Dad had to deal with him.
Did you say Russia? Son, that's highly classified.
April 17, 2017
If anyone cared, I could prove my writing machines included a Royal manual typewriter, an IBM used by Ronald Reagan, a Smith Corona word processor purchased with spies watching me pick up an old mouse with a ball—no infrared—and fail to know what the hell it was. Later, the U.S. Army would take all day to deliver what was said to be a “special computer” with a model number of “300.” I’d later surf on Bill Clinton’s IBM laptop, and now I type upon the HP Obama and Biden used to kill Osama Bin Laden. If anyone steals it, someone dies by my hand. Then, I suppose I’m a CIA contract employee if only anyone would bother to put me on a shell company payroll.
Imagine my shock and dismay when I noticed LBJ used the same typewriter as daddy, and where is that document image that sounds like Charles E. Hughes’ prose with LBJ’s handwriting striking out passages and inserting corrections in ink? When Charlie tried to start a book I said, “Dad, you don’t write very well,” and apparently Johnson thought so too. Perhaps a rotten soldier boy has breached my free firewall and “disappeared” it.
I really enjoyed spending ten years in the U.S. living a life like a stuck needle in the groove or a skipping compact disc. Now, I’m demanding a Passport from your POTUS #45, a guy I feel sorry for and have labeled “The Incompetent.” Before I go, weak CHARLES EVANS HUGHES genes demand a brief explication on your Amendment #2 before an armed band shoots their way into the White House like the Puerto Ricans aunt Veronica and Kathleen told me all about. How does auntie know they were yelling “Harry! Get down!” with the president at a window bitching at assassins? Gosh, I don’t know; but Howard Hughes, Jr. did have many associates in high places, whereas I do not.
Why not get in “strict constructionist” mode the next time a cop is killed with a big handgun just for fun? When his widow’s suit against the gun manufacturer reaches your panel, here is how I would define “Militia.” A “militia” the way your without ESP Founders conceived it I am sure is something like this:
I still live on gun-heavy Nagel Avenue and Ferguson II erupts. The Saint Louis whites ride north in rusty old Jeeps and start shooting to “help” the police. After weeks of gun battles on CNN, the police decide to check on the dog and spouse only to “vanish.” The National Guard then “throws in” with the whites, but our African-Americans just keep shooting when help arrives from Chicago, Memphis, and Atlanta. Then, with the guard in disarray and Bill Hughes out of pizza, an old pal pulls up with a copy of the Constitution and a big, ugly rifle. Yep, Bill Hughes would go door-to-door and say deep intellectual things like, “Let’s restore some order around here.” Since my old buddies figured on this eventuality we have better weapons than the rabble and suddenly a convoy would pull into Jefferson City by boat with poor old me as “Provisional Governor of the State of Missouri” after some idiots had blown up the bridge. That is a lawful “militia” sir.
Now, a brief discussion with your eight colleagues on the likelihood of this scenario should elicit jokes, not law. However, I’m quite sure that is what the Founders meant when it comes to carrying guns, so in my opinion even the well-regulated “Conceal and Carry” permit is unconstitutional. Who can carry guns freely if I had your job? Military, National Guard, and police—that’s all. No gun shop, no gun range, no pink .32 in the mentally disordered woman’s purse, and no plans for what I mockingly call “The Glorious Revolution” because a “strongman” president muscled-up and took all the damn guns away.
It was a pleasure not serving as Rehnquist’s clerk because I did not want to room with D.C. homosexuals and Charlie Hughes said, “We can’t afford it.”
Have a great time being driven nuts; I’m going to the EU.
With a modicum of respect,
William Charles Hughes
“Just another Hughes from Wales”