The train stops in Hollywood, FL.
I know I'm right.
03.03.2017
Jennet –
As part
of my intensive psychiatric treatment at the Independence Center, we need to
address the murder of one of their clients. (I might even talk to a police
official once I get out of Missouri, possibly the most corrupt state in your
Union). I will lay it out below for AMI, NAMI, and MIAC to ignore.
I can
produce a witness who said, “What about the ‘Kill Bill’ file?” at the city
& county prosecutor’s office. I had suggested to “S.R.” there was a file at
each labeled “Get Bill.” Here we go again where the rookie detective should
“get it,” but I fear they don’t want to. So long ago it was when…
JASON
BLACKSHEAR was going on vacation, so we divided up his cases to “cover” for
him. This found me visiting “Tom” in beautiful Velda Village several times. Tom
was supposed to be a: Schizophrenia, Undifferentiated type, according to the
Washington University in Saint Louis doctor. As a practitioner of Frank Case
Management (FCM) I asked Tom, “Why are you taking Prozac?” I’d swear if anyone
cared his answer was, “I don’t know. It doesn’t work.” Of course it doesn’t!
The man has Schizophrenia.
That illness
does have mood features most humans call “lonely,” not clinical depression.
Tom’s neighborhood I deduced was “bad” in seconds, and we discussed safety
issues. When asked if anyone was bothering him, Tom said “No.” He was lying,
and I knew it. Jason had apparently discussed moving him to a better apartment.
This is like Sino-Soviet relations back then, when Independence Center was also
involved. Tom was a fixture at their clubhouse on Midland, and thus he accepted
me readily as his state community worker “temp” because I had seen him there
previously.
We made
a trip to a lab and a trip to a grocery store. As Tom filled the cart with
sweets and high-fat food, he got my standard “Watch your weight” and maybe put
some cupcakes back lecture. It was his Food Stamp card; no legal guardian. Tom
liked to eat, and his highly functional grocery store trip made me almost
ignore the melodramatic warnings he was depressed and a possible suicide risk. (a.k.a.
lying spy crap). He denied all this to me as “old news” and said he’d be okay.
A week
later, Tom was dead. Murdered, I here allege. When I heard the news, I
immediately recalled an “iron clad” progress note I had written that covered
the bad neighborhood, supply of medication, and lack of suicidal ideation or
plans. The Saint Louis County Coroner said “suicide.” Bullshit! [I’ve
waited 20 years to write that paragraph].
Let’s
list the incongruities here:
1. Tom does not have enough medication
on hand to “suicide.”
2. He was likely being harassed for
money, cigarettes, and bus fare by his African-American neighbors. (He was the
only white person in the apartment building).
3. When I went to my supervisor and
said, “I don’t think so” regarding the cause of death, I got “The Look” that
came from people who believed the “Howard Thing” and said nothing. The
supervisor’s clue was to exclaim, “Hughes did it!”
4. No, I did nothing unprofessional,
including murder Tom.
5. Of course I called Independence
Center and said I would not attend the funeral because something was stinking
to high heaven.
6. A mere month later, Jason announced
he was resigning, moving back to Texas,
and getting married.
7. Who do you think I saw in
Starbucks/Clayton during 2014? It was Jason’s office mate “L.C” who was also
from Texas, married a black fellow
who seemed nice, also returned to Texas, and if he was a newly minted Texas
Ranger I’d say, “I thought so.”
8. Also exiting Independence Center shortly
after Tom’s “suicide” in a lame attempt to be my supervisor at BJC Behavioral
was Bob McCullough—same name as the arrogant prosecutor.
9. This one should make the loud DING
for a prize at the Texas State Fair, as “The Center’s” cover story for murder
was that Tom had been despondent about a jilting from his girlfriend. I am here
to tell all Barnes-Jewish psych residents a guy with schizophrenia is going to
mention the supposed “girlfriend” during about seven-eight Medicaid billable
hours. Tom did not.
10.
This
gets better or worse, depending on if you are a criminal or not. In Los Angeles,
the first time I called about the status of my rental truck, the employee gave
a name of “Jason Yea.” Gullible old
Bill Hughes thought, “That guy sounds like Jason from Great Rivers” and a week
later, all of my property was “gone,” as was the truck.
11.
Jason’s screaming, irrational supervisor was
“Theresa Colson,” a sad Watergate
joke regarding Charles Colson, the “brains” behind E. Howard Hunt’s “plumbers,”
who I think Howard R. Hughes sent, then Howie “Called the cops” on them. What
can you do to Howard with six armed bodyguards?
Bottom
line here: Why are we still fighting World War II?
And?
Why the
ongoing fuss about Watergate-related issues?
(Sorry,
the president cannot do “whatever he wants.” C.I.A. had to tell Trump this?
What an idiot! What a disgrace!)
If I
find one more name or photo of people known to me in declassified intelligence
agency documents, do you have a suggestion on what to do? Why not steal my
computer before they “re-classify” it? That is what every psychotic “spy kook”
in North America wants to do! Ms. Oxford, I have had rocks and bottles tossed
at me, been shot with paintballs, attacked by Dobermans, “roughed up” more than
once, death-threatened repeatedly, almost struck by vehicles hundreds of times,
and been called “A fucking Jew.” Okay, how about I travel to Israel? I’d sure
feel a lot safer there!
Did you
say “Saint Louis County cops?” Come on over, and we can watch the infamous Jack
In the Box video. That passenger was murdered
by cops in North County, and what would prosecutor Bob McCullough have to
say to real U.S.D.O.J. investigators reexamining this “bad shoot?” He’d
probably retire, like the rest of your local Mafia has.
Back to
poor Tom, I think he was more likely knocked out by home invaders and
smothered. Velda Village was notoriously corrupt back then, and I myself could
find a psychiatrist to whom I alleged that the Hillsdale police down the road
were about to murder my bisexual client. Dr. R’s exact words were:
“Well
Mister Hughes, you’d better do something about that.” Maybe I just did.
William
C. Hughes
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