Never Tell a Lawyer Anything

The "other William" wonders if they were discussing the "other Ron"

 

12.23.2016

Dear Dawn -

I don’t care if you tell me I’m a “nut” and refuse to chat this weekend. If so, pass my e-mail along to somebody. Anybody! Yesterday, the water was cut-off at my inglorious motel, so I called the cops. (I had been intending to call them about the suspected rip-off artist who either sold me a car or owes me $2,400). The cop’s name was given as “Meyer” or God forbid “Meier.” The latter was the name of an alleged FBI guy many years ago.

Golly, the Internet worked for me to prove there was a Hughes working for every president on your money and I’ve got the photo of Howard Jr. shaking hands with FDR. I was fuzzy on Andrew Jackson until I found an old letter from Daniel Hughes at a fort in Kentucky to Jackson! As best as I can figure with his poor handwriting, in 1818 he was worried both about Cherokee Indians and whether he had screwed up ordering the “provisions.”

Yes, there were Confederate Hughes’ too, but I claim to be related to Union soldier Felix Turner Hughes, which is why a mayor where he is buried invited me to Iowa prior to Christmas, 2014 and I know what goddamn year it is. Helpless “friends,” miscellaneous scumbags, and friendly drug dealers abound. It’s like there is a Star Trek “force field” around the motel. Yet another politician’s staff has invited me to visit—twice—but flapping your arms has never gotten anyone to Philadelphia! Archaleus Hughes got there on a horse.

I do not know what to call this madness.

William Charles Hughes

(“During the Civil War, my family wore blue and gray uniforms.”)