Obama's Osamas

For God's sake, Osama died of typhoid in the summer of 2006. Paris is wrong about everything? No, Paris Hilton was right when she alleged JOHN MCCAIN is a "Wrinkly old man," and Paris, France was right when their CPL. LOUIS LE BEAU types reported somebody got to this particular bad guy's water supply.

Do I have to find out "Who done it?" Mother of Pearl! Have mercy! And, is the Ventura County rumor holding that Sen. McCain dunked a few fighter jets in the drink true? Hey, Navy, I'm getting old, but I wouldn't do that. Those planes are expensive, right John?

Right!

Tom is Dead, Tom is Not Dead

NOT EXACTLY THE "FRESH MARKET," BUT WHAT'S FOR SALE AT THE I.C. SECOND-HAND STORE?

How about that big rabbit that ran from INDEPENDENCE CENTER, BOB HARVEY? Who ran the BAY OF PIGS OPERATION? Never mind; it didn't go so well. U.S. Generation 3 told me to never trust someone who uses initials in lieu of a name, and I have further come to not trust anyone who has the word "black" contained in their last name.

Why have I known so many "PatriCIA's?" The acronym "CIA" is in the damn name, and I am on my last nerve with their foolish "mind games." In my sorry trillionaire life, "KARLA" is the name bestowed on a female who comes along and befuddles the hitman at times of maximum danger (he's around all the time, folks, and I've actually befriended a few--I'm that kind of guy).

"Karla" has come twice; once in 1976, and again in 2009. Now, yet another Karla is reportedly impersonating a Case Manager and having sex with the married male clients at a local social service agency. Heavens to NASW Ethics Code!

Ethics code? In Arnoldland, the "social workers" are uncredentialed, and in cahoots with the sheriff. They think stress "causes" mental illness, so they will surely f--- with you until you are indeed "crazy." Then, unlike the situation with CHARLIE SHEEN, who's daddy knows better than to leave him languish in Las Roblas, the taxpayers will get Proposition ZZ dreams over a "revolving door" of, "Ain't got no MEDI-CAL" Texas-sized hospital bills.

Seems I wrote a 600 page book manuscript on this, and though a dozen or so literary agents and several publishers liked it, there was no book contract in the Year 2000. Why not? Ask Senator Feinstein, she knows. Oh, baby! I was supposed to be murdered on August 31, 2001, and SCOTT GIOVANETTI, you'd better guard those records, because I want to know what cases every investigator in my office was assigned, especially mine, in the run-up to the big event.

Would you like to live with the thought you almost busted it up? Aw pshaw, I now know enough to be certain if that had occurred, our rotten to the core 1947 system would have seen to it that the informant, poor William, or both of us were made good and dead.

Idiots, idiots, idiots. Keep coming around me and talking about aviation and oil wells. Until I, as my former oil drillin' partner used to say, "Whop you up the side of your head?" It ain't gonna happen, California Cuckoo-Bird. The parrot is dead, the parrot is not dead. "TOM," I fear, is dead, but maybe not of a Prozac overdose. What was his last name? I think I told you on AbolishTheCIA.org about how when a fat, depressed, seriously and persistently mentally ill male does not tell you of his girlfriend, he does not have one.

Oh, but the I.C. wailing and gnashing of teeth held that he was despondent about said girlfriend and took his own life. Bullfeathers! I was subbing a few weeks for a JASON BLACKSHEAR, and the fictional spy-fraud ass at PENSKE who got the truck debacle rolling was a "JASON YEH?"

Are you people crazy? Yes, you are. Where are the Department of Homeland Security "Haldol Wagons" I have requested? Line-up for your shot of antipsychotic medicine, and shut-up, please. You too near Culver City people are so crazy, I may have to exhume the baby body of my stillborn brother to prove that was the only one, yet Star Chamber nutcases will never rest with their Dark Side "prosecution." Where is this "brother," nimrod? How did "Tom" really die?

21st and 22nd Judicial Circuits, State of Missouri, here I come.

Military Delusion = Civilian "Fact"

An entire blog piece...GONE. Stay tuned.

Job? How About Bob Hope 2.0?

I just can't take you warmongers, killer spooks, hitmen, drug thugs, defense industry buttinski's, cheap-o "confidential informants" (i.e. street snitches), impure Marriott guest gov'ment money-wasters, and assorted crooks seriously, so here is a new idea if I am so blacklisted I can't make any Bond's gotten way too boring and needs replacement "Rita Movies." This is cruel, because in a flash of inspiration, I figured it all out. "We" make HUGHES IT'S SO GOOD THE STUDIO CAN TITLE IT SCREENPLAY #8, II, Ask Not, and Walking the Cat all at the same time.

Then, the lucky actress who plays Rita will not age, "we" release them over time, make dazzling amounts of money, and if one wins a little statue, look for my back and the broad shoulders of my very expensive Harry Truman suit on Dish & DirecTV, as I walk out of the ceremony, and the cast had better follow. This will allow me to get them done pronto, then run for el presidente.

What if I get bored? Soldier Boy will never let me use his toys for II, so we can film it in Iraq, can we not? It's "stabilized," isn' t it? Is there a Iraqi Air Force yet? There ought to be--how the hell long have we been there? That's how I'll get the hardware on film, because Baghdad will give it up, whereas the Defense Pentagon won't.

Meantime, some rock bands, rappers, and Penthouse Girls could find their way to a C-130, and I can be a newfangled BOB HOPE, right? Don't look for Al Franken on this tour; he joined some type of Dirty Democrat Club. Mind readers, what would be my first line as I lean on the golf club?

"Hey, what are y'all still doing here?"

Mubarek, Please Put Me In Jail

I am stunned to speechlessness, which is bad for a relatively new politician, upon discovering over among my non-buddies at DOD, the same photo that is still Bill Gatesian wallpaper on my Penske-seized computer graces the homepage of our Defense Information Systems Agency's White House Communication Agency website. Air Force One over Mount Rushmore? Didn't that stupid Soldier Boy love it on AbolishTheCIA.org? So, he just had to put it on his page, too. Son, why did you put a hole in your own building in 2001?

Did a purportedly real CIA person really say, when I remarked on how my face does not belong in certain places, "How about Mount Rushmore?" He busted 9/11 perps? Uncovered air crash intel murders by the dozen? Dead drug thugs? We got 'em, and don't forget, "I didn't do it, I just found out about it" because the girls must have their cocaine. "They" killed a former president? Holy smokes, Batman! The prospect of WWIII is serious, isn't it? Military dictatorship since 1947? "Plan B" developed in 1948? Good thinking, guys, now start carving my face in the rock, you a--holes.

Will I be chained to the seat in a DASSAULT, BEECHCRAFT, CESSNA, OR BOMBARDIER? No matter, as long as a friendly former member of PSYCHOSIS NOS STATES known as the "Axis of Evil" agree to lock me up, feed me three skimpies, and don't spare the rubber hose, as long as I can bring a good supply of the shiny, crinkly, but won't stay folded or creased, very lightweight stuff desert talker ART BELL used to expound upon in the "Go-Go .com" 1990's.

Seems I now have a "tent" made of this substance in my RALPH's bag, or is it in the JERRY'S RESTAURANT & DELI bag? Must be another of those "Hughes things." What of it, flat-top? Now, I do not wake up with numb feet and hands, ass----. Yeah, when I saw it all folded-up--paging SIGMUND FREUD--I kinda knew what it was, but now I really know what it is.

Wasn't it in 1988 when they said, "It's the economy, stupid." [Google-goo & Wikipedia have corrected me; it was the 1992 H.W. v. Clinton contest, and so as to be (literally) tagged as homeless, but not a political gaffe man, pardon me for the confusion. 1988 was, "Where's the beef?," or was that Mondale in 1984? Do you know these things? Do you know anything? MY CALIFORNIA QUESTION: "Have you ever read a non-fiction book? Not for school. Not a comic book. Sir/ma'am, have you ever read a f---ing book?"]

Hey buddy, it is the Year of Our Lord 2010, and if I want to run for president and say, "It's Roswell, stupid," what is wrong with that? Wasn't it the one and only spouse who said, "Bill, you know something about more things than anyone I've ever met." Retractions will be accepted for 14 days only at:

Hughes Slander Retraction Center

P.O. Box 999

Albuquerque, NM 87102

Read some fiction? Only the KAFKA the missus gave me, and did she know many things? Yes, a great many things, like why ALAN RICHARDSON, LOUISE RICHARDSON, DR. RICHARDSON, and GOV. RICHARDSON = a peck of former V.P. at Hughes Aircraft trouble. Here's the "scoop." U.S. Hughes Generation #1 knew his playing cards and somehow also where the oil was. #2 knew how to make money--lots of it--fly aircraft, make movies, and he studied the difference between the male and female orgasm. Generation #3 did what he was told, I believe right up until the dual sawtoothed shredders arrived, and beyond that, I'm a little fuzzy.

Generation #4 wants his MAYPO, if you remember the 1960's hot cereal ad campaign. I can't help it if the Maypo includes oil rigs, mines, real estate, a big chunk of Silicon Valley, Boeing, the Las Vegas airport, a pre-superstation movies all night TV station, plus likely EU aerospace consortiums, super-secret L-3 isms, an oil company or two, a family of third-rate casinos that are as good as sold, and by the way, can I buy the SAINT LOUIS RAMS before they up and leave a paid for with lots of taxpayer money JONES DOME flat. [Or, did someone else buy the dome's "Naming Rights?" I don't get out much, and the Soldiers are mighty stingy with their Internet].

I used to work at Jones, don't you know? And, how about that long-term memory? The Chairman of my Hughes Aircraft Board was working "undercover" at the then "EDWARD D. JONES & COMPANY" to up and fire me because the big as a room computer and its crappy 1977 modem did not work right? How well I remember the calls to NYC in the middle of the night, smoking Camel straights in the break room, and drinking--yum, yum--E.D. Jones vending machine coffee as the first job out of college "set-up" tick-tocked on.

Mr. Hyland, who ran my company like I will in the future, called them "put-up jobs" instead of "set-ups." Did I smoke them out every time as would be expected out of Howard's grandson? Yes, but I could never figure out why it was done to me. Do I remember vividly what it was like to work my ass off to make it right, then some flushed-face, probably drunk on the job Culver City ass fired me? PUCKETT clan, where are you? Do you hear the hoofbeats yet?

To add a bit of detail, I believe I drove off dejected following my first "firing for no reason"--the first is always special among totalitarian spookies, right?--in someone else's car, because my victim of car vandalism broken record/skipping CD goes way back, too, does it not? Why was that? All together now! DRUGS, DRUGS, DRUGS, DRUGS DRUGS, DRUGS.....yeah, and didn't I blow it on Sixth Street by saying, to the roommates, "Don't you know? The guys next door are narcs!" Our neighbors in question promptly came stumbling out in the back yard, walking in circles and shaking their heads like, "Hughes, why did you blow it like that?"

Later, in 2007, I was not as confused when the elegant Colombians had driven away in their EXECUTIVE LEASING SUV, the man--you know, that man--brought his daughter home, jumped in a crappy car, and chased them, I decided not to retrieve a handgun from the STARBUCK'S Men's Room trash can, because spies tend to change their stories, and consequently, when a hand came out of the little convoy of other SUV's and motioned, "Follow us," I did not. No way, I got on the highway and drove as fast as I pleased, because, well, it's what I've long called, "The Hometown Advantage." Aw, it couldn't have been that bad, because the pretty lil' RICHMOND HEIGHTS policegirl was not there to meet me at the BELLVUE EXIT. Was that the same bridge I walked over when the highway was closed for then-PRESIDENT BUSH?

Don't you believe my stories? If you don't, I'll never even get elected Dogcatcher.

YEAH, DICK, "I LOVE 'YA" NIXON/"GOD REST HIS SOUL" JERRY FORD/"WHAT DID HE REALLY DO IN THE NAVY?"CARTER/RONNIE, "WHY DID YOU NOT LIKE HOWARD?" REAGAN/ "I AIN'T DOIN' NOTHIN'" H.W./"LOOK THE OTHER WAY" CLINTON/"WARTIME" BUSH/and who's the president? They finally put a Negro in there, right? What's his name? What does it really matter to JOE SIXPACK? Why should it matter to me, at least until LAPD recovers my truck full of psychiatric and political books. (The two topics go together like never before, especially with the kooks I've met in California).

Back to football, only collegiate, thank you very much, but I can still recall, from our end zone cheap seats, the fully extended in midair body of a SAINT LOUIS (football) CARDINAL receiver and the DALLAS COWBOY defender a step too slow and a foot away from...what? We won that game? Really? How about TED SIMMONS and a Grand Slam to end the game? Again, viewed from the cheap, nosebleed a risk seats.

Wreck my memory through years of "psy-op" torture, eh? No, because that ball was tracked by my eyes the whole way, and are we talking a high arc for a walk-off home run? Awesome. Oh, and don't forget the hair on "Simba," because I laughed at it, though mine was, and is, again long, it looked funny as he chugged across the plate. I think one of my out-of-state guests, after the lengthy ovation, said something like, "Can we leave now?" Now that I am running for president (and there is nothing you can do about it, Nazi or Liberal Fascist), I've learned to think on my feet better, so if I could go back in time, I'd deadpan and say, "No, we're spending the night. It's tradition."

Uh oh, the way things are going, next walk-off homer in the new BUSCH STADIUM, they will stay all night, but I'm not who I am, and the fans will refuse to say why they stayed. [Don't you know when spies are good, you cannot tell they are spying? It's a "Loo" thing]. Has somebody already built the plywood facade to the "new" Busch Stadium I knew I'd need in 2006? Plenty of photographs to work from, including archival stills as it went up, with little Billy watching from a caddy-corner building long gone.

Say what, dingle-balls? Ask Not was a terror plot? Excuse me, as I am way tardy confessing to The Negro's gov'ment. So, you thought you were going to steal/hold my film of J.S. ALBERICI topping-off the JEFFERSON NATIONAL EXPANSION MEMORIAL, known in the town where I am headed as simply, "The Arch?" You thought wrong.

No word from my Democrat saviors? Feinstein is beyond the pale, but I can still invite BARBARA BOXER and JANE HARMAN to a "Town Hall" meeting, can't I? How about gathering at the senior center for:

"HOMELAND INTELLIGENCE GATHERING: POST 9/11 FACT & FICTION."

Me? I'm the moderator, and if this won't fly, Hosni, will you please take me to Egypt and lock me up?

Dear Diary

Did someone fix-up my car after I sold it in 1979? Really? The guy who bought it said, "I knew you went to college, because your ad said, "'Runs well,' instead of, 'Runs good'." "Road Runner, the Coyote's after you." How long ago was Mr. Hughes being "pinged" by Road Runner and Rackspace? Try 2001 or so. What happened back then, right before my birthday? How about the kid in the UPS store who had never heard of the Lunar Excursion Module (LEM). "Were you even born in 1969?," I asked. The dumb look was priceless. Could Arnold's replacement blindly throw even more money at some already over-funded schools?

The problem is not with the school or teachers. Hint: We invented geostationary orbit at Hughes, and the boss is a bit miffed. To the handwritten diary we go:

01.02.10 6:26 p.m.

"On the way to STARBUCK'S, there was much speechifying about JACKS OR BETTER (1983), [and] STEGTON RESTAURANT (1976), where once again, I was forced out by the other cooks "disappearing." So, I drove a long way to work part-time, and the road antics began. The shouting, near auto accidents, throwing objects at my car, nearly running me off the road, and the THUG PARTIES in the parking lot behind IRWIN HALL. Oh, I just had to yell about HEAD EAST, A&M RECORDS, and my sealed copy of FLAT AS A PANCAKE which is in the truck.

"Save my life, I'm going down for the last time," would indicate to me in 2010 A.D. that the CIA as we've known it really latched-on the "breathless" and the asphyxiation murder method. The theme: WATER, WATERBOARDING, WATER SPRINKLERS, WATER BOTTLES, WATER TORTURE, water, water, water. The E.T.'s are coming to steal our water? Don't think so, Cuckoo-Bird.

Twin Towers

CORNELL v. NORTH DAKOTA, eh? Is the ITHACA JOURNAL still there? Good, because the WORLD TRADE CENTER is not.

How many rumors can the Defense Dept. dingbats of our MILITARY-CORPORATE-INTELLIGENCE COMPLEX spread about one guy? Mr. Hughes can feel them through his pores, and the latest Dx (diagnosis) of Rosacea is not life-threatening, but it could be disfiguring, and it had better stop. 5351 Delmar, Saint Louis, Missouri is where I knew a patient who had it bad, then he went on to be the tillmaster of Social Security income for CIA sociopaths, so of course he called me as a civil commitment investigator and asked that they be locked-up.

I was not assigned that case, as MS. BROWN had me pegged for all "pretty depressed girl," "drugged-out but kindhearted prostitute," "politician's relative," "spouse vs. spouse," "mental iconoclast in the deepest ghetto," and, of course, the "house full of guns" cases. Did I have a newsletter put in front of me about Rosacea? Yes, I did. Mayo Clinic or Harvard Letter? Blond-headed girlie, please check it out. And a week later, I've got a case of it?

Hmmm...the Mayo Clinic cast a 2-1 tie-breaker holding I did not contract Hepatitis C from a CIA whore, so if she really didn't have it passed to her by her previous tennis-playing, presumably wealthy, bisexual boyfriend, maybe we could get together for a non-alcoholic beer or two. Or, is she too busy by now with her duties as a spyin' soccer mom in a DODGE CARAVAN they are not going to make anymore in Fenton, Missouri, or anywhere else.

Should I buy the RAMS and hire a "football man" to run the team? Then, I'd be in position to snipe at the Cuckoo Birds from Cincinnati who dare to own my baseball Cardinals. The St. Louis Blues ownership? Unspeakably bad! And, if I am wrong, why was I sitting right behind KEN WILSON and BERNIE FEDERKO at the game under previous management? So the latest USAF snitch and I could be seen together by many?

Illegal military-affiliated snitches are, in Hughesese, "Goin' to jail!," as are smart assed ARMY & NAVY JAGS. Tim McVeigh's? I think we've got some more coming along to make their debut in the legal system, and if I ever get to you-know-where, I'll arrange to turn them off on Christmas Eve (it's a private joke, son). Ladies and gentlemen of the largest rogue terror state, why do you think I've written a thank-you letter to, of all people, MARTHA STEWART? Seems the trash to treasure queen, as I tend to say, "Knows many things." So, somehow the guy who tossed her in the clink for questionable stock trading got mildly embarrassed over trainloads of whores.

What does this have to do with me? It is a fact that MOTEL 6 housekeepers have nearly trampled me on the way to snatch a strand of the H-man's hair off the sink, and likely sell it to someone for the DNA. Given the state of not-so-secret technologies, I have to wonder if some Hollywood people with too many babies have a few of mine. Legal nightmare? WOODY HARRELSON starred in a "Zombie flick," while I live in a real-life one. Therefore, it is time to go home and rescue the Rams, and don't dare tell me I can't.

In case you are wondering what some of the video will be in the previously described campaign commercial that starts with me at the tippy-tip of the F-15K, some of it will be sports moments I happened to be watching live, like the Rams only Super Bowl victory that came down to the last play and tick of the clock. It's all about clock management, right Mr. Vermeil? On the more unpleasant side, how about my satellite going ZZZZZZit...ZZZZZpop, and then, "I think we've just had an earthquake," said the sportscaster, in that most brutal year of 1989, before they cut away, scared I suppose that the stadium was about to fall down. How many dead in Haiti? Never mind. What time was on my watch for the Hughes boy's only California earthquake thus far? Never mind, 2x. (Sitting outside the METHODIST CHURCH, for the record).

Hey gang, how about "we" go back in time and ask why the NASW Journal "Key Words" for 1985 around the ranch at 420 were "TOWERS" and "WILLOW." Let's tackle "Willow" first. It is the older of two no longer so secret prisons in Alaska, funded in 1973, suspiciously after I had been elected president of something, and ready for me to be abducted and taken there by the time the first of what I have come to call "Vandenberg Crap" lifted-off in about 1983, but it never happened. "They" tried again in 1989, but I beat them again and paid a high, twice near-death price to prevail in what I've termed "The Great Psy-Op of 1988-89." It was the nastiest of all, though not of Marathon Man length like the present one, which is lumbering into an unbelievable sixth year.

Yes, 2012 voters, half of this man's life has been spent in Soldier Boy/Spygirl "psychological operations," wherein "they" act as crazy as loons, commit crimes with good old Central/South American "impunity," then amid CIA/DNI corpses, "blah, blah, blah," like DUDLEY DORIGHT is the one in trouble. Oh yeah? If the boring and difficult to get along with Alaska tour guide was who I think it was, the joke is on you extremists, because the "secret" prison is not for me and my sister, IT IS FOR YOU, DUMBASS. Plus, I think I can get elected and put you there, because unlike the GITMO 14, people are not ready for that kind of bizarre in open federal court. Not yet.

It will be a nice little apartment, with no Waterboarding allowed, because some of what this man's intel community does is so much for ROD SERLING's ghost and not popular consumption, I'm not sure USA and the rest of the world can handle it. How to handle paranormal lawlessness probably depends on what the real General & Admiral Boys tell me when I really get a briefing on the Cuckoo Birds. Want a "legendary" president? Look for a black powder pistol on the wall, and should military types get all defiant and tell me things I do not want to hear, after three years with no doctor, a lifetime with no honorable legal representation, no "security" guy," unless E.T.'s are really running about, and a near-solid year homeless and on the street, when the pistol comes off the wall, you'd better run, and the Secret Service can remain at ease, because I will put a ball-shaped slug in your .mil ass, then send you to Walter Reed, where they will laugh and say, "The President shot you in the butt! Ha, ha!"

TRUMAN - MACARTHUR EVERY DAY is my early campaign promise, because leave it to another defense thinker to realize somebody wants an "Above Interpol" outfit to "disappear" people; he thought it would be "bad guys," and I'm still here to tell you both that this "system" is the 1947 National Security Act system we've already long had in the USA, and "they" can't tell the black hats from white, because like the expression, "One man's freedom fighter is another man's terrorist," these "tracker duds" are high school drop-outs, not the cream of the crop from a long ago CIA Ivy League crew of decidedly bad boys.

MICHAEL TOWERS died too early in March of 1985. Thanks to the French guy who wrecked the clutch on my mighty orange AUDI 100LS, so I couldn't be accused of knocking the poor guy on the head. Over what? DRUGS, DRUGS, DRUGS that I was not using at the time, and never sold. Bad smelling drug intelligence under Reagan's Executive Order 12333 is what was going on around me, and I can remember that catchy E.O. number even after three and a half years of psy-op torture. Why did MITT ROMNEY quit with a lot of delegates in 2008 while I was enjoying a cup of CINNABON coffee at a rest stop off I-95 on the way to a place called Washington, DC? You can't be president unless you wink at illegal drugs or sell them, Maf-IA style? We'll see about that.

Is that sort of shenanigans why PENSKE TRUCK LEASING thinks they can keep my $10,000, now probably more like $11,000 in government bonds, and MELLON/BANK OF NEW YORK wants to go "back to the future" with old HUGHES TOOL COMPANY money squabbles? Howard had the "shorts" for 707 engines? Shame on you, Howard! Are you really going to keep playing FINKEL/FEINSTIEN games with my stock account? Poor planning had the Constellation usurped by jets, but "we" caught up fast with stuff like this, and I shall catch up with thieves as well. (Pardon me, as I am not sufficiently sociopathic to catch-on quick):

"The first flight unit had been literally tested to death. It was worn-out; we were not sure it would hold together through...a landing bounce in the low gravity of the moon. Yet every critical maneuver during the 250,000 mile voyage to the moon was flawlessly carried out. Touchdown was announced by telemetered signals...After a seemingly endless wait of only a few minutes, a picture began to form on a monitor. The camera was initially directed at one leg and foot of the tripod frame. It showed them clearly, with the foot making a couple of inches penetration into the moon dust. The shouting and applause in the audience and the control room released all tension."

That's an account from Mr. Hyland, the guy who really ran Hughes Aircraft while Howard was busy being James Bond. All that I am not, but if you want Howard's imagination and Hyland's business sense, as yet another campaign slogan will go, "Don't let the long hair fool 'ya!" Yes, I am the real Hughes, and I think you are all nuts. Yes, "Two can play that game," as momma used to say. Was ELLIOT SPITZER really going to try and plant my DNA in a "cold-case" Michael Towers evidence bag?

Don't they hate it when I'm on the FAA website? Time is the enemy of a Hughes, so let's make this another two-parter, shall we? HOWARD DEAN will just love my icon of the big blue broom, won't he? Pick on Republicans? Heavens to Betsey, we already know they are no damn good; I'm after those ass-kissers who got my vote every two years from 1976-2006, because in 2008, .mil spooks were so thick in Newbury Park, a suburb of beautiful Thousand Oaks, California, and shucks, all's I had was out-of-state ID, I had to skip the Obama coronation. It was kind of like a Central American/Sub Sahara Africa scene, so if JIMMY CARTER wants to get nosy about elections, he'd best stay home, where the real terrorists are.