State-Sponsored Murder in the "Homeland"

Don't ask, nothing to tell.

Aren't two of the "establishment's" favorite lines "A lawsuit is pending," and "The investigation is ongoing," but hey spookies, nothing ever seems to change. The president's complexion is darker, these days, and donkeys have the big dongs among the legislative ding-dongs who won't listen to Hughes on health care, when the H-man sat in the VA clinics, he noticed the reference labs overtesting & overcharging scams, he babysat the highly dangerous but no mental hospital bed available person, he hollered when the aforementioned person was "kicked" to the street too early, he went to court when the latest Big Pharma antipsychotic didn't work too well, yet at the same time, he charmed the Big Pharma reps so effectively, their clock probably still hangs on the wall, and that's not to mention there is indeed a "free" lunch in the legal drug business.

Gee, I had to end that previous sentence after illustrating Mr. H knows many things about healthcare, and Soldier Boy matters, too. In fact, if I hear Sarah Palin mention "the troops" one more time, when I finally debate her on the big mind control screen, I plan to curse at her, thus creating a famous bleep-out for American political history.

Sarah, the troops are trained, they are adults, and they volunteered to be there, and to paraphrase that U.K. band "The Who," the troops are alright, but I worry about the sanity of some in the political realm these days. I also worry about the sanity of my merry band of stalkers, and the fact I have to concern myself with this ought to send some CH(i)Ppy Boys to the jailhouse on the wrong side of the fancy lock mechanism, if 'ya get what I mean. Yes, the Republic of California probably has an intel system superior to most nations, which is why I joke there are precious few Californians in California. How about right-wing talkers when they hear the "hippie" candidate thunder, "Hable inglés, por favor, or I'll send you home!"

I think they'll like it, because I will not go to France and build an aerospace company without being able to say salut, comment allez vous? It's a pleasant thought, and some are pleasant to me, and--are you deep in the file?--I used to live on Pleasant Grove Road. Not pleasant, no sugar & spice those tasks of mine.

Ready? Let's rock. Why in God's name would people get un-homeless for nine months, then return to Thousand Oaks/Westlake Village, California to be homeless again? Yes, select locals like my Socratic method, so here it is:QUESTION: How could secret police and covert Soldier Boys get away with murder, or shall we say "extrajudicial executions," in a "Bermuda Triangle" of Los Angeles County?ANSWER: It is too "crazy" to be believed.

Alright spookies, meet the Hughes boy's SUSPECT #1 and SUSPECT #2. SUSPECT #1 returned to Boston, Massachusetts, his hometown, after a lively discussion with the real H-man covering an event that took place on November 22, 1963. Now, this man is Terminator "back" and "homeless" again? What? What's that?SUSPECT #2 is so obvious about his Soldier Boy executioner role, he wanted to know about Mr. Hughes "drug history," something I may die over first, rather than tell a real network TV mind control spinner the TRUTH, and hopeful end all Pablo "Coca Papa" Hughes crap for good.

Why do the girls like that cocaine? America, they really won't tell me. Honest. As for dishonest, please do not claim to be living in a muddy ditch while wearing clothing that looked like momma used the fluffiest fabric softener on the market.Spy? Me? Spy? No, merely observant, and I can catch 'em. Plus, I am running for President of this here shootin' match, so I have to tell you, if we don't do something about a "Homeland" Murder Inc. that justifies its "activities" with what I call "cuckoo bird" National Security Act of 1947 criteria, we are all done as a nation.

Viet Cong Corporate

Let me make it RMN "perfectly clear" that I do not need or want a package delivery service. Not a big one, not a small one. That said, what do you do with a major U.S. package delivery service that has been spyin' illegally on you since 1972? My HS VP said, "Let's go down to UPS and apply for summer jobs." I did so, and guess what? I washed dishes for about one-third what UPS would have paid.

Meanwhile, what do you and my future legal team think UPS did with my newly acquired Social Security Number? I allege here and now they spied on me right up to December 10, 2009. Like the photo? How I miss my 2007 Ford Focus ("Midnight Black" in color). Is black a color? Isn't it absence of light? Not a color, as momma would say, "per se" right?

Hmmm. I'm tired of all this "drama," with no damn movie. Yes, my movie.

May I finish my screenplay?

May I go to Home Depot and stay alive?

May I pay 50 cents for deelicious Senor Coffee at a real Agency on Aging senior center?

May I engage in commerce?

May I take another breath?

May I run for president?

May I, if I win, consolidate the U.S. Air Force and NASA into a "Air and Space Command" under civilian control.

May I?

Oh, and since she has a book, and a bus, may I debate Sarah Palin?

We're off and running early in view of Jimmy Carter 2.0.

LAPD, Where's My CD's?

Blame others if you can't read it, but I think all will agree it's ominous if letters to spygirls = a Trojan called "PS Kill."

Okay policeman, if you ever want to see a big Hughes-sponsored banquet to benefit the disabled or dead cop fund, you'd better not accept Maf-IA lawyer tricks like changing the name of PENSKE TRUCK LEASING to SHICKELGRUBER LOGISTICS. Torture Hughes in the cheap-o hotel where HH probably banged a "fresh" actress when it was brand new? Not okay, and changing the name of said establishment won't help you at all. Zapping Mr. Hughes with microwave energy during the "Transition Period" between el presidentes could put one big Donkey and a fat Elephant in the jailhouse, right? Oh, there is no law, no justice, no rights when you have the misfortune to be named H-U-G-H-E-S. If I see another little spy turd flashing gang signs at me I'm going to.....

See how it works, officer? If I complete that sentence, then I'm the bad guy? Oh no, wide-ass. Little did the Soldier Boy or Drug Thug know it was probably a "Hughes Man" putting the microwave zapper on the utility pole, and "Dr. Q" passed a hint on how to combat the human turkey experiments. For your information, the William Hughes recommendations for defending against an attack of microwave energy are:

1. 600 mg of ibuprofen.
2. Get naked.
3. Hot shower.

How can this have occurred in the USA? It's a damn Civil War in the dark, and I don't fight that way, so my Eurofighter training video is in the mail, right? Probably not, and did I ever think I'd be calling people cowards? No, but if all hell breaks loose, E.T. chaser USAF can kiss their asses goodbye, because you ain't gonna get the Hughes boy's plane. You all have your little "fraternities" and "brotherhoods" where you do crime and do not snitch on each other, right? Hey spookies, f--- you, alright? My "team" seems to include truck drivers, railroad engineers, and airline pilots. GENERAL STRIKE IN THE UNITED STATES?

May I have a lawyer without committing a crime, please? I'd like to ask if it is legal to call for a general strike in this nation, and I promise we won't burn little Renaults like in France. Me? A Fox News darling? I thought "they" had me "painted-up" as a Marxist. It just goes to show the almighty "they" can indeed to anything, like get 98% of the South and Central American cocaine into the USA.

Did the perps know I was subtly warned about the microwave thing several times at 5351 Delmar and 5300 Arsenal Streets, Saint Louis, Missouri? Compartmentalization, eh? You mean burn the Constitution, right? Right! In New Hampshire, it is good to be politically known there, for obvious reasons, especially if the intel community has taken your job for the last time and you've decided to try and run the joint.

I then traversed the nation and awaited the $999 toll, which I would have paid for with plastic. Why even the local policeman said, "You've got all of these credit cards, why don't you use one to go home?" Uh, officer, they don' t work anymore and for the record, the Thousand Oaks, California policemen just chuckled when I asked them if they would pass the hat to send me home. Fake shooting stars? The FBI chasing me through Pennsylvania after a "disappearing act?" Trying to run me off the road in PA? Must be that I know the downed 9/11 aircraft was really a pile of burning tires, right? Right!

Oh, I "stole" the Penske truck when it was sitting on your lot? Ms. "COLSON," like they told George W. Bush, had better "lawyer-up," and really, I don't need them, except for lots of lawsuits where I'm the plaintiff, complicated election laws, and as I mentioned, calling for a general strike in the USA.

I'M UNDER SEVERE HACKER ATTACK, SO LET'S POST AND MAKE THIS A TWO-PARTER.

LAPD, Where's My CD's?

Five shots for JOHN LENNON, three shots fired into William to prevent a better mankind? Did grandpa cause Armstrong's mike to cut off? I know this rascal Howard, and I think he did. The sentence therefore did not make sense, and NASA had to explain. Regarding the International Space Station (ISS), they have a lot of explaining to do, now don't they?

Through the miracle of the Internet (not); more like the Aviation Week 2008 year end round-up, since I wrote the above paragraph I found out BOEING, which I am conveniently the heir to via the HUGHES thing, is somehow the prime contractor for the ISS and the SPACE SHUTTLE.

They need to breathe up there, don't they?

Oil Empargo, 2010

Somebody in the gov'ment, per Information Week, leaked Secret Service safe house locations, Soldier Boy's "personally identifiable information," and a deefense contractor let go of electronic schematics of Marine One, but Mr. Hughes is dogged and tortured? Lawman, I'm on your ass tomorrow, because you know exactly where my worked my ass off to acquire it middle-class stolen property is. No law degree here, but that makes you an accessory, does it not?

Do I have anything at my disposal or under my command like Blackwater? Wackenhut? National Security Buffoons, LLC? No, nothing like that. How about a big high-caliber handgun? Nope. Knife? No. Nail file? No. Scissors? Oh no, "they" stole it. These are the rules: Hughes totally defenseless, with every kind of killer spy, drug thug, freelance jackal, Murder Inc. iceman, and riled-up agent of a foreign power running around in the run-up to one more Christmas where Mr. Hughes will do his best to not get murdered for "spy irony" on grandpa Howard's birthday, that being Christmas Eve.

The best Christmas stories date from 1985 and 2007. In '85, Midnight Mass was never so much fun as with an out of control Jewish spygirl in the pew. It went like this:

SPY: I want some!
HUGHES: Communion?
SPY: Yeah, what do I do?
HUGHES: Stick out your tongue.
SPY: What? They'll give one to me?
HUGHES: Sure. Why wouldn't he?
SPY: So, I just go up to there and stick out my tongue? He won't care?
HUGHES: How's he going to know you're Jewish? Just go up there and stick out your tongue, and you might want to say a damn prayer while you're at it.

(CITIZENS OF PLANET EARTH, THE CENTER PAGE SCREENPLAY FORMAT WAS ABANDONED IN FAVOR OF A COLON AND THE LINE, BECAUSE SOME HACKER WAS MAKING IT DOUBLE-SPACED NO MATTER WHAT. IF YOU CAN BELIEVE THIS, MY BEST THEORY ON ALL OF WHAT I CALL "DOUBLE-DOUBLE CHEESEBURGER" CRAP IS, SUPPOSEDLY SANE MEMBERS OF THE U.S. INTELLIGENCE COMMUNITY--THINK USAF--REALLY BELIEVE MY FEMALE SPY ACQUAINTANCES ARE FROM OUTER SPACE. THIS "THEORY" IS BASED ON ONE REAL UFO SIGHTING IN MY LIFETIME, AND THE FACT I AM CONVINCED MY GRANDFATHER CLEANED-UP ON ROSWELL IN MORE WAYS THAN ONE. STAR TREK STUFF FOR REAL? YOU BET YOUR BIPPY, AND I OWN IT. CLOSED SENATE HEARINGS? WE SURE NEED 'EM, AND I WILL BLOW E.T.-CHASERS, SKEPTICS, "HE'S CRAZY" MANTRA MORONS, AND GREEDY MORMON FOLLOWERS OF A DAMN SCHIZOPHRENIC OUT OF THE ROOM, EXACTLY AS HOWARD HUGHES DID).

Flash forward to 2007, when once more Hughes learns that when you secretly own "The Dark Side," there was a spooky law office to the east, Navy JAG's to the west, Obama-supporting, Wi-Fi sharing, and selling crack girls next door, plus the big politician to be named later who had his CIA thugs upstairs doing the ever-popular duality of regional cocaine dealing and narcing at the same time, thanks to a Federal Bureau of Investigation that makes Hoover and his tutu look good.

You naughty spies! Why, the Concord, New Hampshire policeman said, "Don't take this on alone," so I wrote to the Drug Enforcement Administration (DEA) not once, but twice, however, USPS spookies probably stole the letters, and then, either Maf-IA or that pesky old Soldier Boy stole the computer that has the letters on the hard drive, "they" took two flash drives that might have the letters on them, or maybe the files "disappeared."

Vanished? Really? "Vanish" was the name of my favorite toilet bowl cleaner before homelessness struck, and as to why some "reasonable and considerate" female won't house me, in exchange for some cooking and bottle-washing, I don't know. That's not to mention the potential trillions of U.S. Dollars, but she won't get any, unless of course there are skills extant that would land the exemplary candidate a job at Hughes Aerospace, which may be open by 2020 after I kill-off all of my enemies, if only I knew who they are.

Meantime, "they" keep on trying to kill me, as the policeman hits his or her F-10 key on a 17 inch screen in the patrol car, as not a goddamn tangible cops 'n robbers thing is done for me. Overthrow the government? Why bother? It is bankrupt many times over to the point I'm really worried about Social Security being there for born too late Baby Boomers such as myself, but I don't seem to be devastating Sarah Palin in a debate with my insights on the Social Security Trust Fund--not yet, anyway.

Yeah, who cares? If Soldier Boy insists on filling-up his C-130 with cocaine and Ecstasy, why should I lift a finger? Plus, the soldiers & sailors have guns, yet it's a yawn dating back to getting smart with Spanish fascist soldiers a la Hemingway, and I got away with it, even though they had the presumably loaded machine guns.

As for coked-up U.S. Soldiers around Christmas, 2007, when they grilled me on what spygirls eat for dinner (on my tab, of course), it was odd odds, like three soldiers, one Hughes, but the surveillance facts should indicate spirited jawboning and pointing of fingers took place nonetheless. In fact, it was so bad, the big Cumberland Farms clerk lad who I called "The CIA Hippie" came out, stood with his hands on his hips, and said something like, "Hey, cut it out." This was a huge compliment from a guy who collared shoplifters and broke-up fights himself rather than call the policeman, who was reported to be busy with other matters, like spraining his neck looking the other way on drug traffic.

Was that why I awoke unable to breathe on Christmas Eve, 2007? And, who was that politician who during the 2008 New Hampshire Presidential Primary said, "Don't touch the hair," as with the locks on my dead body. Oh well, as long as the Secretary of State in the nation's first presidential primary was both giggling and all-knowing on such matters in joshing with Mr. Hughes, I think the right people are "in the loop," about my having been nerve-gassed several times, the neighbor's drug dealing, and a few toys in the attic.

Is Liv Tyler still single? Never mind, but do you think my letter to OPEC will be delivered? I'm asking them to cut-off the oil that fuels Soldier Boy's War-of-the-Month Club and a terror program where we bomb commuter trains, then round-up the usual (A-rab) suspects.

Can we do an SNL opening featuring Bill Clinton and I laying around homeless? Hillary's not kicked him out yet, but stranger, yet ultimately logical things have happened. After all, she's got a gov'ment job, and he doesn't. My first line, if I'm writing, would be a two-part question and a statement: "Mr. President, how many spies are there in this country, and why did they steal my Penske truck loaded with everything I own? Sir, I miss my Deep Purple albums."

RKO All Over Again

As my Bond-like girl Rita says, "Don't start." How many times she says it only Soldier Boy knows, because while my hard drive spinninth, the U.S. Army has taketh the LCD screen. How much can the intel community immortalize my characters, when hey, there's no movie yet.

And I'm "nuts?"

Whew! Can I build Styrofoam Sears Tower rubble and not get murdered over it? Will the Chicago Fireman want to be in a movie and put out the fires? I think he might. Now, does the Illinois Film commission or whatever pay me, or do I have to pay the fireman? I'm new at this, don't you know?

Has ROBERT MUELLER been cuffed and read the rights I never had? Not yet? Oh well. Lawyers? Who needs lawyers to purchase a fine pre-owned beat-up Chevrolet like grandpa Howard? Jet Pilot my second American civil war script ain't--it's a whole lot better, and all of the People Magazine types already know it. Plus, when female Senior Citizens, formerly known as "little old ladies," start hollering "These people are crazy!" and they mean certain public employees, not Mr. Hughes, maybe I will live to tell Marine Boy he's forbidden to play Hail to the Chief on my watch.

Feeling Unwanted

If I live to write it, one of the chapters in my book on Homelessness in America will be titled "Unfriendly Architecture." That's not glass or Plexiglas, folks. There is nothing between you and a sky full of rain in Ventura County near public buildings. Kind of makes you feel unwanted.

Malibu Hughes? Are you nuts. I'm not.