Monday, January 29, 2018

No Reason for Trump Treason




08.10.2017


Chief Jaffe –

Joe Hartnett is the unlucky Sargent who gets this in his mailbox too! Fortunately, I am “involuntarily retired” and have the time to piece together what a writer like me calls “The Narrative.” Problem with your bank? Phone provider? Satellite TV company? Better have a pen that works and get all of the names! Some of them may not be real as the problem persists and drives you nuts. Just call again and listen to the music on hold.

Back in 2007, I thought movie scene type people were “picking” my locks at the catchy address of 911 St. Rita, and a locksmith agreed. I had already alleged the City of Clayton Missouri had renumbered my block to get the address and noted, thanks to the County Assessor, that many had “turned over” their building just before a building named the “World Trade Center” fell down in 2001. The Army lawyer next door to the north admitted he worked in secret prisons, and an Air Force man to the south talked “car talk” with me out back. (He drove a Mazda Miata; my Nissan 240SX went “missing,” along with everything I ever accumulated from wages, not selling drugs). Must be that book I wrote about 9/11 and secret prisons!

Moving along to my calls to your department on 9 August, 2017 I have to wonder how cops nationwide can beg for “tips” and then consistently fail to call back or provide info on the simplest of matters. I have thus coined a new term. It is “Reverse-Paranoia.” Yes, the hippie and Vietnam protester thought the police were coming to take them away, whereas now, the powerful marijuana that may have made them clinically paranoid is oddly legal in a growing number of states. Thus, the United States Government is apparently allowing a “flip-flop” on 90+ years of social policy. Sorry, pot is bad for you. Today, we don’t have to be “paranoid,” because the average cop avoids getting out of the police car if he or she can get away with it. On TV shows? Female cops who weigh 120 pounds are slamming big thugs to the concrete and taking them away. I see this unconstitutional crap every day on what I call “The Mind Control Screen.”

The U.S. legal system now seems to be: “I’ve got a badge, you are going to jail.” Yes, my maternal uncles thought I should become a cop and they uttered this post-arrest joke often. It was: “We’ll think of something on the way to the station.” The ACLU is going to help me? Not with me calling them “A bunch of cowards” since about 1982. This is when I read-up on Exception 1 to the Freedom of Information Act (FOIA). It essentially allowed the government to say, “If we think it’s a secret, it stays secret.” The ACLU honchos in New York went along with this, most likely to stay in bed with politicians of that era.

Out in California, I was illegally ticketed by a bastard of a deputy who had stupidly said, “Teachers are liberal, cops are conservative.” I gave consent for a photo and later became convinced some kooky lawmen and rich kids have a game that goes like this: “Hey, the dude is dead and I have the last picture of him!” Where is the photo that was taken of me along with having received a $5 gift from the Senior Deputy that was supposed to be for bus fare to Ventura, California? My now deceased Star Trek actor & financial backer was told this: “Given I seem to be homeless and the cops don’t bother me, it would not be smart to move to a different town.” Sheriff deputies promptly resumed harassing me after that remark, and I spent many hours wondering about Victor Lundin’s intentions. It was absurd, and the best example I can cite was being told to “move on” near grade schools when I could honestly tell the deputy I had taught at a public high school and cleared every background check known to your government. This did not matter to California’s criminals in brown uniforms.

Here’s what I want:

JERRY BROWN’S ass in prison.
GREG TOTTEN’S ass in prison.
GEOFF DEAN’S ass in prison.
ED TUMBLESON’S ass in prison.
DEPUTY KAROL’S ass in prison.
DEPUTY LOPEZ’S ass in prison.
DEPUTY CARLSON’S ass in prison.

Former California AG Kamila Harris is staying off my “Please Indict” list for people who need to be jailed by a pubic hair. Oh, she’s going to be your next president? Over my potentially dead body that is very much related to Howard Robard Hughes, Felix Turner Hughes, Harold E. Hughes, Richard J. Hughes, William J. Hughes, Charles Evans Hughes, and by golly, Archaleus Hughes worked for George Washington. (Consult your dollar bill for his image). John R. Hughes was one of the first Texas Rangers and looked just like me? I called the Ranger museum and got the impression they don’t like this Hughes there because my credentials as a political “liberal” have been known in Texas since H.W. Bush owned Zapata Oil. My old joke about his son was: “He had to succeed with owning the baseball team; it’s like printing money.”

I later defended Jeb Bush on a conservative talk show in Dallas, but I’m sure they destroyed the tape by now. Fair & balanced gets you nowhere in today’s USA, so I’m ready to go back home to Wales as soon as someone provides some help. (The Hughes family arrived with royal land grants and lots of cash in about 1700, I discovered). The ancestral research began with an ancestry.com page displaying my mother and Howard R. on the same page. No wonder the Ventura County Sheriff took that along with my screenplays which are no longer for sale to greedy Hollywood Jews.

If I ever get to the National Press Club, a theme could well be “Dreams Die Hard When Your Name is Hughes.” How well I remember my late dad’s Washington D.C. job offer in 1971. Ever the Parliamentarian, our “blended family” voted. The measure was defeated by a 7-2 vote with Charles E. Hughes and this writer the only “Ayes” for a bigger house and suburban Virginia swimming pool. If the vote had gone our way, I may have been the one building a library instead of Mr. Obama. Now that all of my dreams are dead, I simply hope to depart USA in one piece and add a few books of mine to the stacks in surprisingly vibrant bookstores.

The Narrative
First, on 08/06/2017, I looked up social worker Karen Landman’s precinct which is #24. The NYPD search box could not locate the same information when provided with the Bustle company address.

Second, I took a guess at Precinct #6 for Bustle and reached a Detective Albericci who said to call Precinct #13.

Thirdly, I called the Precinct #13 Community Affairs number. This was in regard to 28 year-old female Alexandra Finkel. I was the babysitter and later chauffeur for Alex and her many teenaged friends. During the message, I wondered aloud to your department if employment at Bustle was entirely voluntary because the founder struck me, to be quite frank, as a “creep” and possibly not so nice of a guy. This call did not produce any response in 24 hours.

Fourthly, at about 9:15 a.m. on 08/07/2017 I called the detective number at Precinct #13 and was told that squad was only for homicides. I complained mildly to a Detective Rickford that the Community Affairs call had not been returned and noted this was not a high priority item, although to me the “smell test” had been flunked long ago. Why? Ms. Landman posted an odd comment on my Linked-In page, so I looked her up and called. This began a series of e-mail messages and phone calls about social work. Noting she lived in Manhattan, and the fact Bustle does not publish a phone number anywhere, I asked that she go to the Bustle office and suggest Alex call me. Meantime, Alexandra had sent several e-mail messages from Bustle and provided a gmail account address. Suspicion was raised by Alex not replying to the gmail box she had provided on her Bustle account, the fact her Twitter page ended in 2016 with a New Year’s resolution, and her own mother had reported, “She doesn’t ride the subway much” and “She doesn’t go out much.” Thinking I was still a friend of their family, I asked, “Why has she not married a nice young guy?” The thought was she may be “married to the company” as with many young professional females in your fair city. Her mother then began the unprovoked hurling of insults by e-mail which is not new behavior and an entirely separate issue.

I then tried reaching Ms. Landman by phone, and received no callback. Now, let us be clear that I am the good guy, yet your detective immediately started insinuating I had done something to alienate these two New Yorkers. On the contrary, and all e-mail between the parties (Landman & A. Finkel) could be forwarded if we are, as my late dad would say, “Making a federal case out of it.” Pardon me, but I find it odd when people seem happy to communicate and then…SILENCE.

I’ve gotten this cold shoulder often since two elderly gentleman approached me on the street in 2013 Los Angeles and excitedly said, “Can we tell you a story about Howard Hughes?” Apparently, in exchange for watching over his aircraft, the two storytellers were treated to breakfast in Lubbock, Texas and were as excited as the day it allegedly happened. This writer could have been a great detective because my only question was, “They had a lunch counter at a little airport?” The elderly men said they did, and I believed them. They also relayed what they claimed was Howard’s “favorite plane,” a modified B-18 bomber. Did I mention I gave no introduction? During that miserable period of LA torment, I was photographed often and promised Melvin Dummar from a pay phone he would someday be paid his 156 million dollars. His wife Bonnie is what my late mom would call, “A scream.” “Melvin’s out slopping the hogs,” she said in a first phone call that should have sealed movie rights and a large sum of money for me by now.

Fifth, the referral from smart-ass Rickford was to a Sgt. Johnson who seemed to indicate two of your thousands of cops would find a few minutes to simply ask: “What’s up?” or more appropriately, “Is everything okay?” over at Bustle. How could your detective know I’d made and taken hundreds of calls from police, who when sent on a “safety check” or mental health crisis here in the Saint Louis area always claimed that, “Nothing was going on.” Later, I’d often have panicked citizens back on my state agency phone, leading to allegations widely shared about “lazy cops,” “dirty cops,” and “killer cops.”

As of today, 11 August, 2017 nothing has been conveyed about Ms. Landman’s well-being or Ms. Finkel’s. To my astonishment, I received a tweet from the woman who had written about Bustle founder Mr. Bryan Goldberg in Business Insider. She’s the U.S. Editor in Chief, but this buys no doughnut or cup of coffee in the land. This, along with salutations from a writer at Yahoo Finance may mean the dam is going to break soon about who I am. Yes, I am a liberal, and a stern capitalist, yet I happen to think the USA’s wealthy should be taxed like in England or France. Why won’t the likes of Mr. Trump cough up 55, 60, or even 70% on their earnings at the margin? I realize most beat cops don’t discuss the elasticity of money, but it does mean simply that a dollar is worth more to a hobo than within Trump Tower.

Lately, I think my newfound anger and rejection of all I’ve known previously is the capstone of simply grieving the loss of Charles E. Hughes, who I will allege in courts of law was a vastly older brother, not my dad. What kind of family does not tell the eldest son dad died, rents a “drug house” to the next of kin, and remains eerily silent on how dad died. How about I produce an anti-drug commercial like the famous old one with eggs frying in a pan featuring a voice-over that says:

 “This is your family on meth.”

I see a frame house with flaking paint, a car on cinder blocks, laundry hanging on the porch rail, a trash can dumped on its side, a dog running around loose, and into the drive pulls a new maroon pickup truck. Yes, the meth is so “clean” these days, they don’t perceive anything is wrong until they lose their job and blame it on a relative, like me.

Regarding Catalina Island, Howard liked to deliver cases of beer personally, if he liked you. My dad’s exact quote was: “We had very little free time, but there was a movie theatre.” That would be in Avalon, California where Howard likely brought the brew and some loose women. My detractors are so nutty, they would say, in the face of documents that proved the airplane old guys on Cesar Chavez identified for me landed on the same small island where Charlie was training for the Merchant Marine, “Aw, that doesn’t prove a thing.” Latent commie kooks and neo-Nazis would say this, however what I was told in California was, “Gay guys are half of your problem.”

A DNA test proves it all. That’s why I’ve been cast by the wayside at the Wayside Motel.

Let’s chat soon.


Thanks,


William C. Hughes

Friday, January 26, 2018

Big Book Bonfire Tonight! (In Huntington Beach, CA)

It's a modest Westlake writer ranch, eh?
Why would I not be there?
Ask Governor Brown.



01.25.2017


Dear Bill:

It seems like a long time ago when I asked a female in Florida to read the first few chapters of my book on the mental health system from antiquity to the present. I was later encouraged by all of the literary agents who requested all or part of the manuscript. The question I had asked her was whether I should sound-off like a pop culture scribe, or write like a mental health pro. “Keep it professional” she said on a South Florida beach.

Much later, I’d be on a South Carolina beach, taking a break from a re-write on the manuscript that was not published by that publisher which went under. It is no longer in business after they gave me a classic “run-around.” The next publisher offered a contract, and as today’s uneducated political snots say, they “Walked back” from their contact offer. Where’s the proof? On the State of Missouri’s server and many stolen hard drives.

How many times can you steal a book?
How many times can you steal a screenplay?

Apparently, as many times as you want in this increasingly lawless nation.

What did Dick Nixon tell the C.I.A.?
“Don’t get caught!”

I wrote to Terry McAuliffe asking for money to “bump off” a lackluster Republican warming a seat in congress. If there is one thing I am an “expert” on, it is mental illness and dangerousness, yet here I sit in squalor at a motel where people stay for months and even years. I’d like this issue addressed, and I’d like the financial ability to run for public office as a Democrat. It was a former congressman’s staff member who said, “We were not thrilled with her either,” when the topic was Hilary Clinton.

Yes, both major political parties are in shambles. Yes, I almost called the Electoral College tally “on the nose” and tried to warn Clinton’s troops. Yes, I just spoke with the Green Party candidate here, and we agreed to stay in touch. ANN WAGNER needs a new job, and I expect a prompt reply about funding a congressional race for me. My name is Hughes, and it is not changing, as was suggested by Hollywood types in order to supposedly sell a screenplay. How about this: “A new film by KLAUS CARGO.”

Ridiculous!


William “Klaus” Hughes

Tuesday, January 23, 2018

Mumbai Warden

Wales is a separate nation. So is Scotland, William.
[All hail "Prince William the Bald"] 



12.04.2016


Dear Ms. Warden –

While I appreciate the quip on LinkedIn, this does not secure the services of a PR firm. I doubt you understand how dangerous this “swing to the right” is in the USA. Liberals over a certain age are going to wish Ronald Reagan would rise from the dead.

Has the Nazi SS party won in Austria? Better read a book on Germany in the 1930’s. I already did that, and I am not looking forward to meeting my many new “friends” when the DNA matches Felix Turner Hughes. He was from Wales, and therefore so am I.


William C. Hughes

Attn: Gorkana – Apparently, Amelia Eve Warden is running what I call a “LinkedIn Only” PR business with a one-page, no info website. Under construction, or a “scammer?” I don’t need to play internet games; when I prove I’m related to Howard Hughes Jr. I’ve known for years I must polish his image first. Ask an aerospace company chief to spend 90 million dollars of his own money, to please the U.S. Government and I think he or she would say “No.” As I often joke, “Can somebody read a book about Howard?” I did.    
 

Saturday, January 20, 2018

Gulfstream _ Gulf Shores

Planning some terror? You need an "N" number for that, son.



June 26, 2017


Dear NARA Staff:

After further review in the “Memory Booth,” I am now reasonably sure Charles E. Hughes was not a C.I.A. guy but rather a Secret Service man. Charlie was a bit “obsessive” about travel preparations, especially when the “blended family” went on vacation.

What did we have?

A 1972 Impala in the driveway.
A 1970 Nova in the driveway.

August sun is hot in Saint Louis.
(Arguing with me yet? Calling me “crazy” yet?)

Hey, I hear Putin hates Hillary Clinton!
Russians were in the voting machine assisting Trump?
Man, what a mess!

Back to 1972, I was the emissary to ask, “Dad, can we get going?”
I never saw the man more agitated.
Why?
I think Richard M. Nixon was on the phone.

The audio please!

“For Christ’s sake, Charlie, there’s not a goddamn thing to worry about, and I guarantee it.  Now, I’ve talked to Bob too, and let me tell you, and let us be clear…this president does not want to see another tragedy. Charles, you are making a mountain out of a mole hill.”

Let’s hear it!
(If Ms. Woods did not erase it)


Thanks,


William C. Hughes