How long of a "diversion" do you desire keeping me investigating what rock star is dead, and which one is not? The wife gave me a book about JIM MORRISON in 1981, and I said, "The girlfriend drowned him." JOHN LENNON? Let's don't go there. Gangstahs playing Tupac for me? Are they trying to tell me something?Aliyah? The plane was not only overloaded, the pilot didn't have a license and was on cocaine? Her funeral was on 08.31.2001? Didn't ZIAD JARRAH's hitman come to Burbank when I figured out what was supposed to happen to me on that day? He fell asleep, as spies often do. What does it mean, what does it mean, what does it mean.....? Sometimes it means I hope I'm not right about something. You mean I'm the you know what, and I'm going to reunite those guys? Do I get paid? After running me around in circles on that one, he's still alive? The holes in the official account are big enough to drive an 18 wheeler through, and I don't even need the microfiche machine at the SAINT LOUIS COUNTY LIBRARY, but it wouldn't hurt, if 'ya get what I mean.
Truly "blown away" is Mr. Hughes on the robust response (not) to a brutal LASER pointer and paintball attack on--yes, kooks, it's true--an early candidate for president. How many Hollyscummy suburbians do I have to tell that I rubbed my shoulder calmly expecting the worst, like a red, warm liquid, and instead it was yellow and smelled like fish. Now that I am good & angry, plus more than ready to join your stupid-assed "war," in a way you won't like, let's go into Clinton spokesperson mode and "parse it out."
If the no doubt spoiled show biz kid has a small caliber handgun or rifle, here's the "scoop":
SHOT ONE hit me in the back of my right leg, behind the kneecap. Didn't feel it, but if it was a bullet, I'd need an artificial knee.
SHOT TWO hit me in the small of my back, and I felt it. It's a .22? Ha, ha! 'Ya would have missed my aorta, but "nicked" my spinal cord, so it's wheelchair time for sure.
SHOT THREE was the one where the Hollyspoiledscumbrat pumped-up the pressure on his paintball rifle, and it really hurt. That's why I thought--and I am not thinking this again until you are all watching me on television being shot at as a bona fide presidential candidate--if that's a gunshot, my left hook to drug thugs is no more. What if I make POTUS someday? Have they tested the air raid sirens in Cali, Columbia yet? Not yet?
The cumulative effect? I'm down on the sidewalk, not with fatal wounds, but I die anyway. Why? No AMERICAN MEDICAL RESPONSE ambulance, no PRN ambulance, no MCCORMACK ambulance, no GOLD COAST ambulance, no YELLOW CAB, no AMERICAN CAB COMPANY, no short schoolbuses, no regular-sized schoolbuses, no PEGASUS TRANSPORTATION school buses, no DIAL-A-RIDE vans, no (disney) ABC 7 van, no TIME WARNER truck, no BIG WHITE LIMO, no BIG BLACK LIMO, no "He Man Pick 'em Up Truck" with fog lights, no PARADISE ELECTRIC bright as an NFL night game at kickoff super-expensive vehicle, no THOUSAND OAKS POLICE CAR, no VENTURA COUNTY SHERIFF SUV, no CALIFORNIA HIGHWAY PATROL vehicles (and I sure see them a lot)--there was NO ONE out there, for a very suspiciously long while.
Why? I here allege your corrupt lawmen sponsored the "event." Bad cops? You've sure got a lot of them out here, so I would have been dead, not due to the wounds, but lack of assistance. Cell phone? In my limited experience, real spies and spycatchers don't carry one, you pathetic twit.
And, that's not even the whole scummy story. Look for more soon, as Mr. Hughes will continue to refer to himself in the third-person, like Bob Dole, a conservative I always liked, because he said whatever he wanted--like me you stinky Mafia motherf---.