Under The HoliTortureDome: Part III

"How much is that doggie in the window," sang grandma when I was a kid. Was she talkin' to me? A bridge? No! May I sell DirecTV and buy Time Warner? Thanks.

From the "Guess You Had to Be There Department," how about a petite female within spittin' distance of Mr. Hughes' advancing age, saying to the creepizoid sitting like a rodent in a big, black, SUV: "You talkin' to me"? A fertile question it is so near Westlake Village of the Damned, and she accused the metro area of engaging in a form of "torture" through the Ventura County non-provision of social services, particularly for the homeless.

What's not to like about a gal who wrangled a grocery store gift card out of the Mormons? Then, they started the patented CA "runaround" to aid her in dehydrating and dying, the accusations flew at the...what's that store called? HAZARDWAY? DANGERWAY? RONS? VINS? Whatever. Private security firms spying? No markings on the car? No identifier on the uniform?

You'd think they would put "BIG & BROWN SECURITY SERVICES, LLC" or something of that nature on their white shirt, and refrain from telling Mr. Hughes to "Hit the road," when I've been trying for 17 damn months, and that is an accurate count, not "Number Kookery," like the 117,000 population figure for your vile, hyper-narcissistic community. As a brave lady from the Philippines said at the senior center, "They're rich! And they just sit on their asses!"

That lady has got it going on, and yet another lady made the spyin' allegation, not me, and she's been stuck in T.O neutral longer than I. The problem here, ma'am, is you don't need any psychotropic medication, you are correct. Hughes will gladly entertain you with plans & strategy for future lawsuits and criminal trials, in exchange for a cheeseburger on Tuesday.

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