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Man, It's Bad (Not "good")

03-15-2015

Ms. Thomas –

As I told the first SLU voice on the phone, I was a graduate student when the fountains and corny clock tower were built. I lost my 4.0 due to a mysterious computer crash, but the paper was later published in Boston. Then, I began work on a book from which I cannot show you one page. A dozen agents received a chapter. Three publishers received an entire manuscript. An agent in Florida stated “I really enjoyed it. It’s publishable.” And? He closed his agency and started selling mansions by Mr. Trump’s place for Richard Blum.

My late father said, “Have you heard of Richard Blum?” I said, “I know the Blum family.” That’s all that was said at 9185-A Heritage Drive. The product is called “intellectual property,” and I’ve got some for sale. Seems to me after I finished Book #2 on national security, I wrote to every law professor in town. What was the request? “I need a lawyer.” One brave SLU professor wrote back and said, “I no longer practice that type of law.” That was 2005, and I know what the date is today. That manuscript has also been stolen, but I could show you some pages.

Screenplays? They steal it off the Microsoft software. They steal it at the screenwriting software company. They steal it at the Writer’s Guild of America. They steal the paper pages. Later, the movie is released without your name on the screen. That’s Hollywood the hard way, and sir, I’ve lived it. The Sheriff stole my screenplay? Absolutely true, and if I were running for office, I’d be hoarse like Hillary yelling what?

No rights!

No law!

No justice! (Unless you have MONEY)

Why not come out of your Ivory Tower and see hundreds of LA homeless lying in the rain? They carry a poncho, I did not. How about a local legal “beef?”

A Saint Louis County Police captain threatened me physically on an answering machine tape, He stalked me. I called the late St. Louis attorney Don Wolf. He said, “File a complaint.” I called Charles Edward Hughes. He said, “Talk it over with my cop buddy,” and that is what I did. What happened next, professor? The same cop showed up to yell at me like a nut at 7777 Watson Road in 2013, and I’d like him arrested and prosecuted.

Too much to ask of the legal system? Might as well vote for “OBL” if he’s still alive. My convenience store manager thinks the “terrorist” construction company owner died at the Mayo Clinic with an assist from the Bush family. And? I believe his story, because we were not shown a dead body, as with Che. He further claims to know an eyewitness who was hustled out of the clinic by goons after seeing a dying Osama.

Back to the nutty cop, I called the county government in an effort to recall the Captain’s NAME. No, he has “disappeared,” as have all my so-called “friends.” However, I do remember the name of Charlie’s “cop buddy.” What did I yell at the ex-cop on the other side of Watson Road? “Got a gun? Shoot me!” Would you do that? I think retired cops are allowed to have a gun, are they not? When does this idiot go to jail?

Circling back to the movie business, I called an associate I’ll refer to as, “The MGM Girl.” She said, “Are you here?” (Los Angeles). I said, “No, I’m still in Saint Louis.” With people nearby at her JOB, she muttered, “Could you speed it up, please?” In this town? No comprehension of the entertainment industry, I here allege. I’m telling you in writing that when you call a big-time Hollywood producer’s office and get the update on who quit, who was hired, their location, and the new e-mail addresses, this means THE GUY WANTS YOUR SCREENPLAY, and what did the maternal uncles say in 1961? “Get a good cinematographer” because they could foresee that by the time my deal came along, I’d be old and not know what the hell I’m doing as a way older than average movie director.

Jimmy E.’s phone no longer works, but in downtown LA he said, “Hughes, they know what they are doing. Just sit back in that chair and relax” (Meaning the crew & director’s chair). Would an old high school associate bring me a copy of “The Aviator” to see a certain woman’s NAME in the credits? Oh no! Can’t do that, because you have to believe my story, which is that she sat next to me and drank coffee, but not without saying, “We’re below the line and trying to help.” Four (4) years later, I’d see her swinging a microphone boom over DiCaprio’s head. This could cause bloodshed if I’m a Trump supporting, gun-slinging type. I am not. The joke not for this Zip Code is: “I’m so bored, I wrote a Western.”

Here’s the “pitch,” and I really, really really, could use some help from a Goddamn lawyer:

The graves of F-Troop writers will rumble as JORGE RIO rides into town. He’s a Mexican gunslinger who implausibly gets himself elected Sheriff in 1855 Texas. His rather topical problem is he forged all of his relevant identity documents, yet he wears the white hat. Watch as bad guy after bad guy says, “He ain’t no American” and gets blown away. You see, Jorge has toys like on the Wild, Wild West TV show, and as for the wisecracking alcoholic Irish Army General who brings many troops and rifles to side with an illegal…counting the profits yet? Our Preacher also pitches-in with a large handgun beneath the frock. That line is: “I keep it right next to my Bible.” BANG! BANG!

William C. Hughes, MSW

Dan Has No Such Problems

This is an urgent request for political asylum

Before I confirmed members of my family both maternal and paternal worked “undercover” and overtly for the United States Government, I was rudely tortured on a hot California parking lot. Let us not divert to how I think the State of California long ago seceded from the Union, or never really joined USA. On the lot I wrote two postal letters and mailed them, one to the French embassy unsure of my recently discovered French heritage and one to the Irish embassy certain that my maternal grandmother had been born in Ireland. I had retrieved and seen Ellis Island records on her arrival.

I could not find any record on grandfather James Leonard, and all I was told for a lifetime was, “He was in the Navy.” Possibly the Royal Navy for WWI and on his WWII service I was told, “Not a scratch on his boat.”  My “Father of Record,” Charles Edward Hughes, who I claim to be a vastly older brother had a business associate in Sydney, and as a teenager I could not figure how this could be. Our family lived poor and I was intrusive enough to get in file cabinets to see the Local Cartage Association salary on tax forms which ironically was the same amount I closed out my career at as a Missouri state employee in 2007.

I don’t know where the money went, but I am sure I saw many TWA tickets, yet refused to believe I was related to Howard Hughes when a list of witnesses living and dead could be produced who said I am. Yesterday, I asked a head Public Defender in Saint Louis County to “ask around” if anyone is interested in proving the genetics to end this madness! He may not give me a single attorney name as I have contacted hundreds wihout success. Meanwhile, I am threatened with bodily harm daily as if a dissident Iranian with the Shah in power.

I simply will not live covertly as the Hughes Aircraft methodology, even I know was to “Hide it out in the open.” When challenged, the denial was and is issued. I had pleasant conversations with en of their retirees an even found one they hought had died, yet this produces no legal filing or payment for movie rights. In this nation, pop stars drop mates and abuse children and hey go on to srite books that are published as mine continue o be suppressed. This abuse has spanned the last few years of the Bush Administration, the entire Obama eight years, and has worsened to the point of hearing regular, overt death which cannot be reported due to the ease of retaliation.

In a Salvation Army homeless cot, the aggressor cannot even be locked out as with an incredible two years I spent researching the Hughes family and a book about aviation. Hundreds of e-mail messages were sent to attorneys and lawful officials with no remedy suggested. Instead, the reality of the DNA link is denied by ignoring any on the record process as I am concurrently swarmed by people I’d rather not know, many of whom are mentally ill and dangerous. If from South America, even the Trump Administration would have allowed me in the U.S. That means something is drastically wrong and growing worse. I WANT OUT OF THE UNITED STATES, and no Australian official can deny the link to William “Billy” Hughes, who behaved as I do.

William Hughes  

Political Prisoner 

Which Revolution is in Progress? TEA PARTY or NEGRO?

The last Facebook photo from my Swiss pal. Is she dead?

December 5, 2018

News Channel 5–

To speak on background, first your crew needs to go to Schnucks and buy your source something to eat. Next, pay the Indian man at the Wayside Motel his $224. Mr. Rayman will be happy to hold on to Bill Clinton’s old laptop for another $75 per month as we agreed upon before I ventured out to California again. As for the Obama missile-shooting model laptop upon which I type, you too can see the photo of it in use to kill Osama bin Laden.

Hillary Clinton looks distressed as Secretary of State during that “mission,” and we all know a big fuss would follow anyone even suggesting that a Hughes should again be at the helm “Over at State.” It’s the most hated federal agency on the map; just ask Rex Tillerson, if you can find him. Your reporter is welcome to chat with Ms. Kirkoff, my contact at Pompeo’s Bureau of Intelligence and Research on speaker-phone. Looks like they somehow got it wrong again on the Saudi Crown Prince, or they were lying until CIA stepped in to rattle Rand Paul and Lindsey Graham. Even with a lesser job, the cry could go up again: “Get Hughes in here!” (For the truth). Now, let’s hear Lindenwood officials lie and say there was no influx of Saudi guys in 1974. Back then I really said, “If Aziz makes King, we’re in deep shit.”

Turning to local news, I await more info on the AMANDA JONES case so I can fail to pass it along to the FBI. Since I was refused a ride to a certain job interview in 2014, I have asked, “What can you do for me?” I’ve wondered many things since, like how someone can remove calls from the call record on my old android device. I am sure I called my #1 source’s Probation Officer before I called on the rest of Jefferson County. Is there anyone down there under 30 not on the caseload? Must be that new e-z brewing process for methamphetamine.

The additional trouble beyond JeffCo is the source who had some sort of illicit role right here in Marlborough, which is indeed in Saint Louis County. I believe I have chatted too often with the Prosecuting Attorney’s office, yet nobody’s door has been battered down yet over drug traffic. They want firsthand information from me? I guess I will be at the Forestry Dept. homeless camp with no “program” to attend. As many lawmen and lawwomen said in California, “You are falling through the cracks,” meaning no mental issues, no drug problem, and no bottle of booze nearby my outdoor sleeping site.

I know the name of a woman in a California Highway Patrol car who discussed their relaxed by St. Louis standards chase protocol with me. I do not know the name of the Saint Louis County cop female who drove like a nut with me in the car. What was her clue as she tailgated a hapless citizen? ”Doesn’t he see me?” Name, please! I prognosticate she is no longer in Afton, or with the department. How about “Captain Cocaine” as a prime topic of investigation? He first insulted me in Richmond Heights, and I now wonder what sunny climate that jackass retired to. I noted he sold his fake “cop car” to Mr. Rayman, but John’s recordkeeping may be poor on that transaction. The surge of business incorporations down here in 1994 I say is because Hughes Aircraft was being closed down, but despite reading the New York Times and the Sunday Post-Dispatch, this news escaped me.

Would you like the names of all the Hughes Aircraft Company (HAC) retirees who chatted with me, some at length? For God’s sake I was invited to their retiree group’s meeting in Redondo Beach, but could not afford the mediocre food at their Cheesecake Factory luncheon. Get it through your heads who I am. Howard Robard’s son. Don’t think so? Pay to disprove it. The local drug mob in Hemet, California got their torturous act in gear after I called Forest Lawn Cemetery, supposedly to get a DNA sample from screenwriter Rupert Hughes and end this madness. Instead, I got assaulted by an old biker gang slut. Want me running for office? “No rights, no law, no justice,” I would say. (Without money, you can be micro economically raped and sodomized by any passerby on Satan’s Internet). If you have some cash or bitcoin, however, you can participate in Obama’s “transactional” political realm. This to me means, “I have ten dollars for a crack rock,” and guess what? This stuff is available on just about every City of Saint Louis street corner. Does the mayor know this? I am not the one to tell her.

Always,

William C. Hughes

Mafia Millions; Hughes Billions

Johnny has kept my pacifier collection safe.
Are you a right wing nut?
Trotsky tard?

Apolitical sociopath? 

01.24.2019

Dear Rabbi:

The need on my end is HOUSING, for how many years? Too many, and the embarrassment of it in the supposed place of my birth is not the topic. There have been too many unproductive trips to Los Angeles over screenplays that are far better than the works of Rupert Hughes. Thus, my troubles are not about money, they are over royal genes, so let’s skip Lucy Horton Henderson and the statements of Felix Turner Hughes.  Instead, why not get down to receiving more death threats while trying to help others? Sorry, this is my type of “work” on only a $535 per month pension that was earned through hard work for the State of Missouri.

The cold approach to JCC I won’t try out of safety concerns, so here is the background to my call and material dating back to my time as a mental health case manager for two Jewish men with great wealth. First, some editorials. In my opinion, your legal system in the U.S. is slowly breaking down to where wealthy “big fish” can simply gobble up the assets of smaller fish with sufficient trickery and legal firepower. Lawyers? Almost all are corrupted souls, but basic research told me my entire family took a J.D. and practiced law. This retrospectively explained the jaws dropping at a Lindenwood College “Law School Day” for recruitment in 1977. The debate about what I call “lying” has continued to include by 2013 advice from a $800 per hour LA legal suite. Current events? Rod Rosenstein is too smart for his own good, and Bob Mueller, as the right alleges, is indeed a crafty “dirty cop.”

I told Sandy that both crime and danger negates the mental health law on confidentiality, but to start I will use initials for the victims. Please, do not suggest I call a police agency, because everywhere in this nation they seem to: A). Already know of the material, and B). Have been corrupted by graft to do nothing about it. My movie career was a $1,500 retainer away last September and the literary Intellectual Property lawyer wanted $3,500 to find a home for my national security book. Today, my situation has become so dangerous, I’d feel vastly safer in Cuba or an unstable Venezuela than Ladue, Missouri! Why? Both nations, and most famously Iran sent emissaries when I was “stranded” in California. The Jet Propulsion Lab (JPL) would also like to deny their discussions with me, but they took place. You would think I’d have cell phone service as recommended by one of their scientists by now, but this has not happened. My problem? A “stewpot” of royal genes in one body, and where is the DNA test? “Chain of custody” on DNA is not assured by postal mail or FedEx, so that is not the way to end this, nor is my untimely murder sought my many.

H.B. had a mess of a home in University City. He was mysteriously allowed to have over $60,000 on hand yet still had active Medicaid. This raised by eyebrows, as did his parents’ upstairs bedroom I dared to enter. Musty and untouched since his father died and mom was placed in a skilled nursing home, I saw the old world photos and Hebrew books but retreated lest something be damaged. The room, because of H.B.’s mental issues had been left undisturbed. One of my hallmarks as a community worker was a “No hospital unless dangerous” policy so I will never forget the previous case manager on the porch with H.B.’s medical chart in her arms. “This man needs State Hospital” she said. Why? TO GET TO THE HUNDREDS OF MILLIONS IN GOLD. This gold made it out of Nazi Germany only to be taken by a Saint Louis lawyer who needs a real “rendition,” or maybe the U.K. authorities would cooperate, given where I am from.

One of my first calls when the dial tone was heard on Michigan Avenue in the place I call “Tony Brown’s Mafia House” was to call “R.M.,” the lawyer in this case only to find the practice closed. His younger female assistant, “R.C.” is related to a Saint Louis sports personality who I am sure has “no idea” where his sister went with the gold. I happen to know where they went, and as for what cheapie informant told me, I do not recall.

This saga gets better because that same year I was at the now bizarrely razed to be replaced Midtown branch of the Saint Louis County Library on the public computer when I looked up and saw H.B.’s sister J.A.B. standing behind me. This is a “nonverbal” message in many circles where I do not travel. She was seen there a second time as I printed and sent futile postal mail. At one point this library because so undisciplined and full of noise I angrily told a woman at the circulation desk, “I am never coming back here” but eventually I did. I was also not invited to form a committee and “protest” the destruction of what I considered a classic building and “ultra-modern” parking garage.

This is crucial because J.A.B. stays at a boarding home, or as it is officially known a “Residential Care Facility” (RCF). I had one face-to-face meeting with her as H.B.’s case manager and sh quite logically said, “”he’s a poor housekeeper” which you would consider the biggest understatement in the history of University City if you fought the battles I did. I insisted H.B. run a vacuum, exterminate mice, flush the toilet, and toss our rotten food. He was this spoiled about keeping house because mom did everything, as it should be in an orthodox Jewish family. I innocently went to see his Rabbi and was turned away as if I had tried to see President Clinton.

Later, H.B. decided he was more of a “liberal” and drove out to see Rabbi Stiffman at 20 m.p.h. all the way out Clayton Road. I was pleased with the speed but not the use of the car which I could not prohibit. Later, he began to take cabs and regularly “hit up” his Rabbi for a $20 bill that covered the fare. This practice I asked him to stop, given H.B.’s large post office retirement check and cash on hand. I think it is incumbent upon the rabbi’s successor to help me sort this one out, because if the family wealth was great, it should not be carted off to foreign lands by a crooked lawyer, I think we can agree. The bottom like here, as with the previous case, is that I’d be happy to argue in court all day to convince a judge that J.A.B. is legally competent, but did not receive a penny of the family capital, much like me. For the unschooled, it is quite a leap from a diagnosis of depression or even alleged “schizophrenia” to legal incompetence. I served many happy clients with schizophrenia who had driver’s licenses, worked jobs, signed leases, paid all of their bills, and raised children competently. My clients who had guardians truly needed them and largely sat and smoked cigarettes all day. Read Out of Bedlam by Ann Braden Johnson for more details on the devotion to coffee and tobacco that is typically part of this illness. My books and screenplays were suppressed because my political claim is simple: “Nazis won the war” and you’d better listen to me. The Executive Branch “police action” wars in Vietnam and twice in Iraq were nto real wars, because WWII never ended. I’ve met people who hate Catholics, so I think we need to talk this mess over in-person soon. I see great urgency given I have also been called “A fucking Jew” and therefore been on the receiving end of rocks, bottles, cans, and paintballs. I was not hallucinating assault rifle fire in my old neighborhood, and you’d better realize the police do not care.                         

C.G. lived in a condo I was stunned to be reminded of by riding the perpetual hassle #94 bus westward to the Starbucks where about 13 years ago the entire movie brain trust for Herbie Fully Loaded sat and tried to get my attention. The crew later made me late for work in Granite City by blocking the road near Mid America Raceway. I drove home from Westport in my later wrecked by Homeland terrorists vehicle and used a search engine for the name “Lindsay Lohan.” I now keep up with the Disney stars who stared at me in the 605 E. Janss Road Starbucks when I did not know who they were, but I did recognize Lindsay. The rest of my saga is not germane to huge diamonds being cut in a condo after this family of two moved out of a University City apartment off Olive. Addresses unlock many “secrets” from public records I have discovered.

C.G. did not abuse drugs but had something of a “sex addiction” that found him in the company of prostitutes who he bought gifts for and swore were serious “girlfriends.” My psychotherapeutic skill found me saying, “No, they are hookers” and off to the psychiatrist we went when C.G. had a car—a Ford Contour he boasted was “fast” as I wondered with dad if he should be driving it to another shabby motel to meet a new “girlfriend.” In my view, the problem was garden variety Jewish male depression and anxiety, not so much a serious mental illness. Therefore, I’d bet the farm his doctor does not call me back. His dad at 80 something years of age bluntly said, “My son is an idiot” and that term is not psychiatric. I joked with my coworkers about saying, “Look, it’s Spiderman!” and pocketing a diamond so big you may think I am lying, but I am not. Mr. G’s reasoning was that he was both getting old and less likely to be robbed or hassled working on diamond cutting out of his residence as compared to a shop. My late dad was simultaneously running what was left of his trade association from an apartment, but I do not think I ever mentioned this to him.

I conferred with my supervisor KATHY MORGAN and later ROB NOVAK about this case, and both are unfindable without transportation in a vehicle because, as another prostitute said recently, “You have to knock on the door.” This speaks to the oddly “covert” activities of nearly everyone I have ever known and calls to mind a comment made by my late dad who said, “Who are these clients of yours?” In the movies we see diamond cutters in the back of a limousine with bad guys, but I do not think Mr. G was in that line of business. My treatment plans drawn up for C.G. are much like my own files I created as a Mental Health Coordinator and the family vital records in that I can’t seem to gain access without some HELP.

As I recall, the treatment objectives for C.G. were to access all he needed independently, and my tonic was always for the client to find a job. It is obvious in this case with tens of millions of dollars in diamonds at home why C.G. did not find employment. His father had asked me about the process of Guardianship, so it is possible a relative I was never told of took on this task. If, however, the case ended up with the Saint Louis County Public Administrator, the roads are being salted today with money from the “cut” of such assets the county is allowed to take if C.G. was found to be legally incompetent.  In my many mental health professional roles, it was a truism that guardians are difficult to have appointed in Eastern Missouri circuit courts, and nearly impossible to replace if they behave irresponsibly. I realized in real-time Mr. G could be walking into a trap that would remove his wealth from the family, but a job change took me off this case.

In my professional opinion, if nothing changed about C.G.’s illness, he is not legally incompetent if alive today. If deceased, where did the money go? I am not writing another screenplay or mystery novel. This is more than enough money to trigger a murder that of course would be made to look like an “accident.” In my case, no one has ever heard of “toxicology” or the commandment that says, “Thou shalt not kill.” In the “Information Age” I can find out very little, and much of what I was told while in California is deemed “secret” by many. Am I trapped in a horrible homeless shelter until someone hears a story about Hughes Aircraft man Ken C.? For God’s sake, you can all look at his wife’s website and wonder why she sent me links by e-mail about OIL. Hughes Tool Company was my company to claim—end of story, and this has to be proven.     

Thanks,

William C. Hughes

Another BOTTOM SECRET

Where did Mr. Dimples get that tie? 

01.19.2019

Jesus, Mary, and Saint Joseph know the last thing I need to be doing is researching more political assassinations. Once done, it cannot be undone, and I don’t like what I saw. I was lying around chatting with Buzzy the cat and a family friend in Sweden was shot in the back. I think you know where I was; maybe you know where he was. Black folks? This Department of State crap is not for me any more than the 1977 C.I.A., but know this. It looks like grandpa was related to William IV, so I think it’s best to take this up with “The other William.”

When U.S. blacks were behaving badly, around the time Governor Richard Hughes gave a “Shoot to kill” order after calling Minnesota buddy and Vice President Hubert Humphrey, someone in the family conducted what is today absurdly called a “reach out.” One of them was sent to an African nation to ask if they really would take dissatisfied black people back to where they originated as slaves. The answer was, “No thanks” and this fueled the family racist rhetoric. Did they really believe what they said? I don’t know, but I know they had “bugging” devices back then too.

The Saudi woman and Iranian man do not say what they mean on the phone because they know they are being heard by many. Me? I don’t give a shit because: A). I was not born here; B). I’d like to see a big World War III run against the United States. It is that bad, and we are not arguing on the phone because you do not understand me, and I do not understand your behavior since January of 1985.

Some idiot is talking about trucking nearby, as I have not a shred of privacy and I do not think you would ever help with that. Saint Louis? I have gone from the drug apartment to the drug house to the drug motel to unavoidably being around drug merchants at the Salvation Army. Like Howard, I dream “crazy” stuff. His swarms of aircraft were for a movie. One guy was killed during a stunt. Howard’s stunt crash? More broken ribs, no funeral. What I think about is North American skies full of EU warplanes to fuck up Canada and the USA. Evil. Greedy. And, the Canadians are sitting on most of the world’s remaining oil. Jimmy Carter lied? Shocked I am not!!

I have to figure some long dead spy saw me run in for a fly ball over my head in grade school and said, “He can’t fly.” Depth perception is very much needed at 600+ m.p.h., if not 20/20 vision. I will no longer dignify allegations Maggie or Margaret had “mood disorders” or Manic Depressive illness. Granny was never depressed, but she would get angry and wave a butcher knife. The joke there was, “We can’t feed the Russian army,” and did you say “Margaret?” If mom was pissed at Charles, sidewalks were not required to go shopping. Due to evil shrinks slowly killing her, know I hate Russia and the USA equally, and I hope you have a shitty day because I have been brutally tortured to where there is no other kind of day for me in the “Home of the brave.” Leaving Syria so soon? Why? They sure didn’t want me at 1600 saying stuff like, “Pave it over and be back for lunch” to a buzz cut Marine commander.

How about a nuclear war to settle this shit? Bad memory? Why did I have to remember that during the four team simulated nuclear war in high school I was the Russian commander. TRUE. Though only a game, it’s frustrating I can’t remember who the female USA commander was, but she said, “Bill, how could you nuke all of our cities?” I simply said, “I wanted to win.” That is why my old high school won’t scan a photo of “Father Pal” (Palazolla) to whom I said, “Who are those guys?” (In suits and nice clothes, no tie). He looked over the room and said, “I don’t know, Bill.” Charlie Hughes said that often too. No ride to his VA grave site for five years? N-U-K-E-D.

The British Airlines flight leaves when?

William

MAFIA: Back Off or be Nuked

Who are they?
Who am I?