Chop, Chop, Chop

Let's get serious on Google, and not post cute pictures when I go to POL SCI whacking on:


Another General Election is coming & going, and I'm running for president without voting? See old photos of Eugene Debs' speaking style for a "preview of coming attractions," because I AM NOT HAPPY WITH THE PRESIDENT, OR THE USA. Yes, the not digital at all blue mailbox took my PAC filing to the Federal Election Commission after a near riot over one donated First Class Mail postage stamp. No political prisoners in the United States? Excuse me, this is not part of the U.S. out here, is it?

Was the POTUS' girl being extra bad on Thousand Oaks Boulevard in March of 2009? It went like this, citizens of Earth:

"You should visit a Third-World country."
"I'm already in one."

Did a cop really shine a spotlight on us at 4 a.m., and big bad rag looked scared? Oh, I saw it with my own eyes...don't lie about, "Shoot first, and make up a story later" procedures. She would know all about them, but.....

CAUGHT! By the great one!

Uh, but not until the next day. So now, Mr. Hughes knows of yet another item spygirls have in that purse. Face does not match ID well? That's what should be on your mind, boys, not getting laid. Think with the old penis, and you may not live another day. Pulp fiction? Never read one word, and I turned-off the movie before Act One had transpired. Something about gratuitous violence.

Believe it or not, the aforementioned stamp, which keeps First Class postage value "forever," may have gotten its Liberty Bell due to (may I sell my intellectual property?) my scene in hughes screenplay #7, titled II, where the Liberty Bell is strapped to an APC as townspeople celebrate a post-Civil War 2.0 "liberation" of Philthydellphia. Ever since I wrote that scene, I've wondered how we'd/you'd get the people out. Free Phillies tickets? Computer, what computer? A suspected rap star told me of Cameron's "blue screen" long ago.

No thanks. How about free hot dogs and Dr. Pepper for old-school crowd scenes? I'm not made of money, but really I am. It's the producers who would not be. Moving right into CA paranormal unrealities, you're all getting a bit testy, lately, aren't you? Why is everyone simultaneously crabby in deceptively placid Thousand Oaks? A "satcom simulcast," perhaps? Don't I love it when suspected schizophrenics run past and say, "They can see through my eyes!"

Did I just rhetorically ask some more young people today, "Who are they?" Sure did, and before I can say, "Take your damn medication," many of the troops are suddenly highly functional! A big, comfort food plate from Johnny Rocket's? I am not worthy! Yummm... Yum Yum Corp. it was not, and somebody better not be "joshing" about lunch at Taco Bell. Flyin' Triangles! Flyin' Saucers! No, that's not it.

Try 90 year-old MAFIA (Many Ailing Finks & Intelligence Asses) and DARPA (Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency). I'm not BUTA? (Bugged Up The Ass). Don't touch that Ralph's cart, because conveniently, one of the devices fell out of me, and I put it in the cart. "They," might track you and kill your butt, just like in a movie. (But probably not).

What a "team!" Altar Boy? Boy Scout? Karate Class? Are you kidding? Try leader and chief of all school governments. People, my own dad had to drag me to the organized baseball ball diamond, and buddy/pal/fairweatherfriend/I am about to kill over my non-MLB career. And I was the pitcher? Please join me in the following alternate universe:

"To the stretch...checks the runner...long look...snap toss to second base! Holy cow! Smith was leaning, and he's tagged out! What was he thinking, Jack? Bottom of the senventh, two aboard, full count, and Hughes is out of the inning, just like that!"

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