March 23, 2015
William Charles
[Evans] Hughes
216 Nagel Avenue
St. Louis, MO 63111-3128
Missouri State
Police
Department of Public
Safety?
P.O. Box 749
Jefferson City,
MO 65102
Dear Smokey Bear:
After many rounds of
“Uh oh” and “He can’t get that job!” die down, we need to get very serious and
assess if 216 Nagel Avenue in St. Louis would be too risky a residence for a
new Missouri Department of Mental Health director to reside. Deputy Director?
$95,000 does not go as far as it used to, except when you’ve been at 40% of the
federal poverty figure for 18 months, and have paid 70% of that sum to rent.
Too bad my IBM
computer crashed and the Cricket died when Washington U. offered a job last
winter. I stayed alive somehow without a job or functional computer, but in
applying for honest work saw the most elegant Malaysian “throat cut” signal
ever from a nice young foreign exchange student. Later, an airplane from
Malaysia was shot down. I’m allowed to wonder by who, and I’m sure the pretty
coed had nothing to do with it.
All about me? Oh
yeah? The St. Louis City cops don’t know Bill. Not at all. Therefore, since I
know them, I here allege they were behind the firing of a shotgun three times
near my crackerbox rented house on March 19, 2015. It may turn out to be the
shot heard round the mental health world as I exclaimed, “That’s it!” and
finally called local police via Ventura County California’s favorite number
(but not) to say, “Shots fired at Robert and South Broadway. Can you do something
about it?”
Why sure; put the
shotgun away and drive off in your cop car. The “trigger” for this call from
the “Outdoor Extremist Redneck Gun Range” a.k.a. “Carondolet
Neighborhood?” The time of day. I also exclaimed, “F^^k! The bank is still
open!” A little early for target practice, Gabe. My jotting, and the worthless
tracking telecom customers 24/7 Trac Fone say it occurred at 1:47 p.m. Trac
Fone won’t call 911? Won’t call Canadian Area Codes? Won’t call international
as advertised? Just what I need; another lawsuit and a cheap-o, pay as you go
phone service!
What did that get
you? More trouble. Now, I want to run for president like a grown-up Independent
and take cop handguns away. The impeccable logic? If cops on meth don’t have a
gun, they can’t shoot any more black guys. Republican? Such tightwads!
Democrat? So stinky! To demonstrate how the DMH director cannot be delusional,
I will say straight up that if I only got twice the votes of oilman Ross Perot
in 1992, that does not win the White House. Problem? Bill Hughes is a
lawful troublemaker, and predictably some dirty trickster has already, swiped,
copied, and returned my flash drive with the “Master Plan for World
Domination,” so I’d better change it, but not on state government time.
Can’t win? That’s
not the point. My running mate gets New York and Massachusetts. I get Michigan
and California. The result? No one can win, thanks to the Electoral College my
high school teacher said was a bad idea.#
He was right. What would I do? I would sit in the Los Angeles Hilton and laugh
as you all try and figure out who your fearless leader is going to be. That’s
my idea of “fun,” and by the way, I’ve already seen the Hilton girls dance
(Nicky & Paris), yet I relate these true stories for free and no one cares.
Therefore, even
though the big FedEx envelope finally arrived from Hollywood, I might as well
put in a year or two for Governor Nixon if I remain alive and I’m hired. The
stay alive part is where you come in. Want a bottom line and a spy’s “I’ll talk
to you later?” The officers of the law I have jovially termed “Garlic Breath
Cops” need federal supervision—fast. Ferguson? Smokey, the way I see it, which
is too often correct, that mess was just a “diversion” for whatever these
camouflage wearing .mil rejects were planning down here. As for talking, my
civil rights have been so trampled, I’ll only talk to cop-like public officials
in Tel Aviv or Tehran. As I say often to enemies in abstentia, “There’s nothing
you can do about it.” (Except invent a crime, like China’s Mao or Russia under
Stalin’s boot).
Do you know your St.
Louis geography? A lady at a mental health advocacy group, when asked about
I-55 & Loughborough, denied knowing where it is. I myself passed it up
thousands of times as a lawful motorist. In my community social work practice,
I rudely called it, “The ass end of Saint Louis.” Today I say, “The closer to
Lemay, the more stinky it gets.” Next race riot, be sure to put a contingent of
National Guard down here, because these idiots have far more guns of better
quality than on the North Side. I used to hear them all of the time, and recent
silence leads me to believe some clever snitch has passed along t-party plans
to the proper authorities. If I know her, I’m allowed to deny it.
Thanks,
William Charles
Hughes
# The master plan, code-named
GARLIC KING, has now been changed to whip ass in TX, FL, AL, MS, GA, LA, TN,
KY…Me? I sleep in CA and get 55 electoral votes. Who wants them?
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