Self-professed Mafia girls and their Canasta. Me? Mafia man? No, try Warren Zevon song lyrics. Computer Card games that look like hallucinations? When we get around to talking about LSD, let's stick to the U.S. Army & U.S. Air Force crispy brains that I cared for over seven (7) years as a community mental health worker. Hey VA Hospital, you call that "Schizophrenia?" Hughes calls it "caught."
Car trouble? Hey, America, it might be "spy trouble." Secret police? Surely you jest, but not. It is true that one of my claims to fame in Missouri was maybe having something to do with the real policeman shooting at them with real bullets when they were messing with a poor soul's car. Yeah, they really did, but unfortunately missed, maybe on purpose to send a "message" of another sort.
Were "friends" sabotaging my car(s)? Yes, because spies are not friends.
1968 CHRYSLER NEWPORT, Pale Yellow
The salesman was slick, the A/C cold, and a 383 engine? King of the Road, or so I thought, until the oil leaked, leaked again, the radiator leaked, the transmission fluid leaked, the power steering pump reservoir leaked, and when I called it the "East Africa Car," at least one spy teen was smart enough to get the "Dr. Leakey" joke.
1972 DATSUN 1200, Olive Green
I should write a book on this car alone. Grandpa, yes that grandpa, but not the one you think, lent me some money toward the purchase. I paid it back at $50 per month, and yes, bogus Five-o's, I sent my grandparents a check every month, until for a Christmas gift, I was told, "Aw, forget about it." What were they testing? William pays his bills & debts, a--holes, but not to Mafias for merely the privilege of staying alive.
On the mechanical end, first a new transmission that cost as much as I had borrowed from the Genevieve Street Bank, then my "Starter a Month Club" formed, and soon thereafter, the PCV Valve managed to get sucked into my engine outside King of Prussia, Pennsylvania, both a bad joke and evidence magic Hughes technology is not all that new, given this occurred in 1976. Yes, don't we love college pranks, like a spygirl lying about clutch competence, wrecking it, then coming around like a comet 24 years later to be a lazy-assed GF. (That's a medical chart abbreviation for "girlfriend"). She was the lump on the right side of the bed from a potential assassin's perspective, by the way, but I chased him off, per usual.
Good thing I was forewarned by aviation lights through our bedroom window from a helicopter hovering in my back yard. Again, does this stuff happen to you? I hope not. Polishing-off the Datsun, I really did wire-up a homemade ignition switch, because Mr. Hughes knows "wires" & stuff, so be scared, very scared. The "final frontier?" A complete, case of beer consuming engine tear down, with a spy guy/drunkard. I said, "We left out a part, Rick." "Aw, just start it up," he said, and that 1200cc engine purred like never before, sans pushrod, or at least I think that's what it was. It was sold to a probable spy who said, "Your ad said 'runs well', not 'runs good.' You must have gone to college." It is true that I attended Lindenwood, but that's barely college, and as it turned out, possibly training for something else.
1972 FIAT 124, Olive Green
Was my wife really on TV filling-up the tank with Premie at a 1980 shocking $1.85 per gallon?One? Eighty-five? Do they plan this stuff? Yes, "they" do, and she sure looked good at the pumps, if somewhat pissed. It was a MOBIL station, where I was a customer because they sponsored opera, right Dick Cavett? Right! Later, I quit them for COCOCO PHILLIPS on a rumor it was all domestic crude, yet another "hint," because guess what? That thar oil is mine, not yours, Maf-IA. Haven't killed me yet? As my semi-famous client Herbert would say, "Are you surprised?"
The 124, believe it or not, got recalled due to rust; something about the car possibly breaking in half, and now that Fiat seems to be taking over the world, or so they think, maybe that was another little "message" I did not understand. Half, eh? Not one penny to gangsters or soldiers, and next time a Sgt. York goes wild, I'm going to.....may I have a lawyer before I threaten the Joint Chiefs of Staff in Soldier Boy's Pentagon? Thanks.
1974 AUDI 100 LS, Orange
I was apparently judged the spy's "100" by fellows I nicknamed, "Two Guys With a Car Lot." Can't recall their names. What a car! Quirky, yes, but I found Mr. Baker, the mechanic, and when he was done working on it for a reasonable price, you could put a glass of wine on the dash at 70 m.p.h and not see a ripple. King of the Adirondacks I was, and the spygirl said, "Yes Bill, the trees are dead from acid rain." Ultimately, the burnt orange Audi was towed away from the address .gov types won't let me change, so I will have to change the government. Get elected and change things. That is how it works--period.
1978 CHEVROLET IMPALA, White
Started every time, and was never vandalized by spooks. I wonder why not?
1990 MAZDA 323, Blue
Was it 130,000+ miles? I was trying to get to 150,000, and that was well before I caught-on to the USA's obsession I call, "Number Kookery." One "thirty" (terminate)? One "fifty" (you are the "secret policeman?"). No, you are a damn idiot! All of those clients, all of those miles, and I can't get a ride up the block to buy "provisions?" Stick it where the sun don't shine, and all spies know what I'm going to stick you with, due to your rather obvious nightmare of drugs, drugs, drugs, & Murder Inc. in the "safest" city where? Are you nuts? I'm not.
How about that smiling CarX Man who rigged my 323's brakes to lock-up? I thought it was a defect in the design of the car. General Rule? If the spy is smiling, he or she is stabbing you in the back. "Byron," the black guy in the shop, can put Mr. CarX Smile in jail, because he's the one who said, of the 240SX that would come next, "Heck, this car ain't even broke-in yet." True, and how many times did that vehicle keep me alive in Nashville, TN? Now, I want my movie studio there, because I think all Pre-9/11 kamikaze drivers were lied-to, were they not?
The Mazda only had one brake lock-up that led to a crunch, and given it was due to a moron who hit the brakes unexpectedly near "Little Debbie's" home to cause an accident, when no damage was seen, the spy and I said, "Forget it." Today, I'd like to forget this B-Grade spy movie life of constant entrapment schemes and messed-with automobile brakes. As my "Hollywood Helper" said, "In some ways, it's good that you're homeless." You are correct, sir! However, maybe I'll hire a driver some day at $200,000 or so, because honey, you are going to have to, as yet another spy once said, know how to drive, if 'ya get what I mean, because this ain't no friggin' Bond movie.
How about that next car salesman I called, "The Surfer Dude?" Here is a reenactment:
HUGHES: I'll give you [ ] for the 240.
SURFER: Okay. I'll give you [ ] trade-in for the 323.
HUGHES: Give me more for the 323.
Could multi-billion Dollar/Euro deals be that easy? Stay tuned. Depends on the Surfer.
1992 NISSAN 240SX, White
The fuel line was cut, but not cut. The parrot is dead, the parrot is not dead. A spark plug was jammed down into the engine block? How did you do that? Now I know, and spookies, I'm just not telling until I get on television [no abc 7 van in sight today. Maybe tomorrow]
2007 FORD FOCUS, Black
The pretty, near to my age salesgirl was trying to kick her husband out and.....liar, liar! Especially with "cia" in your last name. Two pennies on the gearshift case upon delivery? "Another bugged car," I thought, but did not yet know why in early 2007. How many times did Nazis turn-off the ABS remotely for Bond-movie exciting skids? Not telling until we are in courtrooms. Can Hughes drive like in the movies? How about brakes locked for 100+ yards on an icy Washington, D.C. overpass with lots of traffic. No kissing the guardrail, no insurance claim, and don't ask me how I did it. Shooter Jennings was cranked loud, and I sat for seven and a half hours.
Did the fireman wet-down that overpass to create ice? Yes, he did, and shame on you! Did a Russian c-nt hit the poor little Focus in a big, black, Cadillac Escalade and drive away? Yes, and who cares, because like Harry S. Truman, if "they" piss me off in that job, I'll just take a walk, any damn time I please.