFLUX DISORDER (GERD)
IRRITABLE BOWEL SYNDROME (IBS)
Is that all? Tachycardia is real, however, when the MILITARY-CORPORATE-INTELLIGENCE COMPLEX is on your ass big-time, as is dehydration, bowel shutdown, and partial kidney failure, but Howard Hughes was "nuts" to pee in test tubes, eh? Maf-IA Man, you are looking real bad, and how's the cuisine at the Westlake Village Hyatt? Never mind.
America, now that we're finished with jury selection, let's talk about why several foreigners grunted and groaned near me as I wolfed down three slices of pizza at the GOEBEL SENIOR ADULT CENTER at 8:30 p.m. on December 1, 2009.
[Hey girls, based on momma's account of certain things, plus the kindness & compassion of Soldier Boy in allowing me to use his Internet, I may have discovered the spooky recurring "young man" clue means I just turned 52, not 54, so unless you are of prime baby-making age, don't think you can keep up with me. That's if I decide not to become Father Hughes, Catholic Priest and African Bush Pilot. I understand Mia Farrow will tell me where to go once there. Or, maybe a real actress--don't get me wrong, Ms. Farrow's Woody Allen movies do count--will take me to Starbucks, but I'm not expecting it].
Back to this evening's episode of Dragnet, how about Angela Merkel's wundergirl saying, "Why did you cook meat in the microwave? Now I can't use it!" (Macrobiotic food and pepperoni are apparently contraindicated, to some people, anyway). Aw crap, Hughes just can't take a grunt as a warning, so when the tummy and intestines said, "Yum, yum," I thought all was well, until I woke up in the middle of the night with a mouthful of hot puke to choke on. Add some Crown Royal, and you're dead, a la Jimi Hendrix.
We learn from life, don't we? Yes, this latest murder attempt by the Tuesday Night Mah-Jongg Gals told me it is the sauce that was "doctored" by PAPA JOHN'S PIZZA in the pre-9/11 mid-1990's to "Kill Bill," that fellow busy with--unbeknownst to him--a caseload of Seriously Mentally Ill adult spykids, graduate school, and a "Bill the Psychotherapist" practicum gig. Toughest job for your therapist? Staying awake, you boring ass.
Not to worry, Hughes the head-shrinker is back in business, thanks to supportive California Marriage and Family Therapists (LMFT's) and their magazine, The Therapist. It's published in San Diego, a city I saved by being there just once in 2008, kind of like 30 years ago in a 1978 version of Omaha, Nebraska. You see, when the .mil spook extrajudicial execution squad leader declares, "I'll have two hot dogs!" and his partner buys little ice cream treats, all is well at the empty fallout shelter. And I don't have a job? Huckabee, please don't try this in Arkansas, okay? As for me, Chelsea Clinton, per Soldier Boy's e-pages (formerly known as "newspapers"), is now engaged to an investment banker, so I have nothing to lose in that state anymore, except electoral votes.
Yes, that tomato sauce sure was yummy, but my fellow 1994-1996 grad student cleverly last named GERD-ing was not as nice as she seemed. So much so, the lovely Sheryl Crow immortalized her by singing about "Theresa and two con-men." Yeah, I like the CHP flying by with the lights & siren on when I emerge from my Bush 41, because it's much like the movie I'm not being allowed to make, for some reason, but hey, would it trouble you too much to investigate another attempted pizza whacking, instead of playing Terminator games?
As for Papa John's Pizza, I await your lawsuit, so we can all be on TV. And please, don't forget I have forever banished that old company liar WALTER PINCUS from C-SPAN.
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