Workin' On The Railroad

I am now an "Honorary Mexican Illegal," because they mark my spots where not-quite-George-Washington has slept. Underground railroad? Probably, because why pay all of $8.00 per hour at McDonalds?

Gasmask? Handwash?: The Loo's Got MO

Cubs versus Cardinals. Why did I never go to WRIGLEY FIELD, eat authentic Deep Dish Pizza, get good and drunk, toss a ball back onto the field, if required, and generally behave obnoxiously? Well spookies, it's a bit like why I never got in the back of the blue pickup truck for a crazed trip to Mardi Gras. What did a young Mr. Hughes do instead? He flipped the IHOP pancakes, which is a little like the old commercial where the man sleepily said, "Time to make the donuts."

Too bad a QUINN Medicine Man kept saying, "Why didn't you cash your check?" Hey dumbass, I lived on campus where they fed me, and saved my money. Sorry, no drug dealing, and others knew it, because back then, we cruelly and politically incorrectly made fun of gay men. So, the IHOP manager we called "Barney" would pout and say, "I'm going home," then depart in his brand-new 1974 CHEVROLET MONTE CARLO that I could never figure out how he financed on IHOP Assistant Manager pay.

Wanna catch some spies? Look for illogical behavior, and living well beyond your means is a clue. (duh). How about the time I figured-up a world-travlin' spygirl's budget because she gave me the figures, including putting her "cover job" paycheck in my hand to--can you believe this?--take to the bank, and even back then, in the Year of Our Lord 2004, I was wondering if I had been appointed the CIA's "Step 'n Fetch It." Didn't know nothin'? Didn't know enough. And, I am sure it is an incontrovertible fact you cannot globetrot with your monthly budget ringing-up as a big negative number.

Spookies, I am famously bad at math, but I can add it up, or as certain family members said, "It's not rocket science," and why did it take thirty-six (36) years for me to grasp the significance of that one? At least the ghost of JAMES ANGLETON knows I'm right about some things. Was it 1975 or 1976 when Professor HOOD said, "Hughes, you should look into working for the CIA." I did so, and a few weeks later, reported back with, "Dr. Hood, I looked into that CIA suggestion, and it's not for me." Yes, my liberal arts college history professor grinned broadly as he said, "That figures!"

This story, my friends, should be in history books, instead of sharing it on Soldier Boy's Internet, if he has not taken down AL GORE's creation due to unruly civilians who are very busy objecting to some sort of highly sophisticated, and gratingly obvious, socialist-style martial law. I don't have all of the details, but FREE GASOLINE is not in my crystal ball. That said, I have noticed, even with very limited access to Soldier Boy's Internet, that "The Loo" is once again under airborne virus attack at the hands of the ARMY MAN. Don't get too excited in the BARNES-JEWISH HOSPITAL ER; you've got to "buck up," deal with it, and wash your hands like medical professionals, will 'ya?

Yes sir-e Bob, Army Man experimented with all of that over St. Louis skies in the 1950's, and he just won't stop the viral bombardment when the Hughes Family does not act right, by Deefense Pentagon standards, anyway. Yep, now we've got one right down the road from CULVER CITY, with a "Laker Girl" promising to bring out fresh horses and a new laptop computer, so who knows what might happen next? Are you all wagering? I recommend HANK PAULSON's purple $5 bills for sheer ugliness in more ways than one.

Hughes & Windows XP vs. Star Trek Part II

Mr. Hughes is gay, eh? What's her "Contact Information?"

At the time of some swearing (as in sworn-in), I will tell of how the USAF couple next door disappeared under a gaslight replica light on their front lawn of a St. Rita Avenue apartment building. Now, due to this and much more, I have a new Bond franchise for you, and aren't you tired of the "Bond" movie genre? C'mon...tell the truth.

Yep, I've got three "Rita Movies," and I am not writing any more, because some fool might kill me over an unsold, unproduced movie script. Hey! What a country! "Famous," in the black? Sounds like an oxymoron to me, but not in a locked-down USA. Oh, you are free? Tell Mr. Hughes all about it, at the senior center where the seniors want their Social Security Retirement check, Medicare, and drugs. That's why they commented to wit: "Nobody talks much around here," and I will never forget the day they were hollering, "These people are crazy!" and they were not referring to Mr. Hughes.

Airlines? Who needs 'em, when you can pay, blink three times, and you're in Tokyo. Or Moscow. Or Beijing. Nuts? No, I'm not, because when you see the sign that says LITCHFIELD, IL on I-64 and then wonder, "What are these streetlights doing here?" that turn out to be to the south of SPRINGFIELD, IL on I-55, someone is trying to tell you something. What did I do? I cursed all the way down U.S. 51 in my thoroughly "bugged" FORD FOCUS, and only wasted about 90 minutes on the back roads. (BTW, policeman, how can I have two VIN Numbers and no car? Just wondering, but maybe it's another "Hughes thing").

How about that ride on U.S. 50 outside our nation's capital when the Maryland State Police were kind enough to turn-on the cherries and deter a pack of spy rodents who were gaining fast on poor Mr. Hughes at 85 m.p.h.? Ticket? What ticket? This is no damn Bond movie, this is the Royal Policeman, and he owns that transporter beam, not you. President? Don't cause history to repeat itself, because I do not intend to say, like grandpa did, "Sorry, I don't have time."

Technical Note

Hike up that skirt, Sarah, and shoot some wild animals while you're at it. Me? I'm trying to save the Social Security Trust Fund while living in a California ditch. It's a Navy thing.

IT WILL PROBABLY COME AS NO SURPRISE TO ANYONE FAMILIAR WITH MY OLD SITE, AbolishTheCIA.org TO LEARN I AM BEING CONSTANTLY HACKED. So, here's the LEGAL DISCLAIMER.

"Given that vile Soldier Boys control the net, Google might not, as an old mental patient of mine used to say, "Like me too much," and other factors beyond the creator's control, I take no responsibility for misspellings, substitution of similar words to change a sentence's meaning, phonetic spookiness, spaces to send "spy messages," etc. etc. etc.

William C. Hughes

Hughes & Windows XP vs. Star Trek Tech: It's a Mismatch

The younger .mil spooks are so crazy, we go to a two-parter, in part to stay alive. Does Palin have to do this?

I own the transporter beam, so let's stop playing games. Secret? Not really, and did Ward Cleaver really say to the spousal unit in 1983 something like, "I don't like those secret Vandenberg launches. What the hell are they putting up there?" Flash forward to 1994, and AIMEE MANN has got her foil spacesuit on for the I'm With Stupid album photo. By 2002, Mr. Hughes is in an apartment covered with aluminum foil--ceiling, walls, all foil. The psychiatric complaint went like this: "There are waves coming in the walls. They can hear me. They can see me. They watch me all of the time. They know everything."

Okay, what name was on the gear in 1983? Who is filing in the court to to put a veteran of the armed forces with the foil apartment in the loony bin? That would be me, William C. Hughes. Why did I do that? There are three criteria for the nuthouse in America:

1. Danger to self

2. Danger to others

3. Danger due to an inability to care for yourself.

On point three, I filed the papers, and our vet went to 5351 Delmar in St. Louis, Missouri, a place where ex-KGB men have trained as Washington University psychiatrists. Why? Don't ask me, I'm just the heir to Hughes Tool Company and Hughes Aircraft Company. Do "they" tell me everything? Yes. And, it started with "disappearing" vitamin pills on the floor of my bathroom. Missing a cell phone? Car keys? Don't blame me, because I do not control the joystick yet. Not yet.

Let's get sworn-in, shall we?

Screw Your Bank? I'm Not Winning This Thing

Pizza box, pink cake,and dog turds? You talkin' to me?

Do you people at Business Week mean to tell me that the Federal Reserve was established on HOWARD HUGHES' 8th birthday? And, his grandson--that's me--was once married to a woman who could get money out of an early ATM faster than a chain smoker can flick his Bic. It's all true, and "they" sure hate it, don't they? Hmm..."they," "we," and "it." Sports fans, one of the first mandates of advanced spycatching is finding out who they are, and I'm kind of stuck in the 300-level college class, so to speak.

It really reached a zenith last weekend, when the U.K./U.S.A.'s DUDLEY DORIGHT went out to blow a fag--no, not like that--BTW, is Paris Hilton accompanying me to the 2010 Kentucky Derby, or not? I've got some Kentucky State Police stories as we drive to SHANNON'S at the posed speed limit for a late dinner. Anyway, having schlepped around the checks from bank to Fed, I already knew the ATM, check card, and debit card scam was huge from its inception. How about the time liberal Massachusetts fascists were, as momma said, "Playing me crazy," at the hippie food store when I asked, "Can I get cash back from a debit card?"

Why, the little dressed-in-black anarchist looked at me all cuckoo and and it took five full minutes of "The parrot is dead, the bird is not dead," conversation to establish my "wholly" too expensive food purchase could be capped with a more colorful Hank Paulson rendering of ANDREW JACKSON. Yes, swipe the debit card, enter the PIN, get some cash, and guess what? Your bank is making money.

Do you really think the strip mall neo-bank with no big vault makes anything holding on to your money? No, pilgrims! Lending it out for a Chevy Malibu, a car so ugly, they can't give it away? No! The bank makes money on debit & credit card swiping, and many, many fees when your direct deposit suspiciously posts after the string of debits you rang-up in the 24 hours before payday.

Ooops! That's $25 for being bad, and another $25 for being named Hughes, and when we get to $50 a pop, the non-aviator guy is going to catch the bank that sent billions overseas to be broken-up into smaller amounts and be sent to places like Sun Trust Bank in sunny Florida where un-named she's say they can't keep up with the South Beach crowd, but they have been known to run around Beirut? Go figure, and why was that genetically poor speller Paris Hilton in the United Arab Emirates? Just wondering.

Back to banks, it's no wonder they were offering fabulous prizes for not entering your PIN # and signing your name for a debit transaction, because this allows:

1. The bank to keep your money for a few more days.

2. The bank to charge a 2% fee to the merchant.

3. You to check your balance and think you still have some money.

4. And, given #3, you will buy more stuff, and ZAP, 25+25= $50 more to the bank, for each item, that is. Shopping spree on payday eve? That will be $350 to the bank, please.

This, my friends, is how the bank makes money. So, along comes LLOYD CONSTANTINE, a big-shot lawyer, to warn us of horse-hockey I've seen since 1979, that being, "Debit cards enable banks to sidestep the expense of processing checks or cash," or again quoting Mr. Constantine, it represents a huge (20 billion buckaroos) "transfer of wealth from U.S. stores and shoppers to banks."

Why heck, at the cigar shop back home, where the clerk wanted to overthrow the gov'ment, they would not accept plastic for less than a $10 purchase, and that was the cigar shop where the policeman would smoke in front of Mr. Hughes with his gun unsecured and halfway out of the holster, whatever that meant. E-gads, Lovie! The "Reagan-era Fed" never acted on debit card transactions clearing "even Steven" or "at par" but instead duped the consumer into a signature and "interchange fees" for the bank to pocket.

Interchange fees? Is that why I sleep by highway interchanges as the wealthiest man on the planet? Maybe there's more to that "mess," but I did work at banks, that much is undeniable. Regulating those cards? It's up to the Fed, an outfit I plan to sue in federal court the lack of oversight, but I doubt Mr. Constantine will help, even though he thinks the debit card Bonanza is a regulatory job that should fall on the Fed.

I agree, but as with aerospace & defense matters, my place at the table has been stolen by some overweight white guys with hypertension, three kids in college, and a black Lexus in the driveway. Yes, I have two VIN Numbers, but no car, and the policeman just does not care, or as we say in social work, it is not within his "locus of control." So, how dare you question my run for the White House, and given you are so unsupportive, I think I will log-on to the Federal Reserve Bank's website in Saint Louis, Missouri, because as with my personal slogan, "They know things."

Write a Check, Screw Your Bank

Banks are like any other business, they can screw-up, and many have. Where did Bank of America in Charlotte, North Carolina get 3 trillion dollars? Just asking.

With, as I like to say, only 23 minutes left in the hockey game on a public computer, I'm just going to have to eat a big Ralph's roast beef sandwich, instead of type this piece, because it will taste good. To the vegans I say, "Sorry, I did not kill the cattle, someone else did." Got protein? Mr. Hughes needs some, and any further lecturing to the converted will have to wait until tomorrow.

If I'm still alive, that is, and may I ask if the Republic of California could possibly look worse on the Hughes identity thing. Arnold, have you cleared-out your desk yet?