What the hell is all of that stuff that fell down in the desert?
I don't know. We'd better call Hughes.
Good! Good plan--Hughes will clean that crap up, then we'll say he's crazy!

Like "Karnac the Magnificent," eh girls? I've got a CA Lotto ticket too, and e-mail 'a comin' on the winning numbers. Don't you know I'd return from Missouri to find the lady who gave me the ticket if it won? Scoundrels! Sociopaths! Drunks! Cokeheads! Potheads! You talkin' about my political "base?" Palin, why don't you shut the f*** up!

During a break from the nearby Truman Presidential Library, could "we" locate the one on the left? It's just like the Spuds KcKenzie girl I investigated for civil commitment, then found on U-Tube. She indeed was the girl dancing with Spuds on the left.

I was told I'm "Hanging on by threads" by someone who must have studied psychology, then it appeared the KC mini L-berg mafia swung into action with an event called "Bingo for Boobies" to help with breast cancer I can cure, once the gates of the "HHMI" are breached by its rightful owner/bossman/writer guy/candidate for president. Unlike Hughes Network Systems, LLC where I freely roamed near the grounds, I figured Hughes Medical was good for its double-digit billion dollar endowment and a demolition team, so why bother "skulking" around there? Want the punch line? In Thousand Oaks, California, it's just "Bingo for Boobs," and there's nothing charitable about it.

I hear Roswell, New Mexico is becoming quite the tourist trap. JOHN MACK's passing was noted at 11019 #109, because I did wonder why the ex was tanned like a goddess and hiking in New Mexico, of all places. True! And, don't you know the nuns were at it again by rigging my 5th Grade almost the whole letter grade project on a state in the USA. Mine? Procrastinator like Howard I am, so the bottom of the barrel yielded <gasp> New Mexico. And, Mr. President Negro, who stole my hard work, even back then? Ring-up you know who on your Blackberry and find out, please.

Up all night were me & me mum, cutting & pasting. That, and a crinminal USAF guy sponsoring Scott AFB "pot luck(s)"are the reasons I don't like National Geographic too much. Upper middle classes had that mag on their shelves, and were given oil companies, whereas poor CEH was lucky to have the Globe Democrat and Post Dispatch delivered to the door. Did I really look at my parents' tax records? You bet I did! How about "bug" their bedroom? Yes sir, General Dickhead! And I'm not the real one? Try a job and a direct deposit instead of money laundering, duffel bags full of 100's, and extortion. Or, is that extort, then you get the bag of cash? Ask Mitt Romney, as I would not know.

Who sold us that house? A "Mr. Riggs?" On what streeet, "Puzzle Boy?" HINT: She was Hungarian, the big hit was "Lay Down," and in the EU, son, they do move the borders occasionally, such that grandma's home town used to be in Austria, but now it's Hungary, becasue I got A's in geography, so I can read a map. Odd it is, that Soldier Boy's Internet maps do not seem to feature my "heritage," but my atlas in the seized <skip, skip, skip> PENSKE truck does.

Papa had me looking up what? Ellis Island data, and now I'm supposed to think an "Ellis" employed by a retiring U.S. Senator is going to come to my aid? Look out! Hit the deck! Flyin' saucer! Flyin' triangle! What's her first name? Same as the do-nothing case manager at BJC Behavioral Health who sat between my cubicle and the photocopier. No, I was not copying my book manuscript they should have been proud of, Shame of the Sane, on company toner. "Bill," was a better community mental health worker than sliced Wonder Bread, but what was that new bosses' name? Same as a county prosecutor?

Oh Lord! Then I went "downtown," and was not the boss, again? Who was? A dick "Tracey?" She did not know what she was doing, but don't we all love the boss who freely admits it? I helped as best I could, and was never put in the "Gilbert Detention Center," a very small room where the workers were sent if they were too busy spying to provide much documentation on our mentally ill clients. Did they really put a ledge-jumper out there, and what did I say? "I'm too busy for that shit," and I stand by my statement. The St.L firemen dutifully came up the steps when it got worse, and I recall saying, "What the f*** is wrong with that case manager to where she can't get the damn client off our ledge? I'm getting the f*** out of here."

Then, as I departed, what did it look like on the outer stairwell?

A lot like the NYC Firemen going up the steps of the WTC, as featured on BBC News.

Firemen? What firemen?


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