I beg your pardon!

“Your writing makes no sense.” – A. Koval

As a Labor Day tribute to the people in Southern California who are filthy rich but occupy a job we all could do better, here are passages from the pre-composed e-mail I’ve written lately. Don’t try to guess who the mail is to, because with the nga.mil BrainJack™ technology at max power just in time for “Binary Choice 2016,” most likely no one is going to care what I wrote.

One of the e-mail passages is indeed to Clinton’s staff in my Red State, but they will never allow a Hughes anywhere near her brain trust that needs to endorse a scrapping of ObamaCare, a shitcanning of the Second Amendment, a Guaranteed Annual Income like Dick Nixon was talked out of providing, and my new idea is “means-tested hiring,” meaning if daddy or mommy’s trust fund is boring, you cannot be the manager at Jo Anne Fabrics or Dollar Tree to grab Latino ass and/or tell mildly psychotic white women who live chaste and alone they are doing everything wrong. Sorry, average Americans need a job; your lazy undercover master race Illuminati butt does not.

Did I mention an ass whippin’ for Putin and his IT boys? Maybe they will answer the phone down there at her HQ.

FROM THE E-MAIL BAG:

#1 “What I was recently told by a JEN HAASIS was essentially that I should call BHR and become one of their clients at BARNES JEWISH BEHAVIORAL HEALTH SERVICES. This was after I had given her a “thumbnail” of my entire career, which included serving as the “Gold Standard” for community support work, recoiling from a superior with the same name as the Saint Louis County prosecuting attorney, finding myself turned down for a well-deserved supervisor job, and then more or less propping up an incompetent team leader at 1430 Olive. (She was clueless, by her own admission).”

#2 “My insight provokes strange sights & sounds, like the CHP command SUV driver barking like a dog. I still do not know or care what that means. I am not a dog. I am not a pack animal, but I resemble one after I shop at stores middle-class “Bill the Bureaucrat” passed by in favor of buying deodorant and toothpaste at Dierbergs. My elitist genes said, ‘Those dollar stores are for the clients’.”

#3 “Sir, when a Hughes with ten screenplays starts outlining a Western and ‘Baseball movie,’ he just might be related to Howard Sr. and Rupert Hughes. What does this have to do with your library? I recently e-mailed an anti-nuclear activist regarding declassified information about the Glomar Explorer, a Central Intelligence Agency project my 5th grade nun told us all about, along with how to kill someone quickly with a sharp pencil.”

#4 “I am seeking any information you may be able to disclose on my college advisor and Communications Arts professor Bob White. He was at your university long ago, and also had radio shows in Canton, Ohio. (I am guessing WINW or WHBC). Bob was later at Lindenwood College in St. Charles, Missouri, where I received a B.S. in Political Science (1977).”

#5 “I think someone needs to read my second book manuscript besides my SLU Care doctor, a lawyer in Silver Springs, Maryland and a lawyer in San Diego. Only this man could ‘catch’ the attorneys impersonating literary agencies to receive a copy. Many who knew me at Lindenwood would say, “What took you so long?” This was also a legendary caught spy’s remark to the FBI back when they cared about such matters.”

#6 “Meanwhile, a lawyer who handled my complex civil suit stemming from my work as a state bureaucrat has continued to search for a brave attorney to: 1). Seek justice regarding the crooks who stole my intellectual property; 2). Protect the new creative work; 3). Secure that big movie deal which I honestly think ought to be about Margaret and Charles Hughes, my parents of record. They met at the Federal Records Center. Margaret waved the Mormon .45 at Charlie. The German Lugar in their dresser drawer did not shoot. The cops provided a car battery for my model rocket launches. Gray creepy old men commented on my 40 ft. radio tower. Charles disposed of his leased black Lincoln with this line: ‘I didn’t like it,’ and the gold Impala appeared as a result of this decision.”