"We" have to be very careful in the Maf-IA Center computer lab, because one false move and some lousy hacker is either going to "disappear" the text or upload it before I click the mouse. This is Jimmy Carter "exacerbated" by the fact I just found a great photo of grandpa-pa showing how those long legs were double-jointed at the knee, like MINE. DNA Test? Are you crazy?
You're in the Army now
You're eating Army chow
You'll never get rich
By digging a ditch
You're in the Army now
I sang that song as a kid, and had to reach 53 years of age before I found out my grandfather pissed-off the Army Man by flying around on dates with the hotties of the day when wartime rules made that a distinct "no, no." Not really for Howard, because he had a special Army Man decal on his plane that they tried to take away, because if you were female and grandpa liked you, you were flying, war or no war. The surveillance record will show no famous female has ever jumped off the wing of the plane(s) I do not have, but I discovered the first one to look up at me in Sherman Oaks like, "Hey, it's really him" made a movie in 1999 titled Dudley Doright, which oddly enough is a nickname I've given myself independently, before I saw the DVD while waiting in line at Ralph's.
Problems:
1) I can't afford the DVD
and;
2) Soldier Boy temporarily broke my "special" computer he sold me at Best Buy that plays DVD's, so I can't get one from the Nazi library and watch it.
Did you know every Compact Disc and DVD has a tracking number on it that the illegal intel types will collect through dirty software companies, then transmit your listening and viewing preferences over the Soldier Boy's Internet, to where we can only speculate? This, I believe contributed to the "surge" of interest in analog Long-Playing thirty-three and a third r.p.m. records on turntables in the late 1990's, because some people knew 9/11 was coming, therefore we would be spied-upon in this manner. I will write about this separately to "needle" stereo buffs and Aimee Mann's pack of thoroughly caught spies.
Maybe it is a good thing I can't play my Jimi Hendrix and Guns n' Roses CD's all day like a little spy-twerp with headphones on, because the Thousand Oaks "City Fathers" apparently think freelance spying is legal. Spies, I've learned, like eating metaphors, and with the Hughes boy in Southern California for 16 months, my know-nothing slogan for you vile bags of worthless protoplasm might well be, "Billions and billions sold."
Ha, ha, ha--are we done yet? No, not yet. So, let's go back in time to about 1926, when grandma and Howard were participating in the "Roaring Twenties," if 'ya get what I mean. I'm quite sure Howard had some big ideas the illiterate Soldier Boys of that era summed-up as "communist." However, grandma did not agree, so to be blunt, Howard stayed alive--a lot longer than you think, because that needles hanging out of the arm of his "corpse" is yet another "inside joke" I will not share until I figure out who died, meaning McNeil or Lehrer, and appear on the show.
Did I tell you I don't get out much? And, oh my, that Soldier Boy is very stingy with his Internet. Yes, one of the first unsolicited communications with today's more skilled spies was when I asked, during the 2008 New Hampshire Presidential Primary (in which I was a candidate, by the way), if maybe grandma was a commie. The spooks then ran off to Hungary and Kenya, and with drama worthy of the movies I'm not permitted to make, the answer came back "No," for my grandma, but as for the other guy's dad, I think the jury is still out.
So, it's kind of "All in the Family" when it comes to lying about a Hughes. When we get to Prince Charles, I think it was a commie cabal meeting on the high seas that "they" tried to use against him, but I have to keep asking who was selling helicopters to our Army, and who was selling arms to the Nazis during the war. I think the historical record is pretty clear it was the Hughes clan selling to our Army Man, while the Bush family was confused about something or other, which from what I know about World War II, would be nearly impossible.
Confuse Allied with Axis powers? Wow, and we get all of the s---, because we have all of the money. With young William it was one college class, taught only one time at the CIA liberal arts boot camp in St. Charles, Missouri. It was called "Marxism," and can you believe before the Maf-IA stole all of my stuff, I reviewed a blue midterm book I still had from that class, and you know what? Karl Marx made sense, but that does not mean capitalism isn't the best way to distribute goods and services.
Mr. William Hughes has been on the record with this pro-Mercantile rah-rah since getting an "A" in the Marxism class during the Year of Our Lord 1976. Do you smell a long-running "set-up?" I lack details, but this may be the case, and no Bible-length indictments are coming my way, but it is a fact that before I stopped drinking, but never beat my wife, I drank beer with George H.W. Bush's Secret Service detail. Sounds impressive, but it wasn't fair, because I knew who they were, but not who I was. So, it looks like we have many dominoes down, with an abject failure on the part of USA's Military-Corporate-Intelligence Complex to paint three generations of Hughes' red.
May I get so angry I see red for awhile? It's free, but no substitute for justice, and my bright idea about running for president is a limited time offer. Why? Because I am completely within my rights to pen a piece titled, "Where's My Warplane?" if you spyin' Californians don't take your anti-psychotic medication and end your pandemic of mental illness that does indeed revolve squarely around me. Spies, you've taken the wrong approach, because I've come to realize that when I talk to you, even about banal topics, it's like I'm spitting out hundred dollar bills. The late Senator Daniel Patrick Moynihan wrote about spy "currency," your damn "bartering," and brother, I've come to understand what he meant. Why don't you just say you are an old Hughes Aircraft Company employee? And, as has been alleged about you-know-who, I'll talk your ear off. However, we are not playing "Sheriff-Cop Combo" games, where there is supposedly something wrong with my perceptions and/or cognition.
"Two wrongs don't make a right," said my embattled Navy grandma, and that is how I will continue to live, even with Howard 2.0 skills. This West Coast is part of the USA? "Third World country?" You all know what I told her: I'M ALREADY IN ONE.
Home, James.
10.30.2009
10.29.2009
Slitting the Finkel Dingelaker
If this blog really goes anywhere, I'd like the American people to know that as the not-so-secret grandson of Howard Hughes, I have lived half of my life in "psy-op," which typically includes every intel community attempt to make it seem like some sort of war, insurrection, revolution, or coup is in the horizon. (I arrive at the half of my adult life stat by taking the length of the psy-ops and an equal amount of time for recovery). The illegal spooks are really pulling out all of the stops lately, because as I said on the .net months ago, we are metaphorically fighting on the bank steps over trillions. These people are so dirty, I'm about to call for a new OPEC oil embargo, because $9.99 for a gallon of 87 octane will build more windmills than any damn "carbon trading" scheme.
I am presently sitting before a public computer in a public place--just another homeless chump in search of heat, light, and a place to change the world. A few months ago, it was a Barack Obama look-alike going in & out the drive-through at McDonald's in a gold SUV. Flaw? He sure looked the part, but was (ha, ha) a bit too light skinned. Those dum-dums even went to such detail as to have the SUV slow down on southbound Moorpark and be joined by a configuration of vehicles just like the Bushman used when Hughes inspected the empty highway corridor before the King came. Do "they" let you do that? No, they don't. In Thousand Oaks, they formed a little motorcade and went really slow like the President of the United States just had a Big Mac attack with Hughes smoking out front. California morons soon swarmed-in to order a batch of Chicken McNuggets, and let me tell you Arnold, I'll be out here 80 years old with a tiny little backpack I call the "hitman model," then all 1947 National Security Act farts will be long dead.
Slits. Open utility boxes. Open diaper changing stations. Open sprinkler valves. Open electrical panels. Open trash dumpsters. On the latter, have evil Thousand Oaks "city fathers" considered a young child might climb in the unlocked trash dumpster area and die. Don't blame me for that, or your absurd coup-plotting and assassination cabals. What does the "black hole cunt" want? M-O-N-E-Y, and if you think I thought the video on WPTV-Ft. Lauderdale of Biden's plane and her coming down behind Joe was real, I've got a new political party for you called People for the Real Deal.
I'm sick of this crap, and you could not do it in Syria, North Korea, or Libya, but you are all bloodthirsty whores and do it to me here in the good old USA. Look-up's on Soldier Boy's Internet told me the host of Biden's 10.29.09 "luncheon" (spy code word) made his money from real estate. How's that audio holding up from about 1995 of me telling the big spy cunt to take the exam for a real estate license and "get real." No, no, no, the CIA "fake marriage" hubby got kicked out in favor of Ziad Jarrah, who had just hit town in Brooklyn. By the way, I think he is (gasp) a "good guy" and still, as Navy grandma would say, "Out there running around."
I loved the lit ambulances in Angela (first name of my last W-2/W-4 boss) Sachitano's (SAC-hit-A-no's) Ft. Lauderdale report, and I can't wait for the spy "cover story" on a "fundraiser" when there's no election in the offing. Ambulances? I've seen my share of presidents and wannabees close-up and I ain't never seen no ambulances. Is somebody getting shot, Pamela? How did you like my 1981 U. of Wisconsin paper on how maybe we should get a little more parliamentary when butt-ugly governance turns into double butt-ugly black juju. Impeachment is awfully slow when they've taken your job and your house, but one aide was correct when he suggested maybe it's better I'm homeless right now. Whatever you say, as long as I can hold off the tree rats and the CHP continues to chase off bad guys.
I simply can't keep up with this kind of video garbage, where I'm so important they were pointing the video camera through a chain link fence at the vice president just like my unfamous photo of the family jet I didn't know I had. And, why didn't I take a photo of my restored Gulfstream when it was sitting right in front of me in New Hampshire? Blame it on "shock," I guess, but now, those plausibly deniable asses are in trouble, right boys? Why should I worry about such a ship of fools? No cash is ever going in the "slit," and momma warned of it with one sentence: "Stop the world, I want to get off." Zzzzzzzz...excuse me, psy-op also involves sleep deprivation, but I'm doing okay on that when I'm not suffering from homeless hypothermia. Does Joe Biden know Tony Blair, back when Hughes was a news hawk, slid off the runway in Ft. Lauderdale flying commercial on American as PM. Sneaky, sneaky, Tony, but I caught 'ya.
Aaargh! Go ahead and overfly enemy metropolises, but don't drop any bombs, please. Today, an old spooky one stopped by to say, "Just get home, and you'll get it." Get what? This gov'ment is so nuts I'm afraid they'll give me a three-day weekend to rest up from three years, three months of torture after the dirt dumps on the president and Biden, then they'll try and Gerald Ford 2.0 me.
Just remember, the California official state word is "No."
I am presently sitting before a public computer in a public place--just another homeless chump in search of heat, light, and a place to change the world. A few months ago, it was a Barack Obama look-alike going in & out the drive-through at McDonald's in a gold SUV. Flaw? He sure looked the part, but was (ha, ha) a bit too light skinned. Those dum-dums even went to such detail as to have the SUV slow down on southbound Moorpark and be joined by a configuration of vehicles just like the Bushman used when Hughes inspected the empty highway corridor before the King came. Do "they" let you do that? No, they don't. In Thousand Oaks, they formed a little motorcade and went really slow like the President of the United States just had a Big Mac attack with Hughes smoking out front. California morons soon swarmed-in to order a batch of Chicken McNuggets, and let me tell you Arnold, I'll be out here 80 years old with a tiny little backpack I call the "hitman model," then all 1947 National Security Act farts will be long dead.
Slits. Open utility boxes. Open diaper changing stations. Open sprinkler valves. Open electrical panels. Open trash dumpsters. On the latter, have evil Thousand Oaks "city fathers" considered a young child might climb in the unlocked trash dumpster area and die. Don't blame me for that, or your absurd coup-plotting and assassination cabals. What does the "black hole cunt" want? M-O-N-E-Y, and if you think I thought the video on WPTV-Ft. Lauderdale of Biden's plane and her coming down behind Joe was real, I've got a new political party for you called People for the Real Deal.
I'm sick of this crap, and you could not do it in Syria, North Korea, or Libya, but you are all bloodthirsty whores and do it to me here in the good old USA. Look-up's on Soldier Boy's Internet told me the host of Biden's 10.29.09 "luncheon" (spy code word) made his money from real estate. How's that audio holding up from about 1995 of me telling the big spy cunt to take the exam for a real estate license and "get real." No, no, no, the CIA "fake marriage" hubby got kicked out in favor of Ziad Jarrah, who had just hit town in Brooklyn. By the way, I think he is (gasp) a "good guy" and still, as Navy grandma would say, "Out there running around."
I loved the lit ambulances in Angela (first name of my last W-2/W-4 boss) Sachitano's (SAC-hit-A-no's) Ft. Lauderdale report, and I can't wait for the spy "cover story" on a "fundraiser" when there's no election in the offing. Ambulances? I've seen my share of presidents and wannabees close-up and I ain't never seen no ambulances. Is somebody getting shot, Pamela? How did you like my 1981 U. of Wisconsin paper on how maybe we should get a little more parliamentary when butt-ugly governance turns into double butt-ugly black juju. Impeachment is awfully slow when they've taken your job and your house, but one aide was correct when he suggested maybe it's better I'm homeless right now. Whatever you say, as long as I can hold off the tree rats and the CHP continues to chase off bad guys.
I simply can't keep up with this kind of video garbage, where I'm so important they were pointing the video camera through a chain link fence at the vice president just like my unfamous photo of the family jet I didn't know I had. And, why didn't I take a photo of my restored Gulfstream when it was sitting right in front of me in New Hampshire? Blame it on "shock," I guess, but now, those plausibly deniable asses are in trouble, right boys? Why should I worry about such a ship of fools? No cash is ever going in the "slit," and momma warned of it with one sentence: "Stop the world, I want to get off." Zzzzzzzz...excuse me, psy-op also involves sleep deprivation, but I'm doing okay on that when I'm not suffering from homeless hypothermia. Does Joe Biden know Tony Blair, back when Hughes was a news hawk, slid off the runway in Ft. Lauderdale flying commercial on American as PM. Sneaky, sneaky, Tony, but I caught 'ya.
Aaargh! Go ahead and overfly enemy metropolises, but don't drop any bombs, please. Today, an old spooky one stopped by to say, "Just get home, and you'll get it." Get what? This gov'ment is so nuts I'm afraid they'll give me a three-day weekend to rest up from three years, three months of torture after the dirt dumps on the president and Biden, then they'll try and Gerald Ford 2.0 me.
Just remember, the California official state word is "No."
Where's My F-15?
HUGHES not-in-the-media quote of the day:
"I'm a lover, not a fighter, but I don't seem to get an opportunity to do either."
Just where is my F-15? I own them, don't you know? And, thanks to South Korea, I'm still making them. Hey, who took my National Guard F-15's away from the hometown? Hint: Some went to Hawaii, of all places. Are the Japs coming again? And if so, will Soldier Boy keep the air raid warning to his little "MI" self again? Let me tell you folks, nothing turns "conspiracy theories" into something plausible like a presidential library, which is why there are no "papers" in Reagan's, or George H.W. Bush's, and George W. Bush's library will be bare as Mother Hubbard's cupboard as well, because his Executive Order locked-up his, his daddy's, and Reagan's. But take heart, Ronnie does have an Air Force One out back that you can't see from the front of the library, plus it costs an extra fee to climb aboard. (On my old website, I hinted I might steal it, but no gov'ment agents came to call). So, I'd advise all National Lampoon budget-minded, mini-depression vacationers to skip the Reagan Library, and the librarians might agree, because with Mr. Hughes at the door, they came out and hung their heads in shame. Really, they did.
As I discovered at the Truman Library, aptly located in INDEPENDENCE, Missouri, when you have the original State Department cable in your lap, you can draw your own conclusions. What's better, since this is the USA, if you pay the fee, they will let you in the library. Really, they will. The trouble comes when you (don't try this at home, or the library) discover the whole national security shebang in your own country is illegal. This brings in the real gov'ment types, who in my case, oddly enough, were all smiles, because they've known it since 1947.
I swear I will identify the presidential or military secretary who on one sheet of paper numbered, as I often do, the reasons why the CIA won't work, and she was on to the illegal part as well. No date, no name, no signature, not even initials. Hey buddy, that was good enough for gov'ment work in 1946-47. Today, I'm afraid we'll have to "get real," and very bold, to clean up Dodge. Some of my perfectly rational proposals if I'm ever released from Torrey's open-air prison include selling-off Hawaii and annexing Israel. On the latter, as my fictional spy Rita says, "Don't start," because I challenge you to think of a better way to discombobulate Hamas and Hezbollah, plus never trouble Hugo Chavez for any oil, than to have our Stars and Stripes flying above the Star of David at the new Americanized Tel Aviv Department of Motor Vehicles.
In the Pearl Harbor Department, many bad things go on in Hawaii, like out of control spy brats having sex with rock stars in the back of their limousine. It was the final "green light" to murder John Lennon, and by the way, when is CIA Special Prosecutor John Durham stopping by? He'd better make an appointment, because I'm getting a bit busy trying to put governors and presidents in jail. Grandpa did the heavy lifting, but I've got no money and no troops, although I did see a New Hampshire creature I call a "hoody boy" this morning making sure I'm still alive.
Thanks for caring, and I'll keep sharing in between encounters with scallywags gone overboard with allegations I'm affiliated with the Cali Cartel somehow. Sorry to disappoint, but the only news I ever got from cocaine transshipment points was on the DEA website, and I know that in the Dominican Republic, baseball can be very, very good to them, except when as with ex-Cardinal Orlando Cepeda, you put cocaine the duffel bag and someone snitches on you.
When is the Grand Jury meeting? Where's my room full of lawyers? Oh, it's a "black operation?" How long have you been endorsing this delusion? How do I know the Lennon murder so well? "They" told me, you dumbass! "Hey, hey, NSA, why not follow a law today?! Can you see this with DJ William at the turntable and bullhorn? Do you no-life's really want to know someone personally who was spying on Mr. Lennon in Central Park? Do you really want to know about "secret code" Mr. Frank Zappa left on a backstage chalkboard in the old hometown about three years before Hughes muttered, "Who ever heard of a five-shot revolver?" Hey weenie, did you get introduced to all of the principals in the Lennon murder? No you did not, and you are not running for president, either.
Get a job! Punch the clock! Save 5-10 percent of your income! Buy a Japanese car! (made in USA), Change the oil! Do not spy! You will be happy! Please, if "they" kill me before someone makes a movie about me, will 'ya use, "My name is Hughes, and people tell me things" as the character motto?
Thanks.
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