Autograph? F*** Your Mafia Photographs (because that's not it, scum)

Clear?

"A little more batspeed!"
- AT&T Park Heckler

As we say in "T.O.," you talkin' to me? Where did my blue bat go? The wrench suspected USAF shits took from the crack hotel is now in the Statue of Libery's hand? On the cover of a journal you have to get out of high school to understand? Wow! Suckful! (As we said in our well spent youth). Want the south of LA MOTEL 6 story? Briefly, I threw my bat in the general direction of spy-thugs, and a voice I recognized from the 1980's shouted "Yeeeah!" from the darkness.

Long ago, a choked-up man in a topcoat appeared in the doorway of 9310 Melanie Street, because Charles Edward Hughes had almost died. In November, as I recall. Further, I think it was that grandma--the one who married Howard Robard Hughes, Jr--who was present and on babysitting duty. The stout, drab old guy I now strongly suspect was a spy or some type of G-man presented me with an autographed baseball and football.

What did the way secret William V say? "Thanks," and I went back to my room. Rude? No, perhaps it was the Allied Radio shortwave that never worked quite right due to my anxious soldering. Three inch reels of tape running, maybe? Model rocket under construction? Maybe. USAF, did you worthless pieces of dung steal a kid's model rocket? (Think shuttle, with no orbiter). Big rocket. Two smaller ones. Never flew right, usa .gov terrorists.

The baseball? Try 1967 World Champion Saint Louis Cardinals. Bob Gibson. Tim McCarver. Mike Shannon. Ken Boyer. Real blue signatures. What happened? Someone told me to coat it with clear nail polish, which as a kid, I screwed-up a little. There it sat for dad's return from DEPAUL HOSPITAL, and mom's from SAINT LOUIS STATE HOSPITAL. (She tried to kill him, I tried to stop it. No problem, worthless maybe dead tonight spy-twit).

When the Summer of 1968 came, in addition to much political upheaval, a sandlot chum said, "We need a ball," and the now, if in good condition, worth a lot of $$$$$ ball went into play. Bob Russell Park, spy-shits. That is where with no laptops, cell phones, or e-devices of any kind, we'd play baseball every morning, afternoon, and evening until it got dark.

The football? I think I said, "Aw, the football Cardinals are no good," and into play it went. When my dear old, not a spy "replacement" dad heard of these developments, he let out a shocked "What?" It was followed by a groan, and that was it.

"Mementoes" are not important. Liberty is.