Barack? C'mon, What's Your Real Name?

Now, the Hitler Youth of Thousand Oaks are asking:

Q: "What's up?"

A: "Not your I.Q."

It is not 1973, right? Bob Woodward got old and sucked-up to George W. Bush, didn't he? The Washington Post ain't what it used to be when Ms. Graham ran the joint, is it? Watergate it isn't when the Hughes on-call stays "liberal," but tends to read the Washington Times instead. New York Times? May I crumple it up for padding when I move back home? Those Styrofoam peanuts are so expensive!

I think .mil spooks now know you cannot seize my library, love letters, and mostly vinyl record collection, act dumb, then march by as what I've nicknamed "One Adam Twelves." "Ever been in the military?" they've asked, more than once. Try joining Her Majesty's Navy in 1779, making Admiral, and getting stuck in as King, because that's how it used to work.

Alright soldiers, sailors, and cuckoo-bird Mormon USAF aviators, you know I often point out names like "COFER," "MITT," and "JEB" are not in the "baby-naming" books, so let's ponder what cracked open the final chamber of my real-life "Temple of Doom."

1. Fake names in the United States Government. New baby? Did you name him "Colon?" Didn't think so.
2. Fake names at Penske. My favorite? "Dave Cargo."
3. Fake names at the Goebel Senior Adult Center.
4. Fake names at the California Human Services Agency (HSA).

All my life a certain relative would say, "That's an interesting name. Where are you from?" So, when the caseworker at HSA decided I would not be allowed to starve on The Arnold's watch, I said to "I. ROLDAN," "'I' must stand for 'Isabelle'." No, her name is supposedly "Isella." America and EU, I sella satellites, but seem to be living out of Ralph's Cart 729.

Fortunately (I guess), the global spy infrastructure is well aware of who I am, but the cops don't care. Why do I have to explain to the young ones that the policeman is simply a social worker with a gun. And, he's a bureaucrat, so he does as little as possible. These are ironclad rules, as is, "He with the gold rules," so as a veteran one said, "Bill, something's gone haywire."

Indeed it has, so let's start impeachment proceedings with, "What is the president's real name?" Mine might be BRUNSWICK, which would account for all of the bowling metaphors in my life. Did you enjoy The Great Lebowski? I did. Why, I'd bet (if I wagered), the National Security Agency cabals went cuckoo when I changed the Cornell softball team into a bowing team for my fictional Rainbow Rebellion.

That was Hughes Screenplay #1. Why have #2 - #6 not sold? Why did the ephemeral "they" try to kill me over #7? They didn't? Try this exchange:

SPYGIRL
I have to make sure you are not a terrorist.

HUGHES
Do I look like a terrorist?

I guess you had to be there to see my Red & Cream colored backpack and a violet jacket. Will some damn female dress me someday? Thanks; I'm never consulting a "Men's Magazine" for haberdashery tips. The backpack is now "gone;" I think to Germany's Merkel, with a "first look" by the SS. No, not that SS, the Secret Service. Don't I love their helicopter flying around, sans jamming gear. Oh, I'm not all of that. Not yet, anyway.

Returning to present tense, why do you think I need a signed contract to part with Hughes Screenplay #8? Because I'm not stupid, you big ass. Back to political business: BARACK, like the Army barracks that blew-up in Lebanon under Ronald Reagan, plus O-BAM-A, meaning what? With all due respect, juxtaposed with Lynard Skynard fair & balanced "What's Your Name, Little Girl" defiance, I ask, "What the hell is the president's name?

(God forbid I should make it alive to a real U.S. Government Document Repository Library, because I'm sure the FAA report on Lynard Skynard's plane crash will make for grand entertainment. Yeah, it's H-U-G-H-E-S, and maybe the Marriott will spell it right now).