Given Catholics do not believe in sex before marriage,
the Hughes-Hilton sex tape will not be available until after the wedding. If
Ms. Hilton can still walk, there will be a press conference at her downtown LA
hotel. After the inevitable divorce, Mr. Hughes will take up iconoclastic residence
in a Hilton hotel room next to the Federal Reserve Bank in Saint Louis to better
count the money and complain about economic matters endlessly. The divorce
decree will award Ms. Hilton the satellites from Boeing. That will explain your
technical difficulties when she grabs the remote and says, “That show sucks.”
All gone. And? “That preacher is crazy.” Gone. The television term is “snow,” Reverend.
Should there be marijuana in the room,
this will be perfectly legal soon in “PotHead Nation.” Hughes will attempt
reconciliation, with lame lines like, “Honey, put down that bong and come back
to papa.” And? “Honey, please don’t mess with the video of Hillary’s impeachment
hearings.” The next California spouse will strip Raytheon of those missiles.
Who is the lucky gal to receive a call from Oz Hughes and hear, “Honey, don’t
shoot, I just got back from Iran, and…”
ZZZZzzzz
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