CHAPTER 7 - CHARM SCHOOL

After Aquino instilled my base sex programming, I was often taken by Houston to Youngstown, Ohio to attend the sex slave training camp hell hole referred to as "Charm School". Houston often performed in the Youngstown area at county fairs, Fraternal Order of Police shows, or any little country music entertainment gigs that would bring us in the proximity of the dreaded Charm School. On occasion, Kelly would go through the torture process with me.

But usually Houston delivered me to the door for training with other CIA and Mafia slaves my age, and then left taking Kelly with him. When Charm School was in session, there were several girls being tortured and trained at once. I have seen and known numerous girls to go through Charm School, but, understandably, few are reported to have survived or recovered their minds enough to talk about it.

Charm School was reportedly operated by an identified member of the Mellon Banking family (Byrd’s Endowment for the Arts’ largest contributor). The operator took the name and role of "Governor" from the movie My Fair Lady, in an attempt to confuse my torturous reality with movie fantasy.

In the movie, Governor is the cockney title given the professor who transformed a female street urchin into a functioning high society lady. Additionally, Mellon’s use of the title, Governor, was intended to create scramble for the real Governor who frequented the school as though it were only a whore house. I am referring to then Governor of Pennsylvania (and later U.S. Attorney General, now secretary for the United Nations) Dick Thornburgh.¹

Aquino provided some of the programming at Charm School and everyone I knew in government operations was at least aware of it. Then Youngstown Sheriff, now U.S. Representative Jim Traficant, was usually present. He capitalized on his ability to portray himself as "Lurch" by slowly opening the door and saying, "Walk this way - To a literal slave in training, this means walk like he is walking-like Lurch, Egor, a street whore, Scarecrow, and so on.

Once the door closed behind me, Charm School meant I would be charmed, mesmerized (hypnotized), and programmed to be a high class prostitute for select politicians. I did learn their way to walk, I learned when to talk, how to dress, how to sit, stand, and all the rest. Table manners were not taught as they were not needed since slaves endured food and water deprivation when working. Above all, we were taught how to gratify any sexual perversion. Justas Traficant opened the door to Charm School for slaves, he oftentimes was the one to "test" their newly learned sexual skills to determine when or if slaves could leave.

A typical three-day course at Charm School included the usual factors of, sleep, food, and water deprivation; trauma; high voltage; and programming. Often times experimental or tried and proven CIA manufactured "designer" drugs were administered which produced specific brain wave activity to maximize and/or compartmentalize programs. I usually spent the first day hanging in the dungeon.

Charm School is housed in an identified stone historical railroad barren’s former residence, and the basement was in fact a wine cellar dungeon. It was dark, damp, and musty and was decorated in classic torture chamber fashion. It was complete with various hanging chains, a stretching rack, whips, and altars including one specially designed for bestiality sex.

As I hung by my wrists, I could hear and smell the animals in the next cells—a black Nubian goat called Satan, a small donkey named Nester, sometimes a small white pony referred to as Trigger, and various dogs, cats, snakes, and others. All Charm School animals were trained to sexually respond to the smell of urine. When someone, such as Dick Thornburgh who particularly enjoyed this kind of kink, entered my cell and urinated on me, I knew I would soon be released from my chains and led to the animal altar for bestiality lessons, pornography, or to please a perverse onlooker.

I was hung by my ankles, stretched on a rack, burned, and tortured repeatedly. My feet and hands were chained to a wall for what was termed "off the wall sex." I was taught "Silence" in Oz fashion since screaming did not produce results anyway unless they wanted it for pornography. This was implemented with an electronic canine bark collar normally used to train a dog not to bark.

I was repeatedly filmed pornographically, and always taken upstairs to the "Master’s Chambers" for prostitution to participants, including the real "Governor" of Charm School, then Pennsylvania Governor Dick Thomburgh, Congressman Jim Traficant,² Lt. Col. Michael Aquino, and others. When Kelly was with me, she endured the same and we were forced to see each other physically tortured as further psychological trauma. This was to ensure I could never remember the who, what, when, or where of our bizarre enslavement. This is what is sometimes referred to as cross-programming.

In spite of the deliberately created amnesic blocks, I developed a sub-conscious sympathetic understanding for other Charm School slaves that extended outside the walls of this man-made hell. This understanding emanated from the depths of my being, creating a compassion for other mind-control victims mat compels me to give voice to their silent pleas for help to this day.

I became close friends with one such victim, who must remain anonymous in order to survive to eventually recover. This beautiful blonde and I had numerous opportunities to be together throughout the years, as Houston’s government sponsored travels routinely took him into her home state of Pennsylvania while Dick Thomburgh was Governor.

My friend and I were photographed together for Larry Flynt’s commercial pornography publications, and featured in the illicit films that contributed to funding CIA covert operations. In addition to this, she and I were able to spend two weeks together when her husband/handler traveled to Houston’s farm in Tennessee for instructions on handling his new "bride".

I was "made of honor" for my friend’s "wedding," which was no more a marriage than mine to Houston. As was customary with Project Monarch slaves, her marriage to her handler equated to marriage to her mind-control owner, U.S. Senator Arlen Spector.

The "wedding" I was forced to participate in was for pornography purposes only, and it took place in Arlen Spector’s Conneaut Lake house in Pennsylvania.

Spector’s stone house was located in a wooded, remote setting and was masculine in decor. Side rooms were either designated for perverse sex or were furnished with antiquated NASA virtual reality and programming equipment. The musty smell of Spector’s playhouse was overpowered by the scent of roses, which he symbolically presented to his slave on their "wedding" day.

My friend’s "wedding" photos included Catholic themes, and the crucifix featured was rose cut crystal similar to the one I received from Byrd.

Regardless of how this girl was depicted, her innate morality was apparent to me. She and I were referred to as "minor/mere cats," due to the similarity of our victimizations. Like me, she was controlled through manipulation of her religious beliefs and maternal instincts. The delicate rose tattooed on her left wrist signifying her role in government operations did not detract from her high class projection any more than Spector’s immorality could mar her innate goodness. Once Arlen Spector officially became this slave’s owner, her Charm School status rose to "Presidential Model".

In addition to Charm School, I endured extensive programming to prepare me for future operations. Houston was often booked into Oklahoma fairs, Masonic Lodges, F.O.P. Conventions, and so on, in order that I be back in the vicinity of Tinker Air Force Base for further programming.

My Tinker-Belle conditioning further enhanced my photographic memory through direct control for receiving and delivering government messages which amounted to a computerized compartmentalization of my brain, so to speak. I was also trained in covert criminal operations, such as international drug mule transactions for funding the Pentagon’s and CIA’s Black Ops Budgets.

Houston’s CIA orchestrated travels in the country music industry led me to a TOP SECRET military/NASA installation at Offit Air Force Base in Nebraska. The "you can run, but you can’t hide"³ conditioning was deeply ingrained in my mind there through a technique that was later used on Kelly, as well as on other mind-control slaves, I was taken underground to a so-called ’secret’ circular room where the walls were covered with numerous screens showing satellite pictures from around the world.

These satellites are referred to as the "Eye in the Sky". An Air Force official explained to me that my every move "could be monitored via satellite". On a separate four-screen viewer, he demonstrated what in retrospect was a contrived pre-recorded slide show, with the scenes changing as rapidly as he spoke and typed it into the computer.

"Where will you run?" he asked me. "To the Arctic? The Antarctic? Brazil? The mountains? The desert? The prairies? The hills of Afghanistan? The city of Kabul? Devil’s Tower (Wyoming)? Would you try to run to Cuba and live among our enemies? We can find you there. There is truly no place to run and no place to hide.

 

The U.S. Senate (the picture was of Byrd)? The White House? Or to your own backyard? (My father was depicted waving from his front door, cupping his hands over his mouth saying, "come back" just like Aunt Em in The Wizard Of Oz.) "The moon? We got you covered. You can run, but you can’t hide."

This had been sufficient to convince me in my suggestible stale that my every move could be monitored.

During the course of my training/conditioning, I was routinely prostituted to Senator Byrd in Washington, D.C., at the West Virginia State Fair, NASA in Huntsville, Alabama, and at the Opryland Hotel in Nashville, Tennessee. One such night when 1 was to be prostituted to Byrd at Opryland Hotel, Lt. Colonel Aquino was scheduled to join him in perversely assaulting me. Much to my horror, Aquino arrived early, in full army dress uniform, backstage at the Grand Ol’ Opry.

When I saw Aquino talking with the Vatican based Project Monarch slave runner, Kris Kristopherson,⁴ whom I had known since 1979, my personality programmed for Opry events "short circuited". Under circumstances such as this, a multiple without programming would have switched personalities autogenic ally, whereas I could only switch upon command, I backed away, dazed, right into a soft drink machine. Kristopherson saw me as I backed further between the wall and the machine.

"What are you doing in there, little lady?" Kristopherson asked. "The Colonel wants to see you".

 

Aquino had walked over and sarcastically asked, "What are you doing in those machine wires? That could very well be a shocking experience for you."

All experiences with Aquino or Kristopherson resulted in high voltage electric shock torture, and apparently neither had any regard for human life.⁵ Aquino used the opportunity to reinforce his belief that I "had no where to run, nowhere to hide" from his "power"- his stun gun.

While I untangled myself from the wires, Kristopherson and Aquino continued their banter at my expense, Kristopherson held up his key ring and jingled it, catching my undivided attention as conditioned, while he told Aquino, "You’re gonna need the Keys to the Kingdom to work with this one right here."

"Keys to the Kingdom," of course, referred to my previously instilled (Enter/Inter) "Inner-dimensional" Catholic programmed personalities. Since Aquino was my primary mind-control programmer at the time, Kristopherson was informing Aquino of programs previously instilled in childhood via the "Rite to Remain Silent". By jingling the keys, he was demonstrating his control over me and his momentary edge on Aquino.

"I got ’em," Kristopherson was saying as he jingled the keys. "She’s mine unless you wanna play ball. Besides, you have to. The Byrd sent me."

"I’ve been expecting you," Aquino said with a smile.

Events later that night proved that Aquino had been supplied the keys to my previously established Jesuit based programming, which he and Byrd used and altered to suit their own perversions.

Byrd monitored all of my programming "progress," and often tortured me with his whip and pocketknife. He picked up where my mother left off, to destroy any self-esteem I might have inadvertently developed. He said,

"There is no place for you to turn because if you could think to talk no one would ever believe I would have anything to do with the likes of you."

He often threatened me that I was considered "disposable" because, after all,

"The first Presidential Model, Marilyn Monroe, was killed right in front of the public eye and no one knew what happened."

Byrd’s threats and cruelty were unnecessary as I could no longer think to seek help anyway, but he loved to hear himself talk and would often drone on and on and on in his infamous long-winded recitations, while I was photographically recording every word he said.

He detailed the inner operational structure of the world domination effort, including psychological warfare strategies, and explained how he had and would utilize his "expert" knowledge of the Constitution to manipulate it and the so-called U.S. Justice System, and more. His loose lips provided me yet another means of surviving and staying a step ahead of "the game" once Kelly and I were rescued from our mind-con trolled existence.

Senator Byrd revealed his "justifications" for criminal activity to me as well. He used me as a sounding board even though he knew I was incapable of input or response. He rehearsed in keeping with his motto "The only way we can fail, is to fail to think of an excuse."

Byrd "justified" mind-control atrocities as a means of thrusting mankind into accelerated evolution, according to the Neo-Nazi principles to which he adhered. He "justified" manipulating mankind’s religion to bring about the prophesied biblical "world peace" through the "only means available"—total mind control in the New World Order.

"After all," he proclaimed, "even the Pope and Mormon Prophet know this is the only way to peace and they cooperate fully with The Project."

Byrd also "justified" my victimization by saying, "You lost your mind anyway, and at least you have destiny and purpose now that it’s mine." Our country’s involvement in drug distribution, pornography, and white slavery was justified" as a means of "gaining control of all illegal activities world wide" to fund Black Budget covert activity that would "bring about world peace through world dominance and total control".

He adhered to the belief that,

"95% of the (world’s) people WANT to be led by the 5%", and claimed this can be proven because "the 95% DO NOT WANT TO KNOW what really goes on in government".

Byrd believed that in order for this world to survive, mankind must take a "giant step in evolution through creating a superior race".

To create this "superior race," Byrd believed in the Nazi and KKK principles of,

"annihilation of underprivileged races and cultures" through genocide, to alter genetics and breed "the more gifted-the blondes of this world".

As Byrd’s captive audience (literally), I absorbed information that the other so-called masterminds behind the New World Order would never have revealed for security reasons. But Byrd regarded me as "his" object, a game-piece that he could strategically move through life as though he were playing a chess game. He perceived me as totally under his control with no possibility of my ever being rescued, surviving, and recovering my mind and memory. Byrd likely would have talked to a post, and I filled the role as his silent sounding board.

My CIA Operative mind-control handler, Alex Houston was often scheduled to perform at the Swiss Villa Amphitheatre in Lampe, Missouri, which is yet another installation where I was programmed. Swiss Villa was a cover for a CIA Near Death Trauma Center of which there are several across the country. It is a remote, high security resort, enclosed with military barbed wire fences, that swings its guarded gate open to the local public for country music concerts.

The small Amphitheatre covers the covert activities occurring inside, which includes U.S. Government CIA cocaine and heroin distribution operations and mind-control projects.

Swiss Villa, like the Mount Shasta, California compound, was also used as a training and operations camp for the Shadow Government’s paramilitary projects referred to by Senator Inouye (D. HI). I learned that this not-so-secret military buildup, sanctioned by corrupt members of our government, consisted of special forces trained robotic soldiers, numerous black unmarked helicopters, and the highest technological advancements in TOP SECRET weaponry and "Star Wars" electro magnetic mind-control equipment. These paramilitary compounds were intended for global policing of the New World Order through the Multi-Jurisdictional Police Force.

"A Most Dangerous Game" was often played at Swiss Villa and involved CIA agents, politicians, and others who would attend the resort just for the sport of hunting humans. Kelly and I both were hunted at Swiss Villa. The tortures and rape after being caught were extensive and sufficiently traumatized our minds for ensuing programming, as well as for creating memory compartmentalization for the high level operations we witnessed behind the villa’s patrolled fences.

It was at Swiss Villa that I was taught "THE Most Dangerous Game" was one where a slave tried to escape and reveal what he or she had learned. If the hunters could not catch and stop the slave, then the black helicopters patrolling the area would. And if all else failed, the "Eye in the Sky" would locate him or her, and a torturous death was supposedly imminent.

According to my abusers, my deprograminer and primary advocate Mark Phillips and I have embarked on "THE Most Dangerous Game" through efforts such as releasing this book and turning a spotlight on the Shadow Government to reveal its members’ identities and their crimes against humanity, Mark Phillips and I are determined to beat them at their own "game" by arming the "95%" with the truth that perpetrators "don’t want them to know!"

1 Dick Thomburgh is listed in Houston’s CIA memo book which is now in my (and others’) possession.

2 Please note that, while still Sheriff of Youngstown, Ohio, Traficant was investigated and subsequently indicted for federal racketeering, drug distribution, and Mafia connections. However, he was acquitted through careful CIA jury manipulation and he went on to become the U.S. Representative he is to this date.

3 Once gaining "eyes to see and ears to hear," this "you can run, but you can’t hide" theme is so widely used it is visible from Hallmark greeting cards to Interstate overpasses to the lock-in song by the rock group, Police’s "I’ll Be Watching You".

4 A good friend of mine who remains a victim to date was "married" to Kristopherson on the night she wed her mind-control handler-much the way I had "married" Byrd when I wed Houston. The crucifix used to her Larry Flynt "wedding night" porn photos was mirrored rather than crystal.

5 Kristopherson nearly strangled me to death with his penis, which had further sexually excited him, late in the summer of 1987 during another incident related to Byrd.

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CHAPTER 8 - CIA’S WAR ON DRUGS OPERATION: ELIMINATING COMPETITION

I no longer had any mind of my own. I was absolutely void of free will and was now totally robotic. So was Kelly, We wore our Charm School smile at all times, and did exactly what we were told to do. The only characteristic noticeably out of place was Kelly’s age-inappropriate programmed vocabulary and mannerisms.

Outsiders attributed this to her traveling within the country music industry. My public image was a programmed personality that always smiled, looked and talked like the proverbial "air-head" blonde that kept outsiders away by socializing only within my controlled environment. This lifestyle appeared quite normal for my role as Houston’s much younger "wife" in the country music industry.

When we were not traveling, I began each day at 4:00 A.M. with a minimum of 2 hours aerobic exercise. Afterward, I tended farm animals and did other chores, then cooked Houston a large country breakfast which neither Kelly or I were permitted to share. Houston would then order me to work to exhaustion on his 100-acre farm while he watched.

These chores included hauling, stacking, and feeding out hundreds of bales of hay to our livestock each year; maintaining miles of electric fencing; cutting acres of grass with a push mower an average of twice weekly; busting concrete with a sledge hammer and mixing and pouring new cement; digging by hand and maintaining a two acre vegetable garden for canning; cutting, hauling, and slacking firewood for Houston, his neighbors, and friends; shoveling pick-up truck loads of creek gravel to fill in enormous potholes in the gravel road leading to 11 rural residences including Jack Greene’s; and anything else Houston could think of that would wear me down. Houston’s exhaustive, slave-driving work orders made my father’s seem benevolent in comparison. The "best" of days were rough.

I ate "like a bird (Byrd)," following Byrd’s orders of 300 calories per day-with no sugar or caffeine. My metabolism was low. I was trained to compute calories like a machine, eating more like a rabbit than a "bird", I had to count every calorie, from a simple taste of what I had to cook for Houston to semen.

Houston ensured that Kelly and I never got more than two consecutive hours of deep per night. He accomplished this through automatic mental "alarm clocks" that woke us up at two-hour intervals - Kelly with asthma, and me with panic. These tactics contributed to Kelly’s and my total inability to resist mind control. Traveling in the country music industry was no easier than existing on Houston’s farm in Tennessee. It certainly lacked the glamour that outsiders usually associate with entertainment industries. CIA covert drug operations had permeated the industry.

Entertainers were used to buy, sell, and distribute cocaine brought into this country by the U.S. government for the purpose of funding the Pentagon’s and CIA’s Black Budgets. Nashville’s local government, from my perspective, was totally corrupted by these criminal covert operations. Cover-up, murder, drugs, and white slavery prevailed. Entertainers usually made n big only when they participated in CIA operations and/or were slaves themselves. I know of numerous entertainers in need of rescue and deprogramming from their mind-controlled existence, because it was discovered that voices could be harmonically tuned through mind control to captivate audiences.

To quote my father, "Spies, like singers and actors, are made, not born". These entertainers have endured much of the same programming as I to permit them to carry out government operations in the course of their travels.

Norwegian Caribbean Lines (NCL) cruise ships depart regularly from Miami, Florida and travel throughout the Caribbean and Mexico. NCL provides pleasure cruises to the public complete with "entertainment" like that of Alex Houston while carrying out CIA operations. Sue Carper, former director of entertainment procurement for all NCL cruise ships, would ensure that government covert activities staging were properly orchestrated.

She rotated entertainers like Houston from ship to ship in order to avoid the scrutiny of clean U.S. Customs and Immigrations inspectors. I routinely took cruises with Houston, muling cocaine and/or heroin out of Haiti, the Bahamas, Mexico, the Virgin Islands, and Puerto Rico to fund covert operations. While I was robotically carrying out transactions as ordered, I was also prostituted to South and Central American drug lords and politicians, as well as filmed pornographically. Houston made sure I was in the right place at the right time and switched me into the proper mode for each activity I was forced to carry out.

In the early 1980s, this included passing messages to and from Senator Byrd, Baby Doc Duvalier, my Cuban contact, Puerto Rican drug lord Jose Busto, and others.

In keeping with NCL’s Caribbean operations, Byrd adjusted his use of programming themes to include the mirror-reversal, interdimensional, Air-Water mind-control theme used on me by NASA and the Jesuits. I often saw dolphins playing in the ocean while being transported from port to port via the Cruise ships, but the popular "whales and dolphins" mind-control theme was avoided in favor of a theme more suitable to my experience-that of the Sea-Bird-Robert C. (Sea) Byrd.

He told me,

"Atlantis¹ has long been the epicenter of alien activity. The path is so well warn that there are holes in the fabric of time and space whereby airplanes and ships, even people, timelessly seemingly disappear, transformed into another dimension alien to this world. Likewise, we (aliens) came in, entering through the mirror reflection of the hole in the fabric of space, the deep blue sea. Some of us entered Earth’s plane as whales and dolphins. And when we emerged from the sea, some of us came flying out. Or is that in? At any rate, we are here. Watch for the flying fish when you are out to see/sea. When you see one, you will know it is kin to me. A flying fish by any other name is a C. Byrd. A sea bird. Robert C. Byrd."

The drug business was booming for the CIA, and the only "War on Drugs" I witnessed was that launched by the CIA against its competition. As quickly as I brought the NCL suitcases of drugs into the Port of Miami, they were usually transferred to Houston’s factory custom-built Holiday Rambler motor home. Concealed compartments were built into the walls for hiding the illegal drugs.

If I drove the drug-filled motor home on to Nashville rather than deposit the drugs en route at Warner-Robbins Air Force Base in Macon, Georgia, the bulk was stored in the Hendersonville Mormon "food storage" Bishop’s Warehouse. Some cocaine was delivered to a music distributor in Nashville, Tennessee, where it was carefully packaged in participating entertainers’ cassettes, for delivery along their carefully scheduled travel routes. Houston always kept a large amount of the cocaine for his own use and distribution.

Oftentimes he ordered that I deliver the drugs to specific entertainers at the Grand Ole Opry and/or at the local shopping mail when we were not traveling. Most often, however, the larger loads of drugs remained concealed in the motor home for distribution to CIA drug drops while we traveled the country music industry.

These CIA drug drops included an abandoned amusement park near Youngstown, Ohio; Diamond Caverns² campground in Park City, Kentucky; and Swiss Villa Amphitheatre in Lampe, Missouri. I was aware that tons of drugs were being handled via our military, but the hundreds of pounds I muled were targeted for exclusive private distribution.

An example of a typical Caribbean drug operation centered around the NCL port of call. Key West, Florida. Houston took Kelly and me to a nearby tennis court under the guise of playing tennis. In reality, I was to meet with CIA Operative Jimmy Buffett, who devoted more time to the proliferation of CIA criminal covert activity than he did to his music career cover. Buffett was playing tennis. Referring to him as though he were to be my tennis instructor, Houston said,

"There’s your instructor. As soon as he gathers the balls, he should be over here to meet you."

Noticing us, Buffett strode over and shook hands with Houston. "Hi, Jimmy/ Houston said as though they were old buddies. "I, Alex and Elemer," Buffett responded, sarcastically using Houston’s stage name. "Oh," Houston said. Never one to know an insult when he heard it, he continued, "What do your friends call you?" "What does it matter to you?" Buffett asked. "Uncle calls me Jim. I take it you’re not the contact," Houston pointed to me, "She is". "That’s more like it," Buffett smiled. "A little Byrd told me I’d be meeting with a Diamond in the Rough."³

"I prefer a Diamond in the Buff," he said, "I’ve got a studio across the street." As we walked toward his studio, I was oblivious to the meaning behind his conversation. with Houston and commented, "I understand you’re an instructor. I wish I had brought my racquet."

"I’m not that kind of an instructor," Buffett explained, "I’m a point man for Uncle. And you’ve got an appointment with me. I have some instructions to give you." As we entered his studio, he said, "Welcome to paradise," and gestured me in.

We went into the small living quarters, which may have appeared even smaller due to the electronic equipment, acoustic guitars, and furniture that filled the room.

A black mirrored coffee table, atypical of cocaine users I’d known, was the clearest spot in the room, A gold razor blade, cocaine residue, an ashtray full of marijuana roaches, and a fanned deck of card with the queen of hearts on top lay on the table. Tropical plants further cluttered the room. Standing between a perched, stuffed parrot and a banana tree, Buffett was saying,

"Key West is a key place to be. It’s the key to the Caribbean - Cuba, Panama - anyplace that means anything to Uncle these days, I hold the keys. I’m keeper of the keys and I hold a few of yours."

 

Looking at his parrot, he continued, "The bird/Byrd says you respond to pair-o-dice, look deep into the parrot eyes. "I did as instructed, and Buffett popped out the bird’s ruby red eyes, which actually were dice, into his hand. "Roll your eyes high while I roll my pair-o-dice," he ordered as he rolled the dice across the table. Stopping at the deck of cards, he picked up the jack of diamonds.

 

"I am a jack of all trades," he cryptically continued. "And I trade in whatever Uncle orders. An order has been placed. You must follow orders and go to that place. Go to the White House Inn at the pier. Carry your laundry bag (full of cash) with you, and see the man in black. (My Cuban contact almost always wore a conspicuous black trench coat.) There is a launder man on the dock itself.

 

They do all my laundering for me, and will be expecting you. Watch for the sea-man with the duffel bag. When you see the military green duffel bag, approach the desk. When he says, "I need this laundered, but I do not have the time," you say, "Welcome to Paradise. I will make sure it is cleaned and delivered on time." Then give him your duffel bag of ’laundry’ and say, "This has been properly laundered for you". Take the duffel bag. It will be light as a feather. Return to the Inn and enjoy the buffet."

Changing modes, Buffett unzipped his shorts as he asked, "Do you like a buffet? I have a Buffett buffet for you now. And if is Paradise!"

I carried out the drug transaction as ordered, the whole ordeal lasting a matter of minutes. A buffet was spread in the courtyard of the White House Inn at 4:00 PM just as Buffett said it would be. But due to the food and water deprivation necessary to maintaining my mind-controlled trance, Houston forbid me from carrying out this last part of Buffett’s instructions, Alex Houston Enterprises was another side business that Houston used to cover for his CIA criminal covert activities.

It included the re-labelling of G.E. capacitors for the "energy savings" companies, Queen Electric and Phase Liner, he shared with his former wife and first CIA mind-controlled slave. She was a Catholic processed Puerto Rican blonde beauty. These G.E. capacitor banks were sold internationally as energy saving devices, when in fact they provided one more means of transporting drugs from the U.S. around the world.

It was Houston’s G.E. capacitor scam that provided me insight into the elaborate Long Island docks drug network run by U.S. Congressman Gary Ackerman (D. NY).⁴ I first met Ackerman in 1981 when Houston was booked into the Woodberry Music Festival with known CIA mind-control victim Loretta Lynn.⁵

Loretta’s road manager, Neo-Nazi pedophile Ken Riley, who was also Alex Houston’s best friend, often assisted Houston in handling me. Riley in turn handed my Charm School programmed keys, codes, and triggers to Congressman Ackerman, who skillfully accessed my Alice In Wonderland mirror theme programming. After snorting a couple of lines of coke, he stepped into the center of a three way mirror where he positioned me and proceeded to sexually gratify himself in my throat.

Ken Riley, and other involved members of Loretta’s band, all laughed as Ackerman stumbled around the room while pulling his pants up from around his ankles and complaining that he "couldn’t stand for sex like that". The term "Ackerman syndrome" was coined after that in reference to sex that drained a man of his energy, and circulated among "those who know" for years.

1 NCL cruise ships routinely pass through the so-called "Bermuda Triangle," and Byrd did not miss this opportunity to tap into old programming base installed by Senator L. Bennet Johnston.

2 When Mark and I turned in detailed information on this drug drop to law enforcement, our lives were endangered to the point that a foreign Intelligence officer intervened and subsequently saved our lives through a timely tip-off.

3 "Diamond in the Rough" was a term used to describe an MPD/DID slave actively engaged in programming via torture conditioning.

4 Congressman Ackerman’s Caribbean cocaine and Asian heroin operations have not hindered his position on the Congressional Post Office and Civil Service Committees, nor the Asian and Pacific Affairs Committee. It is important to note that, as a matter of Congressional record, Ackerman openly opposed compulsory drug tests for all federal employees.

5 Senator Byrd proudly claimed Loretta as his mind-controlled slave and told me, "I literally made Loretta what she is today, and she is maid to order". Loretta’s son and secondary mind-control handler, Ernest Ray, told me, "I know what the Byrd did to my mother. I can get away with murder... All I gotta do is call him and I’m free as a bird/Byrd."

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CHAPTER 9 - RONALD REAGAN’S AMERICAN DREAM: A PANDORA’S BOX OF NIGHTMARES

My mind-controlled existence became more complicated after Senator Byrd introduced me to then President Ronald Reagan in the fall of 1982 ¹ at a White House political party. Byrd told me,

"When you meet the Chief, imagine him with his pants down. He’s most comfortable knowing you are imagining him with his pants down. He doesn’t want formality."

Former president Ford had conditioned me to dread the Office of President, and I mechanically went through the motions of meeting Reagan.

Reagan admittedly had seen the How To Divide a Personality and How so Create a Sex Slave videos made in Huntsville, Alabama. He acted very pleased with me as though I had participated in them willingly. Within the first few minutes of meeting Reagan, he was giving me acting tips to utilize in government operations and pornography!!

"When you become your part, your performance increases, which in turn increases your ability to do your part—for your country. ’Ask not what your country can do for you. Ask what you can do for your country’-your part," he instructed.

Somehow, Reagan’s reminder of Ford’s and VanderJagt’s conditioning to Kennedy’s quote seemed more patriotically significant than "simply" sexually entertaining politicians by waving a flag in my bottom. After gazing deep into his self-professed "kaleidoscope eyes," each metaphorical phrase he spoke became life and breath to me.

Reagan explained to me that the illegal CIA covert activities I was forced to participate in were "justified" as they funded covert activities in Afghanistan and Nicaragua.

He explained,

"America’s Freedom Train is spanning the globe and sex is but a sidetrack to the ultimate course of freedom. Our job of procuring and transporting arms is the most difficult part of all. But it can and must be done. How can a man with no arms fight? These operations are necessary as American people raise too much hell about violence already, and it is better they’re not informed of our supporting wars they cannot understand the significance of."

I realize now that Reagan twisted reality to fit his personal perceptions rather than to adhere to Byrd’s philosophy of providing "excuses" for what he deemed "the order of things". In typical Reagan fashion, he did not perceive mind control as slavery, but as "an opportunity for those who otherwise would have nothing in life".

He claimed that multigenerational incestuously abused children like myself, or "previously impoverished baseball players from third world countries and slums, are provided an opportunity to ’be all they can be’ through making a ’contra-bution’ to society, our nation, and the world, by utilizing their talents to maximum potential." With this altitude, Reagan displayed pride in the sick role he played as The Wizard Of Oz, directing Project Monarch slaves like myself.

That night Senator Byrd acted in the capacity of a pimp and prostituted me to Reagan. Referring to me as though I were a machine, Reagan asked Byrd, "Does she run on chemicals?" meaning specific CIA drugs.

Byrd answered, "She takes it in spurts". I noticed that Reagan’s eyes lit up with perversion and understanding of Byrd’s statement, which meant that I "shared" whatever drugs were in his system through his urine. Reagan later told me he preferred sex slaves equipped for this task since he, as President, should not have to get up in the night to urinate, "Well," Reagan said, holding up his glass, "All I’ve had to fuel her with is alcohol.

That’s not much of a jolt from a "whiz of a Wiz(ard)." Byrd chuckled at Reagan’s Oz cryptic joke and removed his gold cocaine vial from the inner pocket of his suit. He and Reagan discretely turned their backs to the party while Byrd "spoon fed" Reagan the drug up his nose.

Before I left with Reagan, Byrd informed me that,

"Uncle Ronnie doesn’t sleep with his mommy (Nancy)," and that he preferred snuggling into his LL Bean, light blue flannel sheets in his nightshirt and ridiculous nightcap because "they’re warmer, softer, more comfortable, and don’t snore".

Later, in his bedroom, Reagan accessed my sexual programming, and I became "my part" as a prostitute to "Uncle Ronnie". Reagan did not move during sex. After all, that was "my duty". And my duty was to please him, whatever it took, and it took more time than anything.

Reagan never hurt me (he always made sure someone else did that) and used this as a "bond" to the little child ("Kitten") personality he always accessed for sex. Reagan’s most apparent personality kink was his love for bestiality pornography.² According to my handlers, his passion for pornography escalated its manufacture and distribution during his Administration. He wholeheartedly approved and encouraged the porn industry for funding covert activity.

Many commercial and instructional (private) pornography films I and others participated in, referred to as "Uncle Ronnie’s Bedtime Stories," were manufactured solely for his pleasure-oftentimes according to his instruction, using Freedom Train slaves. After my initial meeting with Reagan, I was used in numerous films that were produced predominantly at Youngstown Charm School and/or by his "Chief Pornographer"³ Michael Dante, specifically to satisfy his perversions. These included a wide range of cryptic themes, but were mostly bestiality. Reagan often watched the videos while I was prostituted to him, requiring me to re-enact the porn however possible.

I first met Reagan’s Chief Pornographer Michael Dante, AKA Michael Viti, at an elite Nashville hotel where he was attending "charity" Golf Tournament festivities. Like CIA Operative Charlie Pride’s Pro-Am Golf Tournament in Albuquerque, New Mexico, this "charity" tournament provided a cover for the cocaine and white slavery operations that dominated the event. Houston and I often attended such "charity" events, as did Dante, but it was only after having met Reagan that Dante’s and my paths crossed as arranged.

Dante took me to his hotel room after our initial introduction. He snorted a few lines of coke, looked me over as though I were merchandise, and accessed my sex programming. He then arrogantly asked me if I knew who he was. He told me he lived in Beverly Hills, California and made movies. I thought he was referring to his box office flop, Winterhawk, until he said,

"Uncle Ronnie sent me. He wants me to make movies with you as your ’contra-bution.’ We’re gonna have a good time, then he’s gonna have a good time, and everybody’s happy. You’ll like that, won’t you Baby? Get dressed. We’re going back downstairs and make arrangements."

Dante telephoned me often, professing "our love" through command reinforcements and making arrangements to meet me in specific places for producing Uncle Ronnie’s Bedtime Stories and commercial porn. These locations included, among others, Tennessee, Florida, the Caribbean, and California. He often talked of owning me in the future, painting a picture of what life would be like living with him. His attitude toward women was atypical of slave owners and handlers, and he often quoted scripture to justify his dominance.

"No arguments," "speak only when spoken to," "take a good beating now and then just to keep you in line," "see to all my comforts and housework," and "be on call 24 hours a day when I need a good whore".

 

He gave me a slave bracelet—a trademark of his porn—and said, "A woman needs a chain. It’s a public reminder of total commitment and devotion. A reminder of the chain-of-command. A woman is tied to her man. No man should be tied to a woman."

Dante’s Connecticut Italian roots are in the Mafia, and it was a well-established fact that organized crime and government had a close working relationship where criminal covert activities were concerned, I met many of Dante’s associates, and we already shared a few common contacts who were conduits between the Mafia and CIA. These included Congressman Guy VanderJagt, former President Gerald Ford, then Governor of Pennsylvania Dick Thornburgh, Congressman Jim Traficant, Congressman Gary Ackerman, and Ronald Reagan.

Dame related to me,

"When Reagan was Governor (of California), we went to Dodger (baseball) games together and sat in the Press Box. I got to know him real well and we got along. So, he and Tommy (LaSorda, Dodger manager and their mutual friend) and I would continue partying after the game. I brought him a few girls (slaves) and we did business. Really. Tommy LaSorda brought us together-you’ll like him. I’ll take you to meet him. We’ll go to games together all the time, every chance we get. You’ll love that, won’t you, Baby? You like a Press Box, Baby? Dick says you do."

I wasn’t surprised that Dick Thornburgh had talked about his previous, perverse sexual activity with me at a baseball game back East any more than I was surprised to learn that Dante knew Thornburgh through their mutual political and baseball ties.

Dick Thomburgh was Governor of Pennsylvania during my tenure as a Presidential Model mind-controlled slave. He used his influence to bring Houston into Pennsylvania state and county fairs year after year for the purposes of cocaine and pornography distribution, as well as for prostitution of me to him on a regular basis. Thornburgh was a heavy cocaine user, and was deeply involved in CIA covert activities-particularly Project Monarch. He was a firm believer in mind control, not only for sex training and government operations, but for sports. An avid baseball fan, Thornburgh had much to share with Reagan, Dante and LaSorda,

I had been giving Handwriting Analysis lectures on NCL’s Norway cruise ship (my cover for covert operation) in 1987, and Thornburgh and his friend Chicago Cubs Baseball Scout Jim Zerilla were in attendance. Afterward, Zerilla offered me a job with the Baseball Commission analyzing handwriting of their "million dollar babies" baseball players before they were signed up. Thomburgh explained that the job may not fit into my schedule. Nevertheless, we met on several occasions during the course of the cruise, always for sex, but business was discussed as well.

My programmed mind contained a "baseball computer" that was created for Reagan, and used by many including Thornburgh, LaSorda, Dante", and Zerilla. It was packed with the binds of statistics in which they were interested; the codes, keys, triggers and hand signals of certain mind-controlled baseball players. Zerilla and Thomburgh were cruising en route to the Dominican

Republic to the CIA baseball mind-control farm to scout out new slaves. They talked excitedly about the prospect of winning large sums of money through gambling on rigged games. I had been aware for years that many pro players, particularly LaSorda’s Dodgers, were mind-controlled and triggered to win or lose according to their owners’ bets and favors. The Dodgers, Reagan’s "favorite American pastime" ball team continuously won, including the World Series during his Administration. The Mafia was in on the bet rigging, and information was passed to certain ones through Thornburgh and others as gleaned from my "baseball computer" programming.⁴

To this day I am not certain who instigated the plastic surgery to which I was forcibly subjected, but soon after meeting Reagan and Dante I was scheduled for breast implants. Perhaps it was done for pornography. Perhaps it was Reagan’s preference. I tend to believe it was a combination of the two and ordered since my breasts were no longer lactating. In the first commercial porn film Reagan had directed Dante to produce in St. Thomas, U.S. Virgin Islands my breasts were still tender and swollen from silicone implant surgery.

My appearance was not the only "make over" I endured after meeting Reagan. Aquino and I were called to Washington, D.C. to revise my base core programming to override Senator Byrd’s control for security reasons. Since Reagan had been shot, he took extra precautions to ensure his safety which included directing Aquino as to how he wanted me programmed.

Much to Aquino’s dismay and embarrassment, Reagan admired the occult role that this Army Lt. Colonel played for mind-control traumatization purposes, as it fit in with the public promotion of religion Reagan had launched. Reagan claimed to believe that the masses were easiest to manipulate through their religion, as were mind-controlled slaves like myself.

While Reagan had Aquino in D.C., he demanded that he wear his black ritual robes to a White House party to reinforce the controlling superstitions of a few South/Central American diplomats. Aquino appeared foolish in the eyes of his peers. They knew Aquino’s image was only a guise for Psychological Warfare, but his appearance at the White House in costume made Aquino look like he believed his own facade.

Aquino got even with Reagan. Minutes before I was prostituted to Reagan that evening, Aquino ordered me into a closed side room where he very quickly had intercourse with me. When he finished ejaculating, he slapped me on the behind and disrespectfully said, "Take that to the Chief."

Earlier that day, Reagan instructed Aquino how to program me in keeping with "spin" programming depicted in the "How to" videos. "Program it," Reagan said, referring to me as though I were an object, "under number one. I like the number one. It’s the first, the best, and it promotes confidence—like ’I’ve won’," I observed Aquino giving him the intellectually disgusted look here served for anyone with the fortitude to make a suggestion to him, but tempered his reaction by giving some thought to the request.

Since the "How to" videos showed the 6th revolution to "ignite the heat of hell" for sex, no one would suspect I had sex programming under the first revolution. It would take some modification of my initial programming, but Aquino was sold on the idea. By programming me according to Reagan’s instruction, Aquino would be able to provide added protection for Reagan whereby any program I was under at the time would immediately become replaced by Reagan’s number one as quickly as I saw him. This effective safety measure infuriated Byrd the first time he saw me instantaneously switch out of his control in Reagan’s presence.

Additionally, Reagan discussed how Aquino could use me on various military and government installations to provide "Hands-On Mind-Control Demonstrations" of the "latest advancements in training" by displaying the diversity of my "Presidential Model" programming. Reagan said the Hands On Demonstrations could "educate our boys in the military to the wonders of the mind-control phenomena."

"Hands On" meant my sex programming would be used to "peak their interests and lock (bond) them in." After all, "entertaining the troops is a long time American tradition." Aquino did the programming, and Reagan began making arrangements for the demonstrations—which brought me back around to Dick Cheney. Cheney would be acting in the capacity of my "Commander" for the Hands-On Mind-Control Demonstrations and other covert operations from then on.

1 Since I had no concept of time under mind control, the ’80s seemed like one long day to me, whereby discerning exact dates is extremely difficult. Furthermore, I was programmed to believe that every encounter with certain individuals was "the first time". I do know that I had been conditioned and programmed in preparation for Reagan since 1978 at NASA’s Cape Canaveral in Titusville, Florida.

2 Reagan preferred illicit pornography videos such as bestiality, while his favorite pornographic magazine was Larry Flynt’s Hustler.

3 Although Hollywood’s Dante rivaled Larry Flynt for the title of "Chief Pornographer" producing video versions of Hustler’s stills, Flynt was unequivocally the official White House Pornographer. Dante’s covert filming of political perversion for blackmail purposes failed to gain him the international notoriety Flynt maintained through his New World Order collogues such as Presidents Reagan, Bush, and Ford; CIA Director Bill Casey; U.N. Ambassador Madeleine Albright; Senators Byrd and Specter; Congressmen Trafficant and VanderJagt; Governors Thornburgh, Blanchard and Alexander; and various World Leaders such as Prime Minister of Canada Mulroney, President of Mexico de la Madrid, and Saudi Arabian King Fahd... to name a few...

4 Having been out of circulation since my rescue did not preclude my ability to "predict" winners according to political favors: from George Bush, Jr’S Texas Rangers to the Toronto Blue Jays’ victory during the Canadian political heal of NAFTA.

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CHAPTER 10 - "COMMANDER" DICK CHENEY & REAGAN’S "HANDS ON MIND-CONTROL DEMONSTRATIONS"

Please note: In order to maintain the integrity of documenting my experiences using precise and photographic detail, I have recorded events and quotes as they occurred in reality. Please excuse any offensive and foul language, but this is the way Cheney presented himself, I was attending another White House cocktail party where, as usual, I was taken aside for a meeting and escorted to a large office.

There, Reagan and Cheney were having their "before cocktail party" cognacs, and Reagan’s cheeks were already flushed. He was in a hurry and quickly explained the purpose of the meeting,

"You’re the kind of girl who could hold a man in line. (He was cryptically referring to the lines of military personnel I was forced to have sex with.) That’s why I’ve selected you to tour a few Air Force Bases with the Colonel (Aquino) and demonstrate for our boys in the service what a Presidential Model is trained for, a kind of ’hands on’ demonstration. But you’ll have to audition for the role."

Reagan drained his glass and gestured toward Cheney as he strode for the door, adding, "Do what he says. He’s your commander."

It had been eight years since I had been hunted and brutalized by Cheney in Wyoming, and apparently he wanted to see how my programming had progressed before agreeing to use me in Reagan’s "Hands-On Mind-Control Demonstrations". He grabbed me roughly by the hair and slung me onto a black leather chair, tipping my head backwards over the high studded arm.

"Audition here," he snarled. Since I last saw him, I had undergone Wizard Of Oz Tin Man programming, which he accessed to accommodate his large, thick penis. He placed his hands on my jaw while he said, "Soon we’ll have you purring like a wet l oiled machine. All of your moving parts are pivotal and gliding with ease. Melt into my hands. I’ll hold your jaw to keep it from slipping while you slip through a window in lime." He then jerked my jaw out of joint, and roughly gratified himself in my throat.¹

As he lit his cigarette, I slowly regained focus enough to realize I was in pain. The back of my head hurt from being thrust into the studs on the chair, and I slowly lifted my head. My owner, Senator Byrd, had just walked in and realized Cheney had already completed the "audition". Referring to compartmentalizing my memory via stun gun high voltage, Byrd asked, "Did you fry her?"

Cheney, ’cocksure’ of himself as always, answered. "She can’t have fucked all of Washington" (indicating that no one would believe me anyway, even if I did reach this point and talk). Cheney put out his cigarette and said as he went out the door, "She’ll work. Tell Ronnie she’ll work."

When Byrd saw that my lips were bleeding, he called Cheney a "son of a bitch" under his breath, as this damage would prevent my fulfilling other assignments that were planned for me. Byrd touched his finger to my swollen lips and tasted the blood (and Cheney) several times. Then he slapped me hard across the face, which re-aligned my jaw but caused more blood to flow down my chin. He took a box of tissues from the desk and threw it at me, the corner hitting me in the forehead. "Wipe yourself up. You’re just getting started. I’ll see to it you get what you’ve got coming to you."

Fortunately for me, Byrd had cause to return to the formal cocktail party and did not have time to brutalize me further. My face was battered, mouth torn, and my throat felt torn and stretched. I had difficulty swallowing for some time, and could not speak. I certainly was in no condition to return to the cocktail party, and was escorted out by agents/guards.

Before I could leave Washington, Byrd made good on his threat and arranged for me to meet with Cheney in a blue bedroom in a part of the Whitehouse so remote that "no one could hear my screams and moans". But Cheney implemented Oz theme "Silence" conditioning anyway as he proceeded to brutally sexually assault me.

"Byrd tells me you need a good whipping. But I’m not certain which instrument you prefer, so I brought them all."

Cheney had a riding crop, a whip, and a cat-o-nine-tails laid out on the bed. He beat me quick and hard as though he were releasing his tensions rather than savoring my pain like Byrd did. I regained consciousness when Cheney slid a pillow under my neck, steered me by the hair, and bent my head back. Survival instinct kicked in when he positioned himself above my head, I hoped to satisfy him before he became deadly brutal again. But he quickly pulled out his liquid cocaine sprayer, sprayed my throat, then proceeded to get rough.

At one point he yanked my head aside and asked, "Was that a tooth?" and grinned. It was imperative that I kept my teeth off him because, according to Aquino’s programming instruction, I was subject to death if a tooth was ever felt by anyone. Cheney knew this was my programming and manipulated me with it often. I resumed "satisfying him as though my life depended upon it, because, of course, it did."

This is another Aquino programming line Cheney knew and used. When he was gratified, he flopped over and slept. I had been instructed to leave immediately because Cheney absolutely did not want me near him when he slept (some insiders say he is paranoid), and I began dressing. I was escorted out.

In preparation for ’’running bases" for Reagan’s Hands-On Mind-Control Demonstrations, I underwent a great deal of programming by both Aquino and Cheney. Cheney laid the ground rules while Aquino carried out our programming derail and performed the demonstration with me on various military and NASA installations.

Reagan wanted the demonstrations to include all programming depicted in the "How to" films, additional programming instilled since the videos were made, delivery of drugs when applicable, and sex according to Aquino’s instruction with whomever/however many were present at the lecture. Cheney’s personal "touch" to the demonstrations was to have me programmed to vaginally internally electric prod myself with a high voltage cylindrical cattle prod-truly an example of total mind control.

I was routinely escorted arm-in-arm "Oz style" by two agents to Cheney’s downstairs office in the Pentagon. Sometimes Byrd took me in. Other times Cheney walked me through the building, particularly if we were going to his "Bunkhouse" personal quarters. Cheney’s office was equipped with black leather furniture, a huge messy brown desk, massive book shelves, and an hourglass that he always used in keeping with Oz programming, to assure me that my life was on the line under his command.

As a programmed MPD, I had no concept of time. The hour glass was a visible way for me to see "my time running out" and actually grasp the concept.

The first time I reported in, Cheney shuffled through the clutter on his desk, picked up a paper and began reading:

"Number one. I am NOT your friend, and I don’t want to see you unless I order you to report in. Number two. Follow the Colonel’s (Aquino) orders, as it is the chain of command. What he orders you to do, is a command from me, follow it to the letter, as though your life depends upon it, because (he looked up and grinned wickedly) of course, it does."

His cold eyes bore into mine as he walked around to the front of his desk, "Any questions?"

I knew he "was NOT my friend," but he already "saw me" sexually on other occasions. I was perplexed and hesitated. Even though I remained silent, Cheney sensed my hesitation and became enraged. He got up in my face, poked my breast bone with his finger and roared,

"Don’t even THINK to question anything I say! There is no question as to what I do, what I think, or what I say, because I am absolutely above questions-especially YOURS!! Your orders are clear. Now get out of here! I have work to do!"

Throughout the next three years, U.S. Army Lt. Colonel Aquino used me in the Hands On Demonstrations on numerous Army, Navy, Air Force, and NASA installations across the U.S. according to Reagan’s plan and Cheney’s orders. The Top Brass privy to the demonstrations ranged from three at a time to roughly twenty. In closing, Aquino always "persuaded" them to line up while I was forced to perform sexually on command with each one.

The larger groups were physically painful, while the smaller groups often involved unapproved variance from the routine, such as revealing Reagan’s bestiality perversions. The wide array of "switching" my personalities that Aquino incorporated into the demonstrations, and the vast amount of high voltage and torture to which I was subjected, left me exhausted and physically devastated for days after each one of Reagan’s Hands-On Mind-Control Demonstrations.

1 My jaw is permanently damaged From Cheney. I have chronic TMJ.

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CHAPTER 11 - "POPPA" PHILIP HABIB

My (CIA operative) handler, Alex Houston was scheduled to perform with country music entertainer Loretta Lynn at the Playboy Club in Atlantic City, New Jersey in the spring of 1985, and he admittedly did not want me there for the performance. He explained that after his show, he intended to "dress up like a carrot as lunch for the Bunnies" and I would only be in his way.

But I had White House business to attend with a different land of "rabbit". Reagan had arranged for me to meet with his personal attaché", Philip Habib (now deceased), who always played the cryptic rote of the Alice In Wonderland White Rabbit to mind-controlled slaves. Houston had no choice but to take me along once the orders came down.

CIA operative Ken Riley, the Neo-Nazi pedophile who functioned in the capacity of Loretta Lynn’s road manager and Project Monarch Mind-Control handler, was Alex Houston’s closest friend. Riley often made arrangements through Loretta’s and Houston’s shared talent agent, Reggie Maclaughlin, for all of us to travel together—particularly when it involved government covert operations such as this Playboy Club gig did. Loretta’s singing career and political ties into CIA covert operations have always been synonymous. Riley escorted her in and out of the White House on numerous occasions during the Reagan Administration.

By natural attrition, this put Riley in a secondary role as a "backup" handler for me as he often returned from D.C. with orders for and/or concerning me. Houston and Riley shared much: CIA covert operations, country music interests, Neo-Nazi and U.S. Government mind control, Project Monarch methodologies, slave running ¹, pornography, cocaine, and pedophile activities. Kelly and Riley’s young daughter were often filmed pornographically together, and endured the sexual assaults of Houston and Riley ² together on numerous occasions.

This trip to Atlantic City provided me an opportunity to talk with Loretta while her husband, Mooney, Riley and Houston met for business. Loretta and I had so much in common that our time together had been restricted from the time we met in Minneapolis, Minnesota in 1981 and discussed our victimizations.³

While alone in Loretta’s dressing room at the Playboy Club, we discussed a wide range of topics from motherhood to the White House. We talked about Reagan in terms of his role as The Wizard Of Oz, but mostly we recited the general praises we were trained to say. We talked about Reagan’s "favorite" music by Air Supply, which he had supplied to us both via Riley.

Air Supply’s cryptic NASA/Project Monarch theme recordings became "life and breath" to us both according to Reagan’s intention, which locked in our programmed devotion for him. We discussed the recent Inauguration party Loretta had attended at the White House. (I was aware she had entertained there as Houston relayed information to Riley pertaining to his recent trip to Panama to meet with Panamanian Dictator and CIA operative Manuel Noriega in order that Riley deliver the information to Reagan during the Inauguration party.)

Loretta and I switched personalities spontaneously as we inadvertently triggered each other with the shared cryptic language to which we were accustomed. We discussed forbidden subjects including Noriega and Byrd until Riley and Houston caught us and separated us as though we were a couple of naughty kids. I learned more than I was supposed to about Loretta while in Atlantic City, but was never permitted another opportunity to speak with her so freely.

This trip to Atlantic City was multi-purpose, which was not unusual for government operations in which I was forced to participate. I had a major cocaine transaction involving Noriega to attend at the airport; a message to deliver to Philip Habib pertaining to the Contras, and another programmed in by Habib in answer to Reagan; country music "entertainment" aspects; and prostitution to Habib according to Reagan’s instruction.⁴

As the sun was setting over Atlantic City, Houston activated the Project Monarch Oz programming that was used for high level covert operations, and had me dress accordingly. I wore real and faux diamonds to signify my "Presidential Model" business role, rubies to signify my Oz programmed prostitution personality, and emeralds to signify my Oz programmed drug business.

This physically indicated to my contact(s) which mode of operation I was under at the rime. Rarely did I wear all three indicators at once, but they certainly applied in this operation with Habib. Houston led me down the waterfront boardwalk toward the hotel casino where I was to meet Habib, walking like the Oz Scarecrow and singing, "Follow the Yellow Brick Road".

Houston led me up the elaborate escalators of the hotel to a high stakes gambling area where Habib was playing cards. The guard at the door did not let Houston through, and I was sent to Habib’s table on my own. When I approached, Habib leaned back in his chair to hear while I quietly recited in Oz cryptic, "I’ve come such a long, long way to see you, Uncle Ronnie sent you something."

"What would that be?" he asked loudly as he leered at me and chuckled. I could not respond because I was under heavy program. He handed me his room key and pulled me close as he hypnotically whispered, "Use the key. Put it in the lock. Turn. Open the door, and step through a window in time." The other gamblers at Habib’s table were getting impatient, and I quickly exited the gambling room.

When I arrived in Habib’s room, two of his bodyguards accessed my programming. "Chiefly speaking," I began reciting Reagan’s message. Arrangements were made for the two guards to pick up a fair sized shipment of cocaine the next morning that was arriving on a small military "brass" airplane. Houston and I would then board the plane and fly to D.C. where I would complete my part of this operation.

When Habib arrived, he ushered me into the bedroom part of the suite and began disrobing, down to his boxer shorts and gartered socks. Referring to a recent Dante porn film I was used in, he said, "I liked your ruffled tennis panties..." then threw me a pink teddy and ruffled panties resembling the tennis outfit commanding, "Put it on." I complied. He threw me a stuffed toy cat on the pillows and explained, "That kitten is going to keep this Kitten (pointing tome) from screaming. We’re going to play Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum." (S&M games)

Habib physically resembled the violent Alice In Wonderland characters, especially in his boxer shorts. The hysterical controlled laughter that rose in my throat would only have intensified his abuse and was (fortunately) choked back by terror as he begun attaching heavy rope ties to the four posters of the bed. On command, I crawled onto the bed and lay on my stomach while he tied me so tightly I was stretched. He shoved the stuffed cat under my mouth, then entered me roughly from behind and said, "Come to Poppa".

The intense pain as he brutally sodomized me was outweighed by a high voltage stun gun as he jolted me repeatedly to create the perverse jerking movements and rectal muscle constrictions he desired. I soon passed out from the blinding high voltage of his stun gun. It was nearly 3:00 AM when I stumbled out the door with the stuffed cat in my hands, nauseated, disoriented, and in extreme pain. The cool, ocean breeze helped revive me as Houston marched me back to the Playboy Club.

Houston knew I had been programmed with a message for Reagan that I would deliver the next morning in D.C. As usual, he began to access it immediately. His quick timing somehow permitted him to penetrate the electricity and programmed codes (designed to keep the information repressed) and accessed the information. Houston kept a written record of any messages he was able to access (along with photos and ledgers) for his personal profit and future blackmailing purposes, should he need to protect himself.

In this case, I surmise from Houston’s Panama activities, conversations I overheard between him and Riley, and my recollection of the messages he accessed, that his purpose in extracting this information was for his personal profit in backdoor dealings with Noriega. I understood it was these kinds of dealings that eventually contributed to Noriega’s downfall with the CIA.

Morning arrived before I was allowed to sleep, and I felt exhausted and "spacey" as I waited by the curb for Habib’s bodyguards to pick Houston and me up and take us to the airport, A small military airplane was parked in a restricted fenced in area as we arrived at the airport. The two bodyguards conducted their business and quickly loaded the trunk with the bundles of cocaine as planned. Houston and I boarded the airplane and flew to Washington, D.C. where I delivered Habib’s message to Reagan. The bank transaction numbers later checked out to be a Cayman Island account number.

Philip Habib was directly involved in various DIA/CIA Operations I was forced to participate in throughout the Reagan/Bush Administrations, Although Dick Cheney maintained his role as my Commander for these Operations, Habib directed my actions where International "Diplomatic Relations" were concerned, Cheney orchestrated events from behind his desk, whereas Habib was active in the field as Reagan’s attaché’.

The following Operations, documented in their entirety from my experience perspective only, most likely involve other aspects to which I am not privy. In typical DIA/CIA manner, scam "need to know’ information resulted in the "left hand not knowing what the right hand was doing." Nevertheless, the overall criminal purpose of Operation Carrier Pigeon and Operation Shell Game, documented herein, does not change.

1 Riley, over time, owned several slaves.

2 Riley, like my father, Wayne Cox, and other, remains apparently immune from prosecution for his crimes against children and humanity, as it is considered a matter of "’National Security" under the 1984 Reagan Amendment to the National Security Act.

3 I still have the handwritten note from Loretta that prompted out forbidden conversation and I hope that someday Loretta will gain the piece/peace-of-mind that comes with rehabilitation.

4 In the course of deprogramming, I found retrieval of this information much quicker than it would have been had Houston not accessed it previously, against government policy, and for his own personal gain.
 

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