So Many Ways

"Think Jonestown," said one who knows more than my self-assigned code name of "Supermoron." I did not want to in 2008, but that was before all of the single-engine planes took off and flew west from the homey Concord Airport. "A sucker is born every minute," but at least I've gone from picking a fight with big .mil spooks in Brentwood, Missouri to receiving dish from one tough Brentwood, California girl. That's progress, folks.

Did I really hear, as part of the now eight year old, marathon psy-op, "There are so many ways to kill a guy." Yes, I did, and Brits, I promise to kingsley-up my grammar, but right now, I'll say once more, "That ain't workin'." I mean, "terrorism," and unfortunately, I mean right here in the USA. Oh, Obama does not want want to use that word? Maybe a spy using her maybe real name nailed that one on a news comment blog, by giving me a coded NH congrats, but then adding, "Think Jim Jones."

Having spit out the Kool Aid long ago, I did not need reminders, but really I did, because the current highly spooky mess goes way beyond the confines of the Paramount lot. Yes, it is true; I look at the stars in the sky and curse the Space Shuttle. ISS is a Boeing creature? Breathe much up there? Yeah, you might have to UPS via a Soyuz before too long, as it is true, despite the whims of Chitown gangsters, that Hughes owns Boeing. Parts? What replacement parts? Fellows, you'll have to get out the legendary NASA plastic tubing, duct tape, and wad of chewing gum after the judge bangs his or her rubber chicken.

A "legal" way to kill you? Why is murder/suicide in the USA off the scale? No dummy, it's not just the economy, it is partly the numbered debriefing of how my eyeglasses did not "disappear," because someone made me some "special" glasses, just like my "special " HP computer, and isn't that strange MI-6 guy like in the movies working on the royal vacuum tube laptop? Not yet? Let us debrief the morning of August 7, 2010.

1. Trash talk brought on the "Cuckoo Winds." "No!" shouted Hughes, "No chasing papers across the patio today!"

2. No sooner had H-man cursed the obvious "Cuckoo Shack" that makes my creek full of water when there is no natural source, there appeared a Mexican Chupacabra hypnotically staring at six eyesore boxes of dirt. "Oh no," I said, "Last time they tried witches & warlocks, so I'm getting away from this guy." [Hollynote: Hughes Screenplay #8 review indicated the Nazi bad guy mentions "Planting a garden," so a real gardening project began? Wait a minute! The script exists only on paper! Can "they" hijack your optic nerve and see things? Yes! And, let's go to court on the legality of that, shall we?] Down the patio went Hughes, to again observe the California hypnotized. Better brush my hair. Ooops! where'd the brush go? Hand in pocket--no brush. A volley of EXPLETIVE DELETED'S later, hand in same pocket--there's the brush, and sorry UCLA quantum physics e-mail refusing jackass, I'm 100% legally competent and there has been not one day of DSM IV mental disorder clouding my life. As "herbie" would say, "Are you surprised?" UK calls them dossiers, and you got the wrong one, Cuckoo-Bird! Off went the hat and special glasses to the top of a...what? A bush. Hair brushed, The Real One was next hit by one of those lovely "disorientation beams." Where's the computer? Where's my notebook? Where's my pen? Where's my Flying mags? (since ripped-up in disgust due to spotting a U-2 pilot. Putty on the windows and super-duper avionics? Looked like the work of my GENERAL DYNAMICS--BOEING--MARTIN MARIETTA--LOCKHEED team. Oh, "they" don't like me knowing these kind of.....I see, that's why NORTRHUP GRUMMAN hangs around so much. All of Hollywood blackmailed? My, my, and tally-ho! I just show up alive, right? Right!

3. Long item #2, wasn't it? By now, most items had been found under the Cuckoo Shack beam, but still no hat, no glasses.

4. The search began, and the pit of my stomach was sour, given the last pair was swiped at not-so-safe Safeway. See you in the 19th & 20th century courts. Here was the thought process:

a) Retrace every step. The glasses could not be gone, I thought due to a special alloy.

b) What were you thinking?

c) Retrace steps.

d) Got to be around--remain calm--things do not "disappear" (ha, ha!).

e) Back to the bush, which was the first place scanned visually.

f) Check for "masking," or optic nerve tap effects.

g) No distortions? Check for micro grav fields.

h) 1985 hint: "Everything goes to ground," in a novel, not a "secret document." Look under bush--presto! There were the hat and glasses, knocked down by a presumed "mini-grav field" to under the bushes.

No call to the Sheriff to report yet another crime. Hat on head, glasses on nose, and as the family saying went, "Onward and upward," to kick "Star Trek made real" butts. How inconvenient for Commie Girl/Nazi Boy/Anarchist Creep extremists!

What shall we do with them, Lovie?