Why did PENSKE TRUCK LEASING, Reading, PA seize (read steal) my whole personal library, including a book that told me a lot about nuclear war DUMB-SAT near-misses, like the one when I lived in Madison, Wisconsin and the regional Soviet nuke officer said, "Nah, I don't think so" with a screen full of incoming? He's a minor hero there, and he ought to be a major one here. Can I grow up to become president and name another Monday Holiday after him? Why not, dumbass? As for the one grandpa maybe caused, because he didn't like rotten Soldier Boys either, not much was written. That means it was real bad, but "good," in my opinion, and that is all that matters, you spyin' twit. No wonder my Fifth Grade nun would not let us build a LASER for science fair.
I have discovered another genetic and operational trait I never knew had anything to do with Hughes Aircraft Company, meaning that the guy who actually ran my company, now known as Boeing, used to hang-up on NASA and insolent Soldier Boys. Yes, in my sorry and lawful life, when the phone occasionally worked in the budget hotel days, and the little Panasonic was spinning with two lively AA batteries, I amassed a "Greatest Hits" collection of either: A) "That's enough, ma'am. Have a nice day [CLICK]; or B) "This call is terminated" [CLICK].
The culprits? BANK OF AMERICA, CHASE BANK, FIFTH THIRD BANK, COMMERCE BANK, SAFECO INSURANCE, PROGRESSIVE INSURANCE, ENTERPRISE LEASING, AT&T, and more. The simple formula? Have the call center humanoid state the policy, walk them through how they violated their own rules, wait until they shuffled the deck, changed the story, contradicted themselves, then I simply referred back to their own policy for the trap jaw to clamp shut, and if they did not hang up on me first, their whining and blabbering motivated me to roll-out "A" or "B" and hang up on them.
I thought I would have talk show audiences rolling in the aisles by now, and go ahead, please ask my all-time favorite. It is the little Indian subcontinent AT&T lady who took--no exaggeration--over twenty minutes to change my address, and she got mighty snippy with me when I interrupted the soft fiber optic hiss to ask if she was finished with a typically 1-2 minute task yet. Yes, Hughes worked the call center gig, too, and never hung-up on anybody.
Conspiracies everywhere! Such as when your AAA Auto Club Dog decided not to pursue a certain introduction to an oppositely sexed person, but then the girl's calls for Alfa Romeo resuscitation were consistently routed to me. No such troubles today, as a 60-ish year-old female hit me over the noggin' recently (with witnesses) when she said, "Bill, the girls aren't around, because you don't have the money."
Thanks, I needed that. So, why not ask early? USA, do you really need a First Lady? I say, "No," but the problem here is, "First Girlfriend" would get far more attention than energy policy or the Middle East for sure, which could be a first step toward redirecting the POTUS-obsessed and actually getting something done. For example, why would HILLARY CLINTON care if the lights are on at 3 a.m., and how could she know if she's in a federal prison? Don't they have "Lights Out," or a similar concept?
I must be of good breeding, because between getting drenched (homeless = no roof over your head--duh), pushing my homeless and in your face shopping cart, and groveling for Liberty Bell postage stamps, I dream of doing as little work as possible with all .gov minions under my command. I told "them" about the drum risers for a big drum set, I am figuring the three-way vacuum tube electronic active crossover/equalizer someone will have to build for me, and the many vinyl LP's that still sound better than anything out there at 33 and one-third r.p.m. will be played LOUD. And, as a bonus, SAMMY HAGAR will never have to drive 55, because I promise to find some more damn oil.
I'm pretty sure AUDIO RESEARCH CORPORATION is still in business, unless Minnesota Lutherans meeting in the church basement have outlawed pricey audio gear. The Oval Office putt-putt green? Gotta have it. And, how about we add a few pinball machines that go DING-DING with 1960's bells, no whistles. Too zany? Oh no, as my fictional spy character Rita says, "Don't start." No way, because I am sure GETTY IMAGES is already looking forward to disseminating an image of visiting Heads of State on the pinball machine.
Boys must have their toys, but unfortunately, some go BOOM and kill people. Congress won't do what I want? Look for my toothbrush to go in the vest pocket, and I'll sleep on The Mall under black plastic. No heaters for the Secret Service; it shall be old-school fires in oil drums. Then, when I get up nice and rested, it will be, "Boys, let's go up to on The Hill." They will see the microphone booms, lights, and cameras coming, as they peer from offices of that "Club" I do not want to join. There will be nowhere to hide, and on the way, we will cut what I'm sure will come to be called the "Daily BLEEP-OUT," as in:
"Who is that son-of-a BLEEP who bottled my bill up in his god-BLEEP committee? Don't those ass-BLEEP know with housing starts still not worth a sh-BLEEP, and people getting out of a four-year college making f-BLEEP-ing minimum wage, those pieces of BLEEP had better get the god-BLEEP s-BLEEP out of their ears and listen to me, because I've got better things to do than look like an idiot for a measly f-BLEEP-ing four hundred grand a year."
It never hurts to dream, and this is another recurring one:
REPORTER: "Mr. Hughes, you are advocating a "rust-down" that is basically nuclear disarmament. As president, would you be willing to use nuclear weapons?"
HUGHES: "Yes. Next question."
REPORTER: "But, but, but, Mr. Hughes, how can you be in favor of near-unilateral disarmament and use of nuclear weapons at the same time?"
HUGHES: "Because some fool might really attack us. Next question."
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