Sheriff Dickhead, Where is My Property?

Leave it to a gal in a Utah public building to ask several logical, rational, questions on the topic of HOWARD HUGHES JR.'s GRANDSON {This Writer} dressed in rags and still homeless on the streets of Los Angeles. She listened? She seemed to understand? And, on the phone line that I never know where it's going, a coworker wanted to know what the call was about? As I moan to the SSI crazies, potheads, and alcoholics, "Ever work for the government?" Yes, the tap on the shoulder from her coworker was my Brig~ham confirmation the voice on the other end was a real county clerk girl. 

Can't tell fact from fiction? You might not need Haldol, you may need to put Bill Hughes in charge of Hughes Aircraft--a company that was not really sold to GM in 1985. No, it was busted up into little pieces, like the NSA mess over spying, and as with the .gov crowd, it goes on unabated. Car keys missing? Be glad you have a motor vehicle and call AAA. They will dispatch a locksmith with a tinfoil hat on promptly.

Let us go back to The Year of Our Lord 2008, Baca-Tanaka. I had the money to retrieve my property and I got some idiots with a parrot on their arm. TERESA COLSON? Like CHUCK COLSON? Joke's on a going out the door early Barack Obama. Who was Chuck? California morons on good "weed" should know he was Richard Nixon's really smart lawyer and political strategist helper. As I often say, "I cannot run the backhoe, but getting elected to public office? Too easy!"

I've told you of the prospect of Kennedy-Hughes big trouble, where the GOP will wail & gnash perfect teeth to the effect of, "Never held office. Don't know what the hell they're doing. He's crazy! She's lazy!" This allegation, my friends, is exactly why that ticket, in either order, would win so big. By 7 p.m. Eastern on election night, you'd be watching a bad sitcom. "What? Where are the election returns?" All over baby, before your lazy ass got to the polling place.

Yet I'm always the pessimist in paraphrasing a late I.H.O.P. owner in noting, "Political consultants are a dime a dozen," so no rich Democrat needs me. Nope. However, as the synapses hop, answering the Utah question about Francine's remark made me "Sleep on it" and think, because I am allowed to think (barely), "Why not run in New Hampshire on your own $50,000 maximum FEC amount, kick the big name, big spending asses, and then?" Then what, Mr. Fidel Castro wannabe Democrat dog? I'm too conservative? Have you all gone mad? I think so! I recall "moderate" Bill Clinton was branded as a "sellout" and "In league with asshole Republicans" in my office, and many heard me say it. Monica? EVERY MENTAL HEALTH WORKER TO A MAN OR WOMAN SAID, "Who cares about a blow job?" and went on with their duties unaffected by the "scandal."

Later in my sorry life, I'd skim Kenny Starr's report and mutter, "What a fucking waste of money." I was wrong? No siree Bob! Returning to Al Franken/Bill Hughes liberalism, I can see why I've been "homeless" so long, with absolutely NO SKELETONS IN THE HUGHES CLOSET. We can argue the legalities of the Great Caroline making sure I was not selling LSD tablets by the thousand later. [Caught by that Rolling Stone purse, of all objects]. Ready for a trip back into the Freudian HughesBrain? Again, a "suit" said, "Billy, you cannot go out and play ball." A Kennedy in her white party dress knocking me off the musical chair chair? And my own GoogleSat identified the street the birthday party was on? Holy Toledo, Radar!! 20 Questions from an always late Charlie Hughes is not the only additional clue, spies. Those K-people are very competitive, Hughes is not. By the way, has my assault rifle arrived yet? Why all of the anger? Ready for this allegation? The way I recollect and allege, the "suits" knew daddy JFK was about to lose his head, Caroline and I did not.