Wednesday, November 25, 2015

Granny's HR Dept.

FIAT made up lies and took mine away. Next? The AUDI 100LS, Orange

Military creeps riding around on bikes with terribly low I.Q. scores want to know things, so today we present: Careers Suggested at Grandma’s House

And our second feature is: SpeCIAl  abc Investigation: Bill Cut Himself Cooking at I.H.O.P. in 1974.  Not today.

If I had a Canadian dollar for every time I heard the “cop” suggestion, I would not be here. Finally, I said, in about second grade: “I don’t want to see people shot and stabbed.”


Airline Captain. I said, “That would be boring,” and there was absolutely not any six foot three guy in the kitchen wearing a cool hat who said, “Damn, he’s right.”


“Why don’t you join the Air Force? That elicited a “No.”

Next? The relatives knew Vietnam was coming, and…

“Why don’t you join the Coast Guard?” And? “No.”

Bill finally got aggressive and said, “I’d like to be the network cameraman.”


I got the lecture. “It’s hot, the director in the booth tells you what to do, you have to stand for a long time, and you have to join the union.”

And, some guy who looks a lot like Archibald Leach said, “Hell, he should be the director!” 

That’s Cary Grant, and the Malcolm Bliss van is coming when? Oh, that’s right! I worked there, and it closed. St. Vincent’s re-opened? Time for Arts & Crafts with Kay-Kay!

Mafia Time Machine / Paramount Time-Dimension Warp

Don’t ‘ya hate that?

In this not a Face Book timeline, Bill learns to fly the plane during the same year as he drove Dee’s car.

1971 – 1973Bill is very careful with one piston-powered engine.
1974 – 1976: Bill has more than one prop going, and remains a good boy.
1977 – 1979: Bill wants a jet, and gets one.
1979 – 1981: Ronald Reagan, in February of 1981, does his best acting job of all, when he says, “That’s terrible news. Tell his daddy I’m so sorry to hear that.”

Can you see the black column of smoke rising from the cornfield? Not like Howard! My charred remains are identified with dental records, and of course my last words were “Aw, shit!" [It never occurs to my non-official cover tormentors that old spies, and Bob Maheu, knew to, “Keep his ass out of airplanes.”]  

Mafia, We’re Back to Reality
They don’t like it, thus the drug dealing.

Then again, what if it’s like the Fiat 124? I recall it spinning around on a ramp that is still there Saint Louis. Same as the airplane, sky pilot?

01.0     Bill exits Westbound 40/64 in St. Louis, but there's a T.O. "problem." I-C-E. 
01.1    “Shit! The car is.”
01.2    “Going off the fucking..”
01.3    “Ice!”
01.4    “No!”
01.5    “Do nothing.”
01.6    “Whee!”
01.7    “Fuck! What now?”
01.8    “Now!”
01.9    “Brake!”
02.0    “Left!”
02.1    "It what?"
02.2    “Whoa!”
02.3    “Downshift!”
02.4    “Clutch pedal”
02.5    “Coast”
02.6    “What the…?”
02.7    I’m the guy going north on Big Bend Boulevard, thinking…

“Jesus, Gayle would kill my ass if I wrecked this car.” 

Four to five 360 Degree “doughnuts,” and he recovered control of the car.
This could have led to…


“Ladies and gentlemen, I too enjoy flying inverted. Uh, not really, and I’m very sorry if you spilled your drink. We’ll be in LA in, uh, about 15 minutes. I’ll get back to you in just a minute.”

Who done it? Can we stand the holiday drama? ZZZZZzzzzz. "Gravy? Yeah, sure."

Sunday, November 22, 2015

Hands Up! The Long Overdue Hughes Tour of Feguson

Our bus full of Liberal Arts college grad dissidents, East Coast Charles Schumer fans, biracial bisexual couples, and causes in search of adherents will board at Florissant Road & I-70, so you’d better believe the driver will be traveling at the speed limit headed north through Beautiful Cool Valley, Missouri. Off to the left is a building owned by a Catholic religious order Hughes was sent into on some sort of “mission” lost to the 2016 organic memory chips called “neurons.” These facilities are always on a hill, in case the indigenous non-Catholic people should approach with torches and pitchforks.

Soon our driver will point out a building that used to house the Datsun dealer who charged so much for a transmission and clutch wrecked by a future Air Force girlfriend, the agreement was like this: “If it ever even makes a funny noise, your labor is free, or I’m calling the goddamn Attorney General’s office.” That was 1975; nothing much has changed on this end. No sex for Hughes on that deal, but it did commence suspiciously way later in the Year of Our Lord 1999, and this is not a party, or a Prince song on WB.

Up further on the right is the cop station, where there was always a friendly Lieutenant to chat it up when a 1993 Hughes case management report went like this: “Jay’s up all night hollering, quit his job, ran off his roommate, chopped-up the furniture, put it on the curb, and threatened to beat my ass.” Son, that’s bipolar! A few doors to the north, a dilapidated frame house is long gone where future .gov contractors went in the same cop station wearing sunglasses and said, “Sargent, someone stole our pot plant.” In 1974? Amazingly, no one did any time, to this correspondent’s meager knowledge.

Moving on toward Church Street is a storefront on the left where long ago many Missourians were almost found dehydrated and dead waiting for a driver’s license and / or license plate. To the right is a bakery where mental health community worker and donut connoisseur Hughes would stop for a Long John or brownie. There was supposed to have been a book jacket photo snapped there, but these things take time, because packs of stalkers and movie mafia intellectual property thieves are not on the cop radar like a sedan full of Negroes.

Moving on to the intersection of Florissant & Chambers, volunteers will distribute bottles of Poland spring water for the long red light, and take it from Hughes, no matter how you drive, it’s always red. To the left is the storefront where Hughes did not work for a 1970’s record store called “Peaches,” because though the manager called with a job, the answering machine had not been invented yet, and Rick was told, “I just don’t answer the phone with a killer hangover.” Today, this writer is glad Wild Turkey shot girl brought a bottle of booze, not a firearm. Was the record store manager in cahoots with my girl? A communist writer in Cuba may care someday, not today. If I was date raped too, he’ll get a book deal, not me.

As our bus moves north, the Pantera Pizza may be gone, but efforts to cheesily “frame” this writer for perceived misconduct have simply become more grandiose, not this Hughes. All blackmailers should know the patient’s daughter was not dancing at the gentlemen’s club yet when she was driven to work at the pizza joint. Once employed on the East Side, Hughes as case manager endorsed the move as sensible with two young biracial mouths to feed. Dad was where? Not shooting a gun at Hughes is all that mattered. I’m sure I was quoted to him as saying, “You don’t need medication like your mom.”

The Ferguson library was moved to a new location from the days when state paperwork was completed on the fly there, so your bus will stop to catalog the many ways strangers are kept off Soldier Boy’s Internet. The government has spies in the library? Heavens no! Are you nuts? Traveler cameras banished? The foreign tourists on our bus may want to know why in this “Land of the free.” After being tossed off public property by the private sector security guard, passengers will then be excited by the famous McDonald’s, beauty supply store, and charred gas station. There will be plenty of time allowed to trigger—oops—a visit from the under new management Ferguson cops. Who called the cops on our tourists? Outrageous!

After clearing up that matter peacefully, the bus will proceed to the “nice part” of Ferguson, if it has not succumbed to ever westward “white flight.” The bus will again stop at Hughes’ old grocery store, office supply store, and K-Mart, all gone thanks to good government and race relations that should be a model for all real estate scumbags looking for some abandoned commercial properties. The Hughes Pasta House is gone? There’s always U. City if our foreign visitors are not happy with a White Castle that my satellite leased by Google says is still there.

The illogical last stop is the best donut shop in town, nicknamed “The Old Army Donut Shop” due to conversations overheard by elderly guys of all colors back when this writer lived out there. The nearly abducted at that shop story requires a microphone clipped to a lapel not yet purchased by this Hughes. An abduction was averted when a Hughes hand found no wallet in the pocket. Yet another cop-free James Bond movie-like drive down I-170 found this particular pack of rodents fleeing on to private jet rental property, and you don’t get it? This tale is a lie? The problem is, it’s not relevant until it’s told under oath with someone’s big ass on a judicial spit.

Our return trip will feature a southbound route down Elizabeth Avenue, where Ferguson’s Finest actually expect, and will see, 15 m.p.h. on the radar gun for several miles, so be sure your pod is fully charged before you board the bus. Mary S.’s house is on the left, and did we ever play you all with the 17 year-old North County, “Let’s not, and act like we did.” Where did we go to high school? So glad you asked, Wildwood Missouri neo-NaziMan. Mary attended St. Joseph’s Academy, and I was the Head of Stoner State at Rosary High. No lie, and we can prove it.

Friday, November 20, 2015

Press, Press, Pull

"Anything else you need this evening, Mister Hughes?" 
- TWA (1977)
Can you do the math, Military Motherfucker?

Hey Soldier! Did Howard Hughes write some of those Three Stooges shorts? Why did workaholic Charlie Hughes find time to arrive home early from the office and watch them with Billy in early 1964? Something had taken place in Dallas a few months prior. What happened? You need a Charter school, numskull! The many “Columbia Clues?” Not here, soldier / sailor / I.S. mercenary.

From the Late William Hughes’ personal correspondence:

“As you can read, if you desire, the last cogent word from the UA 553 crew is, “I’m sorry.” I’m sorry I know why these damn airplanes go down. I was on a 727-200 once. The motherfucker took every inch of concrete to get that piece of shit in the air, and a barbed wire fence was observed out the window a few feet under the fuselage. Where? Tell me they don’t know who is onboard in Houston, Texas. How about we call Baker Hughes on “speakerphone?” You are allowed to laugh. They won’t be able to find my oily pals Linda, Sarah, or an attorney, I predict.” (From my U-Tube that is only a delusion). BTW, I congratulate my you know who's at "Anonymous" for going to war with I.S. rodents. Someone can thank me in the U.K."

"The People’s Transportation Safety Bored is now in session. Regarding the mass-murder and flight crew suicide on December 8, 1972 near Chicago-Midway Airport, at flaps 15 and takeoff thrust, the aircraft should have safely executed a missed approach and 'go around.' It did not because of a supposedly 'secret' military weapon that for convenience shall be here referred to by using the Paramount Studios Star Trek term, which is, 'Tractor Beam.' The aircraft slowed and crashed with full power applied to two Pratt & Whitney JT8D engines because it was 'stuck' in such a field that was 1972 science fact, not fiction. There was no icing. Wind/wind shear was not a factor. There was no mechanical, electrical, or hydraulic failure on the airplane. UA 553’s Captain was fully aware of the terror event in progress, thus his last words were, not surprise or an obscene exclamation, but these two words: 'I’m sorry.' No, he was not. As with many more subsequent 'accidents,' entire passenger jets have been brought down to kill several 'targets' on board, or even one passenger. This demonstrates a total disregard for human life to effect a U.S. intelligence agency/Mafia 'termination.' This weapon remains in use, and calls for no less than the resignation of the entire United States Cabinet. As with Watergate, the Vice President becomes the president, and he or she chooses a Vice President. He or she in turn should resign, and the new president appoints a Cabinet. Do not fly in commercial or private aircraft. It is unsafe, regardless of what screening may be done on the ground."