Nihilist Nations

What's the point? You don't have one, Emmis lunkheads.

04-17-2017

Mr. Curran –

After what took place the evening of April 15, the topic is your transit system, and I’d better have an uninterrupted hour to present to the County Executive, John Nations, and a “token” African American. I’m stating fact right now. The black against white racism on your system could, as they say when threatening gun violence, “Knock a guy down.”

Let’s cover the Black Dodge Charger full of Black Guys quickly.

I was returning from getting another check for my Indian extortionists at the Wayside when intuition said, “Get off at Rothman” (Westbound #21). The next thought was “I don’t want to walk up the hill.” Last time I overrode intuition, the “Smoking Stalker” was at the stop, I called the Shrewsbury cops, and was treated rudely. Selling dope, officer?

Pauline Saputo reported she tells her Meramec Community College stalkers to “Get back in the car.” Like the cop I’m not, I mutter “Get out of the car.” (And show me your hands). No gun violence in this town? What planet are you on? At the Sunset Lanes stop, I saw a woman in front of the door holding a phone. A husky white male was striding purposefully toward me. When he paused to stare at my five Shop n Save bags, I said, “Get in the car.” I took several steps backward as he gawked.

I then heard a car, looked over my shoulder, and there could have been the drive-by shooting, and Howard Hughes’ son is dead, as my corrupt, sickening family would like. Instead, the four black gentlemen pulled in the bowling alley, backed into a parking spot and sat there. My husky while male got in a late model car and departed. Only then did I cross the street and get behind a Budget rental truck like the Saint Louis County cops taught me in about 1995. Speaking of those lazy lawmen, a cop drove west as the Charger sat there, lights on with nobody exiting the car. I’m “paranoid?”

Let’s go back to Tony Mafia’s house on Michigan Avenue where I was struck and knocked to the concrete by an irate black man holding five Schnucks bags as four African-American males drove by in a black Yukon. No gunshots, just a bruised butt. I asked the guy why he hit me and I believe it was to pawn a scooter and buy drugs. Interestingly, he would not come in, or even go near Tony’s house as I retrieved the scooter which was found abandoned in an alley.

Yes, your community, both city and county, is becoming a hellhole of drugs and crime. Argue with me and I will ask when the last time you fellows have been on a bus at 10 p.m. and I am not talking about a sporting event or holiday celebration. By the way, the Clayton cops need to come clean on the vandals who systematically damaged my cars, both of which are no longer my property. Bullcrap! Do not run to statue books to justify the crimes or I’ll join the “White House Fence Hopper” crew. My rational communication to Trump and McCain is not to be ignored. As a New York City cop said to me, “We’ll deal with that when you get here.” With no vehicle and no driver’s license, that could take up more of my precious time.

Outside Los Angeles, a man named Willis said, “William, lay down the law” and his first name was not Bruce. Time to hand Nations a homeless brown bag lunch and suggest he resign. When is the meeting, because after this garbage, if you ring my phone, you will be counseled by the police to refrain from unwanted “outreach.” The Hollywood cliché is “Don’t call us, we’ll call you” and KMOX is getting the movie producer’s address. If they say, “Try Craig’s List” I’ll spend the rest of my life in federal court right here. Enemies cannot win a single case. So, let’s meet, because I will walk to Wal Mart rather than ride on your “crazy bus” one more time. A final story finds me in the Clayton Straubs during 2015. One butcher said to the other “What is he still doing here?” The second butcher replied, “It’s some sort of political problem.” Indeed, and it will be resolved—soon.

William Charles Hughes