CHAPTER 15 - NO MORE BEATING AROUND THE BUSH

It was a sunny, fall day in 1983 when U.S. Congressman Guy VanderJagt met with my CIA operative mind-control handler, Alex Houston, my then 3 1/2 year old daughter, Kelly, and me on the steps of the U.S. Senate in Washington, D.C. Kelly appeared familiar with VanderJagt, although I had never previously remembered seeing her in his company. Even so, I could not think to realize he was, in fact, sexually abusing her just as he had me when I was a child.

VanderJagt knelt on one knee in front of her to talk with her, assuring her that "today was a special day" because she would "see Uncle George (Bush) while mommy sees Uncle Ronnie (Reagan)". He stood up and took her by the hand, saying in Alice In Wonderland cryptic language, "Let’s goon an Adventure together" and led her quietly and robotically away.

I met up with Kelly again that afternoon at the White House, both of us literally "on our toes" and standing at attention in Reagan’s office. In retrospect, I wonder at the measures of control inflicted on my 3 1/2-year old child to cause her to perform so robotically and behave "so well" as she silently stood with the plastic smile and unblinking eyes, in the presence of President Reagan, Vice President Bush, and (later Defense Secretary) Dick Cheney.

Reagan appeared to gaze at Kelly, with her long blonde hair cascading down the back of her blue pinafore dress, completing her Alice In Wonderland Appearance. Reagan seemed to pose no direct threat to her sexually as he said,

"She is adorable, a model child", Reagan then gestured towards Bush and said, "This is my Vice President George Bush. People don’t usually know what the role of the Vice President is because he’s always behind the scenes making sure everything that the President wants done happens the way it’s supposed to."

He looked at me and said matter-of-factly,

"I catch the public’s attention (he made a gesture in the air that was eye catching) while the Vice President carries out orders."

Bush’s close friend, Dick Cheney, said, "And gives them".

"Right," Reagan said. "An order from him is like an order from me."

Bush was wearing canvas boat shoes and a cardigan sweater as he knelt on one knee in front of Kelly in order to talk to her on her level. Bush used the children’s television program Mr. Rogers’ Neighborhood to scramble/confuse young victims’ (like Kelly’s) memory of contact with him and his sexual abuse.

His physical resemblance to TV’s Fred Rogers was deliberately exaggerated by his choice of clothes and mannerisms, and is further compounded by his developed vocal impersonation. Using his best Mr. Rogers voice he said,

"Come here, Little One. I want to ask you something. Do you watch Mr. Rogers’ Neighborhood?"

"Yes, Sir," Kelly responded.

Bush told Kelly,

"Well, I’m kind of like Mr. Rogers when he makes his puppets move and talk—like your daddy (Houston, ventriloquist) does with Elemer (his dummy). Only I’m like Mr. Rogers because I have lots of puppets--only mine are people. I even have a King (Fahd) just like Mr. Rogers.¹ I pull the strings (he pantomimed marionette hand movements) and I talk through them. They say my words and we create all kinds of exciting Adventures. Right now I’m building a new Neighborhood (the New World Order). The stage is set, and I have hold of everyone’s strings. I need you to help me— together we can pull your mother’s strings. She’s in my Neighborhood. That means you’re in my Neighborhood, too."

It seems obvious to me now that Bush was referring to those actively engaged in implementing the New World Order through chaos and mass mind control (aka media conditioning) as "The Neighborhood". Of course I was unable to consider disputing Bush’s statement, and Kelly was certainly not of a mind to see beyond Bush’s twist on her favorite television program. Kelly’s big blue eyes grew even wider as she responded, "I am?"

Bush stood up and took her hand, "C’mon. Let me show you my Neighborhood," He led her out the door.

Kelly became violently physically ill after her induction into George Bush’s "Neighborhood" and from every sexual encounter she had with him thereafter. She ran 104-6 degree temperatures, vomited and endured immobilizing headaches for an average of three days (as is consistent with high voltage trauma). These were the only tell-tale evidences aside from the scarring burns left on her skin.

Houston forbade me to call a doctor, and Kelly forbade me to comfort her, pitifully complaining that her head "hurt too bad to even move". And she did not move for hours on end. Kelly often complained of severe kidney pain, and her rectum usually bled for a day or two after Bush sexually abused her. My own mind-control victimization rendered me unable to help or protect her. Seeing my child in such horrible condition drove my own wedge of insanity in deeper, perpetuating my total inability to affect her needs until our rescue by Mark Phillips in 1988.

Kelly’s bleeding rectum was but one of many physical indicators of George Bush’s pedophile perversions, I have overheard him speak blatantly of his sexual abuse of her on many occasions. He used this and threats to her life to "pull my strings" and control me. The psychological ramifications of being raped by a pedophile President arc mind-shattering enough, but reportedly Bush further reinforced his traumas to Kelly’s mind with sophisticated NASA electronic and drug mind-control devices.

Bush also instilled the "Who yagonna call?" and "I’ll be watching you" binds on Kelly, further reinforcing her sense of helplessness. The systematic tortures and traumas I endured as a child now seem trite in comparison to the brutal physical and psychological devastation that George Bush inflicted on my daughter.

As soon as the door closed behind Bush and Kelly, Dick Cheney reached over to Reagan’s desk from his seat and flipped over the hourglass. (Oz) "Her (Kelly’s) time is running out. You’d better pay attention and follow orders as though her life depends on it, because from now on (heh heh) it always does! If you make one mistake—one—then I’ll get her, my pretty."

Reagan said,

"George is like a director. He makes sure the stage is set to implement the New World Order as I envision it. Then he makes sure everyone has a script and knows their pan. He tells them how to speak and when to speak it. How to dress and (patting my head) how to wear their hair. He gets everything and everyone in place and hollers, ’Action!’"

Reagan shouted through his hand as though it were a megaphone and rambled on,

"All the world’s a stage. I’m the Wizard. But he is directing the show so you better pay attention and learn your part well from him."

Cheney interrupted,

"George and I will be working closely on a few projects together, and when you see him, you’ll see me. When you’re given orders from him, you’re given orders from me."

 

"She knows the chain of command, Dick," Reagan injected, referring to his perception of who was in charge, and in what order.

President, Vice President, Habib, Cheney, Byrd, etc. may have been the chain of command in Reagan’s mind, but Cheney’s definition was necessary to my understanding. From my perspective, the chain of command was clearly Bush, Cheney, Habib, Reagan, Aquino and lastly, on a par with my handler, Houston, Byrd, all of which was subject to change at any given moment.

Cheney just rolled his eyes at Reagan’s comment and never slowed down as he continued, "Right now a stage is being set and you will be directed by the Vice President on just how he wants you to do your part in setting the stage for Mexico’s role in the New World Order."

Reagan jumped in again,

"With the world in order, there will be world peace. By strategically placing an American Patriot dedicated to the cause of spreading democracy in all parts of the world, we can influence the thinking of every nation’s leader and paint for them a picture of freedom and American values that they’ll never forget. They’ll spread it to the people and the whole planet will be of one mind—one purpose-one cause. Freedom. You’ll be talking with some of these friends and leaders from time to lime on my behalf."

Bush slipped back into the meeting, without Kelly. Cheney continued,

"Taking orders from me and your new director-the Vice President. Lesson number one. You know what Miami Vice is. Undercover drug agents taking control of the drug industry. A Vice President is just that-an undercover drug agent taking control of the drug industry-for the President."

Bush spoke up.

"Mexico is a problem. They’ve got lots of drugs, but not the brains nor l he means to sell it outside their own country. So how can we take control of their (growing) drug industry when we can’t even get our hands on it? It’s your duty as an American citizen to open the routes and initiate freedom from poverty throughout their nation by offering them cash as a means of enticing their drug industry right into our grasp by bringing it right up to our doorsteps."

"Operation Greenbacks for Wetbacks," Cheney said, laughing. Bush laughed with him.

Bush regained his composure to conclude, "Your assignment begins in Miami with NCL (Norwegian Caribbean Lines) and ends when you return from Mexico with word of success."

Cheney caught my eye with a hand gesture that directed my gaze from Bush to the hourglass, which was running out fast. By then I was deeply tranced and lost touch with my surroundings all together while my trance was timelessly deepened for further programming, I left the White House with a message for the Vice President of Mexico, Carlos Salinas de Gortari, from the Vice President of the U.S., and with one very sick child.

1 Mr Roger projects through puppets on his show, and one of his key characters from the Land of Make-Believe is King Friday the 13th.

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CHAPTER 16 - OPERATlON GREENBACKS FOR WETBACKS

My CIA mind-control handler, Alex Houston and I boarded the Norwegian Caribbean Lines ship bound for Cozumel, Mexico, with a large, black, soft side suitcase packed full of cash and a proposal of "prosperity" from the U.S. This proposal, programmed in me by Vice President Bush, was supposedly initial diplomatic groundwork for the North American Free Trade Agreement (NAFTA).

It was my understanding then that the North American Free Trade Agreement was considered a significant step in implementing the New World Order through mind manipulation of the masses. According to Byrd, propaganda disguising the true purpose of NAFTA included the concept of "free trade" which the U.S. and Mexican governments had long since shared.

"Free trade" of child and adult mind-controlled slaves, cocaine, heroin and businesses has been not-so-secretly proliferating for years. My own father joined the "run for the border" via U.S. State Department and Mexican subsidized business incentives and opened yet another branch of his U.S. Department of Defense-given-business in Mexico. This was part of the "free trade" agreement that I know personally has been operating smoothly from at least 1984.

In an effort to maintain the illusion that the agreement would not create a negative economic imbalance between Mexico and the U.S., tourist areas of Mexico were deliberately built up, enhanced and Americanized with U.S. dollars. These funds were provided through CIA covert Black Budget operations of drug and slave trading, as well as directly through the Senate Appropriations Committee of which Senator Robert C. Byrd is chairman as of this writing.

I certainly do not purport to understand international business, nor have I attempted to "educate" myself through what 1 know to be propaganda slanted and filtered periodicals. How money interfaces in world markets has been well documented. For example, who supports whom in which financial endeavors is apparently far too complex for even BCCI attorneys and investigators to sort through.

My personal perspective on Mexican, U.S., and Saudi Arabian buildup of Mexico’s economy is limited to my own experiences. My under-standing is further affected by deliberate misinformation from the criminal perspectives of those who were in control of my mind’s knowledge base and actions. From time to time, Senator Byrd used me as a robotic sounding board. He told me what he wanted me to hear, and this was structured more toward stroking his own enormous, warped ego than it was to educate me in world finance.

Senator Byrd claimed "the money game is simply a game of control," and lives by his adopted Golden Rule of "He who holds the gold makes the rules." He told me in so many words that,

"by appropriating funds to all (viable) projects ushering in the free trade agreement, and allocating lesser amounts to U.S. social systems such as our ’criminal’ justice system, I control our country and our place in world markets. All the world is a stage, and I own the theater!... you can bank on it!"

Senator Byrd’s twisted reality echoed in my mind when America was bought (stolen) and sold by Presidents Bush and Clinton in the recent passage of NAFTA.

"I would never run for President—Oh, I’d win if I did," Byrd bragged. "But why should I run for an office that is beneath me? I can make a President look good, or I can make him look bad by strategically appropriating funds."

Byrd and others I knew boasted that he was one of those (corrupt power brokers) responsible for Bill Clinton’s being "chosen" and elected to the office of Presidency. And the last minute bids and dealings with those Congressmen holding NAFTA’s deciding votes proved "strategic appropriations" indeed made Clinton "look good" in his NAFTA "victory".

At the La Celiba Hotel in Cozumel, Houston maintained my food and water deprivation for mind-control purposes, even during our dinner meeting in the hotel’s restaurant later that evening. Although the restaurant was "officially" closed due to the late hour, a mariachi band, one waiter, four stationed armed guards, my Mexican dignitary contact, his two assistants, and handler, Houston and I were present.

During the meeting, arrangements were made to meet with Mexico’s then Vice President Salinas the next afternoon at a nearby military installation. I would also deliver a message as usual from Senator Byrd at the nearby Consulate’s office pertaining to U.S. financial support for creating propaganda to insure the illusion of economic equality in Mexican tourist areas. These funds were simply to further the ongoing shared goal of easing into New World Order domination through carefully contrived smoke and mirror tactics.

The next afternoon, Houston escorted me to the high security fenced government installation for my meeting with Salinas. According to Bush, Salinas was regarded by the Reagan-Bush Administration as superior in power to Miguel de la Madrid who was officially President of Mexico at that time. The upcoming Mexican "election," which was no more an election than Reagan’s second term, was to place Salinas in the office of President to coincide with Bush’s destined Presidency.

To insure that this "strategically placed American Patriot" would be voted into position, Reagan informed me that the U.S. would "guard the integrity" of "elections" by covertly "overseeing" them, among other strategies. Salinas was to be President at all costs.

Although President de la Madrid was considered by Bush to be the steppingstone to the ultimate reign of Salinas/Bush’s (already established) diplomatic relations, he was regarded with all due respect in a manner conducive to "no margins for error". His full cooperation was tantamount to establishing Bush’s and Salinas¹ goals via free flowing drug markets and Mexico’s cooperation in subversively funding and supplying Reagan’s Nicaraguan Contras. De la Madrid worked in close association with Salinas so that a smooth transition of power would maintain U.S.-Mexican relations and efforts already in place.

"A message to Salinas is a message to the President," Cheney had explained. Not only would the message be relayed to de La Madrid, but for the most part Salinas was the one responsible for working with George Bush since they would both come into power during the most critical point in the promotion of NAFTA—passing it by the American people and into law. President Reagan, Mexican President De la Madrid, Vice President Bush, and Mexican Vice President Salinas were all "of one mind—one effort" toward economic expansion and growth for our southern "neighbors in the New World Order" through what I experienced was based on "free trade" of drugs, children, and pornography.

Vice President Bush told me that this (criminal) activity was regarded as Mexico’s,

"only means of rapid economic advancement and freedom from poverty since the people were slaves to their own inability to advance in world markets."

When I arrived at the military installation with the aforementioned suitcase of cash in hand, I was taken to Salinas’ "office" through a series of electronic gates guarded by officers in white uniforms. Salinas sat at his desk, which was small and functional (i.e., military issue), set on a highly polished wooden floor in a vast room virtually void of decor and personal effects.

This created an air of military practicality. I set the suitcase in front of Salinas and began relaying the message I had been programmed to deliver,

"I have a message from the Vice President of the United State of America to our neighbors in Mexico. America is willing to share its wealth through a trade agreement with Mexico. We’ll trade our cash for control over Mexico’s cocaine and heroin production. By controlling your drug industry, we can open the border between our countries to allow a free flow of cocaine and heroin into the U.S., bought and paid for in American dollars to build Mexico, Eventually this could dissolve the border between our countries altogether as Mexico’s economy grows to match ours.

 

If we begin today, this dream could be realized by the turn of the century-sharing the same continent, sharing the same wealth. Why? The drug industry already dictates what the Mexican government can or cannot do. By giving the U.S. control of your drug industry, Mexico regains control over her government. Re-established power backed by U.S. dollars will bring Mexico on an economic par with America. We can begin by spreading the word through the (drug) cartels that the U.S. is covertly willing to open the borders to free drug trade by making agents available to show you the passage and routes through which the drugs are to be delivered.

 

Only U.S. agents can bring Mexican heroin and (South American) cocaine across the border, and likewise they will bring the cash in. Explain to those select few who control the drug empires that the cruise line (NCL) agreement is going into mass expansion, tearing down the border between our countries enough to allow for as many drugs to come in as Mexico can deal out. When do we begin? Immediately. The cash is at hand. (I gestured toward the suitcase which Salinas unzipped to find full of cash.)

 

Deliver whatever amount of brown heroin you have at hand as a means of confirmation to the agreement. Keep the change as a token of the change and good fortune that has befallen Mexico from its neighboring nation."

As I finished Bush’s message, Salinas immediately took a note pad from the desk and scrawled a quick note. He passed it to a guard who was stationed at the door. He stood up, smiled, and leaned over his desk as he extended his hand in a warm handshake. I was escorted out. Houston found me on the front steps of the installation and together we were escorted through the barbed wire fences and back onto the streets of Cancun.

I waited in a small clearing nearby for an indeterminate length of time, playing with a large iguana. Finally, a taxi cab driver pulled up and honked his horn three times, signaling me to pick up a fist-sized ball of Mexican brown heroin. The heroin was crudely wrapped in brown paper, tied with twine, and measured approximately the size of a baseball. As quickly as the cab driver left, Houston, who was standing some distance away with two uniformed men, signaled me to join him. We were then driven to the airport where we boarded a U.S. Air Force aircraft to Washington, D.C.

Immediately upon arrival at Andrews Air Force Base just outside of Washington, D.C, I was taken to Senator Byrd who then escorted me to Dick Cheney’s Pentagon office for a meeting with Vice President Bush. I was ill and vomiting from the high voltage administered in Mexico to compartmentalize my memory. I was allowed to use Byrd’s magnetic pass key card to unlock the maze of doors that led to the Ladies’ Room.

I was still wearing my inappropriate-for-D.C. cruise clothes and carrying the heroin in my tote bag when I met with Bush to confirm Mexico’s agreement to his proposal. Bush took the heroin for himself, obviously pleased with the quality of the product. Cheney laughed and told Bush he needed to "confiscate the Contra-band".

Bush replied, "Over my dead body" as he laughed at Cheney’s Contra joke. "If you don’t share some of it, that could be the case," Cheney said. "Pitch it here."

Bush struck a pitch pose, wound up, made a fake out pitch, and joked in baseball banter, "It’s a ’high fly’ ball. You’re going to have to steal." He tossed the heroin in the air, caught it, and strode for the door, Cheney got out of his chair, pointed to the door, and ordered me "Out".

Houston and I were flown in to Montego Bay, Jamaica and transported to Ocho Rios to board our next NCL cruise ship.

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CHAPTER 17 - ABOUT FACES

Soon after Kelly was inducted into George Bush’s "Neighborhood" through horrific sexual abuse, Bush enforced his controls on me. Our mind-control handler, Alex Houston, had taken Kelly and me to Washington, D.C. for separately scheduled meetings with Bush. Kelly had already been escorted by agents to her rendezvous with him that morning, during which Lime I had been ordered to one of U.S, Senator Robert C. Byrd’s offices located in the nearby FBI Hoover Building.

There, Byrd reinforced his holds on me by claiming control of the Justice Department and "proving" once again that I had "no where to run and no where to hide". My horror reaction was compounded when Byrd looked at his pocket watch and notified me in Alice in Wonderland cryptic language, "You’re late, you’re late for a very important date," referring to my meeting with Bush.

I sprinted from the Hoover Building, encountering Houston who waited just outside. Houston hurried me to the Smithsonian where I waited for my escorts as instructed at the "Face Changing" exhibit. This computerized exhibit illustrates how an individual’s face can take on a radically different appearance by slightly altering any single feature.

The exhibit fascinated me as a programmed MPD since multiples often experience the unnerving phenomena of routinely not recognizing themselves in a mirror due to switching personalities. A multiple’s face often changes slightly with each switch, which "validates" the religious communities’ perceptions of so-called "demonic possession" in occultism. Logic quickly dispels this belief when it is realized that everyone’s expression changes according to emotion, by skin color and tones, blood pressure, and by tightening or relaxing specific micro muscles.

An MPD’s face changes are more exaggerated when these natural conditions are combined with the results of sophisticated programming/"Charm School" teaches subconscious control over these natural phenomena as a ready-made disguise on government slaves such as myself, as welt as to enhance sex slaves’ "beauty" to their maximum potential. I was incapable of thinking or logically understanding my fascination with the display, as I stood totally enthralled, waiting for my escorts as ordered.

As the escorts approached, I was relieved to see Kelly with them. Though she was visibly tranced and traumatized, the fact that she was alive was all I was capable of grasping. When she saw the "Face Changing" exhibit, she excitedly exclaimed, "Uncle George just read me a book about this!" Before I could hear anymore, I was led away, leaving Kelly with our handler, Houston.

I was then quickly taken to Bush’s Residence Office, which here-to-fore was unfamiliar to me. Although it had slate blue, plush carpets and fine furnishings like the White House office, lattice work and smaller rooms provided a different air. I sat in a hard-back wooden chair as ordered, while Bush carefully positioned himself in front of me on a little wooden footstool. This allowed me clear visibility of the large book that he held in his lap.

All illustrations faced me, while all text except the last page was printed in the holder’s direction. This book was a unique, high tech piece of art specifically designed to enforce Bush’s favorite method of programming, "You Are What You Read". The juvenile face depicted on the front of this hardcover book gave it the appearance of a children’s storybook. It was entitled About Faces.

Bush explained the dynamics of "changing faces" and "becoming what I read". Although I had been conditioned to this idea all of my life through Disney stories, The Wizard Of Oz, Alice In Wonderland, etc., I was not prepared for Bush’s version of "You Are What You Read" programming explanations.

The illustrations themselves were elaborate, consisting of mirrors and hypnotic depictions. He seemingly made the book come alive in my mind as he read page after poetic page of hypnotic, metaphorical language, all the while creating powerful illusions. His impersonations of the characters further enhanced the desired affect of fantasy becoming reality. This extraordinary effort to scramble reality would have worked-perfectly-had it not been for another victim and myself discussing it only a few days later.

The purpose of Bush’s book was dearly explained within the first few pages, which included the following passage:

I am the Vice President when circumstance demands,
And I am your Commander, you’ll follow my commands.
The first command’s important - It is one you will heed,
When I send you a book, you are what you read.

Throughout my tenure as a Presidential Model mind-controlled slave, I was provided specific books according to Bush’s program. These books, delivered through pre-established channels such as Ken Riley, Alex Houston, and even Ronald Reagan, came complete with specific commands on how they were to be interpreted and used. Some books were used to instruct me on operations; somewhere an attempt to scramble my memory with fantasy; others were used to load my mind with pertinent data such as bank account passbook numbers, and so on.

I was provided a paperback book entitled Afghanistan, from which I absorbed history, current political events, and the strength of the Afghany Freedom Fighters. I have since learned that the book I read was never publicly released in the text it was provided me. According to instruction, the book was delivered back to Bush as quickly as I finished memorizing it, I wonder in retrospect if any part of it contained fact beyond how I was supposed to perceive it.

I read stories of espionage, including Robert Ludlum’s Bourne Identity, and William Diehl’s Chameleon. Mostly I was provided steamy sex novels for further training as well as scrambles. Kelly was conditioned to fairy tales, Steven Spielberg’s ET, NASA NSA operative George Lucas’ Star Wars, and the nightmarish Never Ending Story. Steinbeck’s classic Of Mice and Men caused Kelly constantly to quote the dependant character of Lenny for years saying, "Tell me what to do, George".

She still does this each and every time I am allowed to visit with her in the mental institution. The attending therapist over-seeing the visit has yet to pick up on this programming cue, and I am forbidden by Juvenile Court order not to discuss Kelly’s past or therapy.

Bush’s most effective example of "You Are What You Read" in his book About Faces occurred during his reading of the page depicting lizard-like "aliens" from a "far-off, deep space place", Claiming to me to be an alien himself, Bush apparently activated a hologram of the lizard-like "alien" which provided the illusion of Bush transforming like a chameleon before my eyes. In retrospect, I understand that Bush had been painstakingly careful in positioning our seats in order that the hologram’s effectiveness be maximized.

U.S. Army Lt. Col. Aquino’s occultism provided trauma sufficient to maintain my Project Monarch Mind-Controlled existence despite his inability to affect my core spirituality. Therefore, I was not routinely subjected to the other favorite "trauma of choice"-alien themes-lite many slaves (including Kelly) I knew had been.

The effect of Bush’s illusion hologram on such victims is binding and strong. Even Aquino envied the mind shattering effects of Bush’s alien theme visual traumas to the extent that he wrote and published his own comic book sequel to Lucas’ Star Wars. While occultism is easily dispelled with reason and fact, Bush’s alien theme continues to be reinforced through NASA’s involvement in mind-control atrocities.

Additionally, California’s 24-year incumbent Senator Alan Cranston of the Select Committee on Intelligence has perpetuated this trauma base for decades, as have others. Despite my having escaped routine "alien" theme traumas, Bush’s "You Are What You Read" hologram proved devastatingly sufficient for him to gain total control of my robotic mind from that moment on until my rescue in 1988.

By the time Bush reached the last page of his About Faces book, I was so traumatized I instantly "became what I read" when I read the last verse aloud as ordered:

I am a True Patriot living an American Dream,
I will become my role when you pull my string.
I will become my part, so I can ’be all I can be’
’Cause just like the Vice President, I am what I read.

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CHAPTER 18 - IN THE MEANTIME

My life seemed to lead me at an accelerated pace after being subjected to Reagan and Bush. My handler, Alex Houston egotistically claimed it was his and Elemer’s (his alter-ego dummy) popularity that kept us traveling so extensively within the country music circuit. When we weren’t traveling the Caribbean and Mexico via NCL ships, or driving his cocaine loaded motor home to strategically booked shows across the U.S., we were routinely moving in and out of Washington, D.C.

All along the way, my daughter and I were either prostituted, used in commercial pornography, or filmed in Michael Dante’s "Chief" bestiality pornography as ordered by Uncle Ronnie Reagan.

Occasionally our travels would take us to Michigan, where Houston made certain we stayed with my family. Trips to my father’s house were devastating but informative. My mother had developed deep, psychological scars above and beyond her own MPD condition and became an insomniac. My father by this time was routinely traveling to London, Germany, and Mexico, and taking the family to Florida’s Disney World and Washington, D.C.

My older brother, Hill, still worked for and with my father, traveled with him annually to "hunt" in Cheney’s Greybull, Wyoming lodge, and maintained his wife and three children under trauma-base mind control according to my father’s instructions. My brother, Mike, ran a video store to front some of my father’s and Uncle Bob Tanis’ lucrative porn video business.

My sister, Kelli Jo, became a belly dancing contortionist excelling in "gymnastics" since she became "as flexible as Gumby" according to her prostitution programming. She worked her way through school in children’s day-care centers, admittedly spotting, for my father, abused children for potential "chosen ones" candidates. In 1990 she graduated to open a licensed day-care, "Little Learners" in Grand Haven, Michigan for my father.

My brother, Tom (Beaver), is a Compu-Kids (CIA Project) programmed computer genius. My brother Tim broke his leg (in the same place my mother had broken his leg years before) due to following my father’s sports programming above and beyond human capability. And my youngest sister, Kimmy, became hysterically obsessed with "Mr. Rogers," expressed immense fear of her huge "electric" doll house that lit up at night to look like the White House, and was under a doctor’s care for anorexia by age seven, I look forward to the day I can help them all, and justice is served on my father.

Since I was using parts of my brain I would not have used under normal circumstances, I developed the ability to read backwards as naturally as I could red forwards. Houston tapped into this typically occult-based phenomenon as a means of "scrambling" road signs to promote amnesia of where we were traveling. He further compounded his effort by conditioning me to read phonetically and literally, and alternated his "scrambling" methods.

"Zoo" became "ooz" and "ooz" translated to "oz". Arkansas read "Our Kansas", and Missouri became (and was!) "Misery". East became West, and highway 66 became 99. When I traveled, I "literally" did not consciously know if I were coming or going. If an outsider happened to ask me about where I’d traveled, I mechanically replied, "The towns all run together and look alike after awhile."

Commands delivered in the same language twisting manner were natural for me to follow. "Role with it" was easier for me to become according to Reagan’s acting definition than it was to go with the flow by "rolling with it". Phrases like Wyoming Senator Alan Simpson’s "In a switch of an "I" (personality)/"eye" (hypnotic blink)/ "i" (the letter), complaint becomes compliant. The parts of my brain I was forced to function with were not conducive to "normal" thinking.

Nor could I have appeared "normal" to outsiders had they cared to see beyond my superficial programmed cover personality, I did have occasion to mix with "outsiders" at the local library where I took Kelly for her books on days when we were not traveling. By age 6, she tested at the 7th grade reading level. I also emerged from my closed environment to tend to Kelly’s schooling. She maintained straight As, but her poor attendance record threatened to violate state requirements.

Once when the librarian asked where Kelly would be traveling to waive library book due dates, or the teacher inquired as to Kelly’s absences, I gave the usual response of, "the towns all run together and look alike after awhile." If they pressed for specifics, I ran through a series of religious phrases such as "praise the Lord ", to compensate for my lack of answers. People tended to overlook and accept "religious fanaticism" personality peculiarities, which combined with my "role" traveling the country music industry, kept outsiders at a distance for years.

My "religious fanatic" cover personality was cultivated at the Brentwood, Tennessee Lord’s Chapel "nondenominational" (Pentecostal) church, through the CIA Operative preacher - Reverend Billy Roy Moore (who has since fled to Arkansas due to a local murder scandal),

Moore transported cocaine from the Caribbean for the CIA, at least during the Reagan Administration, under the guise of so-called "missions,"¹ i.e., Christian ministries. It most likely was not the intent of the Christians dedicated to their Caribbean ministries to be used by the CIA and Moore to inadvertently mule drugs into our country. Even CIA agents operating under "need to know" partial information were denied the full scope of what they were actually participating in. Many seemingly willing participants were manipulated, provided "justification," and deliberately misled to believe they were serving their country, rather than destroying it from the inside out.

"Pastor" Moore combined his knowledge of Kelly’s and my programming keys, codes, and triggers with his use of metaphorical language to maintain and/or direct our mode of operation. Moore’s "following" consisted primarily of government mind-controlled slaves and handlers, including the Mandrells.

Jack Greene and his slave, the Oak Ridge Boys, and others. He instructed us on how to vote, which political issues lo support, and to follow other "religious" political leaders such as his and Manuel Noriega’s friend, evangelist Jimmy Swaggart. "Religious counseling" from Moore equaled to maintaining mind- control programming through "God’s Orders", And "God’s Orders" often came by telephone,

Houston constantly prostituted Kelly to anyone "in the loop" who was willing to pay. When she wasn’t being prostituted, she was being filmed pornographically. By 1984, Michael Dante routinely filmed Kelly in pornography, since kiddie porn was as lucrative as bestiality. He filmed Kelly and me in Las Vegas, Nevada and various other locations throughout the Caribbean, California, Florida, Tennessee, and in my home state of Michigan.

This created professional conflict with long lime kiddie pornographers formerly associated with Houston. Houston’s close friend in Waycross, Georgia, pedophile Jimmy Walker, managed the Okefenokee Swamp Park and had participated in black budget funding operations for years on both the cocaine and pornography levels. His counterpart, Dick Flood, refused to participate to any more pornography after Dante came on the scene.

Even the Huntsville, Alabama NASA/DIA/CIA-appointed "law enforcement" officers could rarely succeed in their bidding for Kelly’s video taped performances unless directly ordered by Senator Byrd. Dante considered himself her future owner as well as mine, and maintained control of our porn "business" ventures through serious U.S. Government and international Mafia methodisms/ connections.

Jimmy Walker, the same photographer who had taken pornographic "wedding night" pictures for Larry Flynt, recently had other photographs of me published in Hustler. When Dante found out, he was furious. Larry Flynt and Dante both worked for the CIA, had Vatican and Mafia connections, and deliberately appealed to Reagan’s perversions using project Monarch Mind-Controlled slaves.

What Flynt could not "legally" publish, Dante ran through the underground. Flynt and Dante lived on opposite coasts, which, despite their similarities, still was not far enough apart to sooth their differences. Waving his hands in dramatic Italian gestures. Dante furiously spouted a string of obscenities over Flynt’s publishing photos of what he deemed "his property"

Accusing Flynt of going to extremes to gain favor/protection from the government, Dante shouted, "He’s a bigger whore than the girls he promotes!"

Michael Dante’s pornographic filming abilities served several purposes.

Aside from producing porn according to Reagan’s own (well known) perversions and instructions, Dante was present during many key international government "gatherings". Oftentimes when I and others were prostituted to various government (New World Order) leaders, Dante had hidden cameras filming perverse sexual acts apparently for future blackmail leverage. These
videos were scandalous in proportion and were usually ordered by Reagan.

Dante turned the videos over to Reagan, and covertly kept copies to protect himself. Dante converted a small room of his Beverly Hills mansion into a security vault, where he kept his personal copies of the international blackmail porn tapes there.

Among these internationally scandalous tapes are numerous videos covertly produced at the supposedly secure political sex playground in northern California, Bohemian Grove. According to Houston, Dante’s high tech undetectable cameras used fiber optics, and fish-eye lens were in each of the elite club’s numerous sexual perversion theme rooms. My knowledge of these cameras was due to the strategically compromising positions of the political perpetrators I was prostituted to in the various kinky theme rooms.

I was programmed and equipped to function in all rooms at Bohemian Grove in order to compromise specific government targets according to their personal perversions. "Anything, anytime, anywhere with anyone" was my mode of operation at the Grove. I do not purport to understand the full function of this political cesspool playground as my perception was limited to my own realm of experience.

My perception is that Bohemian Grove serves those ushering in the New World Order through mind control, and consists primarily of the highest Mafia and U.S. Government officials. I do not use the term "highest" loosely, as copious quantities of drugs were consumed there. Project Monarch Mind Control slaves were routinely abused there to fulfill the primary purpose of the club: purveying perversion.

Bohemian Grove is reportedly intended to be used recreationally, providing a supposedly secure environment for politically affluent individuals to "party" without restraint. The only business conducted there pertained to implementing the New World Order, through the proliferation of mind-control atrocities, giving the place an air of "Masonic Secrecy". The only room where business discussions were permitted was the small, dark lounge affectionately and appropriately referred to as the Underground.²

Sex slaves were not routinely permitted in the Underground for security reasons, leaving the lounge’s small stage as the only source of "entertainment". This entertainment ranged from would-be talents such as Lee Atwater, Bill Clinton, and George Bush to CIA Operative entertainers such as Boxcar Willie and Lee Greenwood, On one occasion I was instructed to meet with former President Gerald Ford in the Underground where Lee Atwater was picking and singing.

As I waited through the smoke-filled room to Ford’s table, Atwater interrupted his song to cryptically acknowledge my unwelcome presence by singing choruses of "Over the Rainbow" and Byrd’s song for me "Country Roads" while emphasizing the lines of "Almost heaven, West Virginia".

My purpose at the Grove was sexual in nature, and therefore my perceptions were limited to a sex slave’s viewpoint. As an effective means of control to ensure undetected proliferation of their perverse indulgences, slaves such as myself were subjected to ritualistic trauma. I knew each breath I took could be my last, as the threat of death lurked in every shadow.

Slaves of advancing age or with failing programming were sacrificially murdered "at random" in the wooded grounds of Bohemian Grave, and I fell it was "simply a matter of time until it would be me". Rituals were held at a giant, concrete owl monument on the banks of, ironically enough, the Russian (rushin’) River. These occultish sex rituals stemmed from the scientific belief that mind-controlled slaves required severe trauma to ensure compartmentalization of the memory, and not from any spiritual motivation.

My own threat of death was instilled when I witnessed the sacrificial death of a young, dark-haired victim at which time I was instructed to perform sexually "as though my life depended upon it". I was told,

"...the next sacrifice victim could be you. Anytime when you least expect it, the owl will consume you. Prepare yourself, and stay prepared."

Being "prepared" equated to being totally suggestible, i.e., "on my toes" awaiting their command.

After returning to Tennessee, Houston attempted to distort my Bohemian Grove experience by instructing me to "prepare myself for imminent death". He ordered me into a bathtub of cold water, placed ice cubes in my vagina, then transferred me to his bed. There he tied a coroner’s type tag on my toe, and hypnotically deepened my trance to the point where my heart and breathing were nearly stopped.

Then he gratified himself on my cold, still body through faux necrophilia—reportedly one of his favorite perversions. Houston had "perfected" his perversion to the extent that he handed the keys to my death-state programming to Lt. Col. Michael Aquino for use in Reagan’s Hands-On Mind-Control Demonstrations. My death-state also further equipped me in my role of "anything, anytime, anywhere with anyone" to be accessed at Bohemian Grove.

The club offered a "Necrophilia" theme room to its members. I was so heavily drugged and programmed when used in the "necrophilia" room, that the threat of actually "slipping through death’s door" and being sacrificed "before I knew it" did not affect me. My whole existence was balanced precariously on the edge of death as a matter of routine anyway.

My robotic state did not permit me the "luxury" of self-preservation, and I could only do exactly what I was told to do. My necrophilia room experience was only for the purpose of providing Dante a compromising film of a targeted member anyway.

Other perversion theme rooms at the Bohemian Club included what I heard Ford refer to as the "Dark Room". When he not so cleverly said, "Let’s go to the Dark Room and see what develops," I understood from experience that he was interested in indulging in his perverse obsession for pornography. In the Dark Room, members had sex with the same mind-controlled slave they were viewing in porn on a big screen television.

There was a triangular glass display centered in a main through way where I was locked in with various trained animals, including snakes. Members walking by watched elicit sex acts of bestiality, women with women, mothers with daughters, kids with kids, or any other unlimited perverse visual display.

I was once brutally assaulted by Dick Cheney in the Leather Room, which was designed tike a dark, black leather-lined train berth. As I crawled through the leather flaps covering the narrow entrance, I heard Cheney play on the word "berth/birth" as the soft blackness engulfed me. With the small opening covered, the blinding darkness enhanced the sense of touch and provided an option of anonymity. Cheney jokingly claimed that I "blew his cover" when I recognized his all-too-familiar voice and abnormally large penis size.

There was a room of shackles and tortures, black lights and strobes, an opium den, ritualistic sex altars, a chapel, group orgy rooms including poster beds, water beds, and "kitten" houses. I was used as a "rag doll" in the "toy store," and as a urinal in the "golden arches" room.

From the owl’s roost to the necrophilia room, no memory of sexual abuse is as horrifying as the conversations overheard in the Underground pertaining to implementing the New World Order. I learned that perpetrators believed that controlling the masses through propaganda mind manipulation did not guarantee there would be a world left to dominate due to environmental and overpopulation problems.

The solution being debated was not pollution/population control, but mass genocide of "selected undesirables."

1 Moore often operated under the cloak of World Vision.

2 The wooden sign was carved to read: U.N.DERGROUND

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CHAPTER 19 - E.T. PHONE ROME

Anyone attending the Bohemian Grove on a regular basis was referred to by those in the know as a "Grover". One such Grover was Ronald Reagan’s then- Secretary of Education, Bill Bennett, who later became "Drug Czar" during the Bush Administration, wrote the so-called Book of Virtues and was/is? vying for the office of President. Bennett is apparently very close to his brother and fellow Grover, Bob Bennett. Although Bob Bennett holds the position of Legal Counsel to President Clinton, it is apparent that the brothers recognize no party lines.

It was clear to me that there were no partisan differences amongst those ushering in the New World Order, any more than there was loyalty to our Constitution. The close relationship I witnessed between the Bennett brothers, like the marriage between Clinton’s and Bush’s 1992 campaign managers James Carville and Mary Matlin, should raise questions as to their agenda.

When Bill and Bob Bennett together sexually assaulted my daughter, Kelly, and me at the Bohemian Grove in 1986, I had already known Bill Bennett as a mind-control programmer for some time. Bennett anchored his Jesuit/Vatican based programming of me in my Catholic conditioning initially instilled via the Rite to Remain Silent.

Through further manipulation of my "inner-dimensional" perceptions, Bennett believed he had forever compartmentalized his personal secrets of perverse sex with his brother, Bob, and my then six-year-old daughter. Bennett also had manipulated my mind in accordance with Vatican "Orders" via Byrd’s Jesuit College programming center in West Virginia. He used his role as Jesuit programmer for the purposes of carrying out his efforts as Education Secretary to implement Education 2000.¹

In order to program my mind for my role in bringing Education 2000 into the "Volunteer State" of Tennessee’s school system, Bennett used sophisticated mind manipulation to set the stage—the same kind of mind manipulation propaganda executed on national and international scale, Bennett’s penchant for manipulating minds is apparently rooted in his knowledge of Catholic/Jesuit mind-control techniques.

When I met Bennett at a White House cocktail party in 1984, I was wearing the rosy cross necklace that Guy VanderJagt and Father Don had presented tome during my first communion, to signify the mode of program I was operating under at the time. Byrd had ordered that I wear it for the occasion.

Byrd was already talking with Bennett when a White House butler led me in to see Byrd.² Byrd was saying,

"I was just talking about you with my friend, Secretary of Education³ William Bennett."

"Bill," Bennett corrected, sweeping his lecherous gaze over me as though I were merchandise. "How do you do?"

 

"As I am told, thank you," I said as I extended my hand as trained.

Bennett clumsily fingered the rosy cross necklace, blowing his alcoholic breath in my face as he said, "Your necklace is as beautiful as you are, and no doubt, as significant in purpose. Where did this come from and what does it mean to you?"

"From my first communion," I responded. "Guy (Byrd interrupted to clarify ’VanderJagt’) gave it to me to consummate my holy communion."

Byrd corrected me, "Commemorate your holy communion."

 

"She doesn’t need a translator, Bobby," Bennett laughed, "I’m hearing her loud and clear."

Byrd left me with Bennett, who went into a long winded recitation on an interpretation of the Bible deliberately intended to further distort my Catholic instilled perceptions. "Christ was an alien in this land," he was saying in accordance with his learned Jesuit mind manipulation techniques.

"Once he landed in Earth’s plane, it was plain to see he was a leader in interdimensional travel, We (Jesuits/aliens) followed his lead since he was the first to slip into Earth’s dimension. In Christ’s transformation from porpoise ⁴ to purpose, he lost his will to Earth’s demands. He lost his porpoise, so to speak."

Totally "trance-fixed," I listened as Bennett rallied on and on.

"When Christ emerged from the deep to inhale of Earth’s atmosphere, time began ticking. It was not recognized or acknowledged until Christ’s passing, however. We began marking time with his death. BC-AD-or is that AC-DC?"

Referring to high voltage used to compartmentalize memory, he continued,

"No, AC in DC stops time. At any rate, we followed his lead, He referred to you as sheep. He knew you needed to be led. He led us. He led you. He led us to you. We’re here to lead you. The transformation is perfected now, updated with the latest in alien technologies whereby we no longer have to follow Christ’s course to the grave. We can transcend dimensions free of the confines of Earth’s gravitational pull. The time is now, and we are here to lead you. We know your mind. That’s how we make you mind. Make you mine. Make you a mind. Make you mine. Journey with me now..."

Bennett manipulated my perceptions until, at last, he informed me, "You and I will be working closely together on a global education project." Sweeping his hand around the crowded room, he continued,

"This atmosphere is not conductive to the kind of work we need to be doing. Something else just came up that demands immediate attention. Let’s complete tonight’s business with pleasure, beat it out of this dimension, suspend your suspended animation, and get with the program."

In one of many White House bedrooms available for such purposes, Bennett led me into bed.

I told you we were going to beat it out of this dimension, and that’s exactly what I intend to do. A little Byrd told me you like a whip. Since I am not the Senate kind, I’ll just represent the majority by giving you what you need most.

Bennett apparently found perverse pleasure in whipping me. With my wrists bruised and my body slinging with pain, Bennett lit up a cigarette and cryptically asked,

"Was that your first cum-union with an alien?" He threw me my clothes, and ordered, "Make yourself presentable. Make sure your wrists are covered. I’m not waiting around for you, I’ll see you in THE morning."

Bennett left. After awhile I was escorted back to Byrd, with whom I spent a brutal, short night. On the way to his room, Byrd told me,

"You’ve got work to do come morning with Mr. Bennett. Working for him is like working for me. We are working in conjunction with the state Governors in an effort to implement the global 2000 education formula for the future. I am excited at the prospect of meddling in the future through what I accomplish today. Since I hold this country’s purse strings, it is up to me to delegate as much funding as is necessary to implement the educational program. I’ve withheld funding and withheld funding to the point where the individual states must rely on federal funding to get them out of hot water financially.

 

I am ready to do just that so long as they follow my guidelines. Mr. Bennett is working out the details of this plan, and will be sharing much of that with you. I need you to do what you do best by enlisting the full cooperation of state government at the upcoming Governor’s Convention. I have never demanded Conventional sex of you before, but this time is different. Persuade these Governors at their weakest moment—bring them to their knees while you are on yours, and convince them that global education is the gateway to the future if there is to be any future at all."

Early the next morning, deep underground in the NASA’s Goddard Space Flight Center mind-control lab near D.C., Bill Bennett began preparing me for the program. NASA uses various "CIA designer drugs" to chemically alter the brain and create exactly the mind set required at the time, Huntsville, Alabama’s NASA drug of choice, "Train-quility," created a feeling of absolute, peaceful compliance and a sensation of walking on air.

The drug administered this time was sufficiently similar to Tranquility to create total compliance. The bearing I had endured the night before had rendered me helpless, anyway, and I could barely crawl up onto the cold, metal lab table as the drug took effect.

In the darkness surrounding me, I could hear Bill Bennett talking, "This is my brother, Bob. He and I work as one unit. We are alien to this dimension - two beings from another plane."

The high-tech light display swirling around me convinced me I was transforming dimensions with them, A laser of light hit the black wall in front of me, which seemed to explode into a panoramic view of a White House cocktail party-as though I had transformed dimensions and stood amongst them.

Not recognizing anyone, I frantically asked,

"Who are these people?" .

"They’re not people, and this isn’t a spaceship/ Bennett said. As he spoke, the holographic scene changed ever so slightly until the people appeared to be lizard-like aliens. "Welcome to the second level of the underground. This level is a mere/(mirror) reflection of the first, an alien dimension. We are from a transdimensional plane that spans and encompasses all dimensions."

"Infinite dimensions," Bob injected, "Infinite dimensions spanned simultaneously" Bill said, "No limitations".

Bob softly sang, "Let freedom ring".

"There truly is no where to run and no where to hide from us. We’re who is looking from behind the Eye in the Sky," Bill continued, "We’re watching you," Bob said. He sang a line from the popular rock song "I’ll Be Watching You".

"I have taken you through my dimension as a means of establishing stronger holds on your mind than the Earth’s plane permits," Bill Bennett was saying. "Being alien, I simply make my thoughts your thoughts by projecting them into your mind. My thoughts are your thoughts." ⁵

The brief message Bennett programmed me with pertaining to Education2000 was to be directed to state Governors at the upcoming convention while delivering a packet of information:

"The children. We must consider the children. Think for a moment beyond tomorrow. Our children are the future. Their future lies in education. We can control the future today by regulating education. Our thoughts and plans for the future-put in their text. A text they can understand. Children’s textbooks. The highest levels of government, the most brilliant minds on the face of this Earth would like input into the future by way of the children. You, as Governor, are in a position to provide that link. Global Education 2000 is ready for implementation. Look into it. Look into it and see the future."

1 Education 2000 was designed to increase our children’s learning capacity while destroying their ability to critically think for themselves. You can learn more about Education 2000, also referred to as America 2000 and Global 2000, through reading: Educating for the New World Order by B.K. Eakman, published by Halcyon House ISBN # 0-89420-278-2-3441000, and A Critique of America 2000: An Educational Strategy by Kathy Simonds, published by Citizens for Excellence in Education,

2 Anytime I was taken to "see Byrd," I was deliberately reminded of his name, (Robert) C. Byrd and "its alien mirror reversal," Sea-Byrd as a triple bind lock in.

3 Bill Bennett, who was still acting as Chairman of the National Endowment of the Humanities in 1984, was designated (tapped) to became U.S. Secretary of Education through his allegiances to George Bush and the New World Order. In 1985, Reagan (Bush) officially appointed Bennett as Secretary of Education. Apparently Byrd considered my "Need to Know" Bennett as Secretary of Education pertinent to my role in the Global Education project.

4 Jesuit/NASA based whale and dolphin programming suggests that water is a mirror to other dimensions and is the means by which aliens have mixed with our population.

.

5 If this were so, why did he have to audibly tell me?
 

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