CHAPTER 20 - NEW WORLD ORDER OF THE ROSE

Still feeling drugged from the programming session instilled in me by Bill Bennett at the nearby Goddard Space Flight Center, I attended a White House cocktail party later that night as instructed.

Dressed "to Order," I wore a slinky, black dress that gathered at one hip decorated in rubies, with a red rose barrette in my hair. "The Chief called for her," my Secret Service escort told the butler as he left me at the door. The lights were dim and the air was formal as the butler led me through the unusually large crowd of people. He released my elbow, aiming me in the direction of then President Ronald Reagan.

As I walked through the crowd toward Reagan, I saw familiar faces associated with the ’’Order of the Rose.¹" Across the room, Bill and Bob Bennett were laughing with Dick Cheney. Then-Governor of Pennsylvania Dick Thornburgh was engaged in conversation with Senator Arlen Spector. Within the farthest reaches of my expanded peripheral vision, I saw George Bush talking with his U.N. confidant Madeleine Albright ². Knowing I could see him as though I had eyes in the back of my head, Bush subtly signaled me to join them.

"You know Madeleine Albright," Bush began. Expertly using terminology from previously instilled Catholic Jesuit beliefs, he continued, "She’s the reverend mother of all sisters (slaves). She’s so close to God that an order from her is an order from Him."

 

Albright snickered, apparently impressed with Bush’s "witty" manipulation of program verbiage. "She rose in the U.N. through me to implement the New World peace process."

Albright said to me, "I hear you’re a world (whirled?) piece".

"Who told you that?" Bush demanded.

"Larry Flynt, for her stint in Jamaica ³," she quickly explained.

Bush threw up his hand in apparent disgust at the idea of sex relating to someone with two digits in their age.

"Spare me," he said.

"That’s my job," Albright said matter-of-factly with a smile of pride. She shooed me away while condescendingly saying, I’ll see you tomorrow at the OAS (Organization of American States) office. Now, you run along and go play."

Noting that her nonspecific orders left me unable to determine which way to turn, literally, she aimed me back in the direction of Reagan.

Reagan was dressed in a dark, navy blue suit and red silk tie. His red rosebud ⁴ boutonniere instantly triggered me into a Jesuit "Order of the Rose" sex slave mode.

"Well, hello, Kitten," Reagan said, blowing his cognac breath in my face as he bent over to kiss my hand.

"Uncle Ronnie..." I said, sexually responding as conditioned.

Reagan turned to the man beside him and said, "Brian, this is one more of those benefits of the New World Order I was telling you about. Kitten, this is Brian Mulroney, Prime Minister of Canada."

The connotations of my childhood experience with the former Prime Minister of Canada, Pierre Trudeau, suggested that Mulroney was Jesuit—as did the mode I was operating in. He, too, was wearing a red rose boutonnière signifying his involvement and commitment to the Order of the Rose.

"It’s a pleasure to meet you, Sir," I said as I extended my hand.

"The pleasure is mine," Mulroney said as he kissed my hand, "Please, call me Brian."

"Yes, Sir, Brian," I responded, my brain still whirling with the NASA designer drugs.

Chuckling but insistent, Mulroney reiterated, "I am not a Sir".

Reagan jumped in, "He is a Prime Minister, which means he is more important than your average Minister, and certainly more important than any Sir. Brian is my friend."

"Oh, Brian," I said, finally understanding,

"O’Brien is her father’s name," Reagan told Mulroney, "She is of Irish descent and hails from Michigan." Brian turned to me, "I’ve been in your neck of the woods here recently-in one of my favorite get-aways-on Mackinac Island,"

"Mackinac Island was her launch point into the project," Reagan explained in terms used by those familiar with mind-control operations.

Mulroney apparently was aware of my mind-controlled state and leered at me as though I were merchandise, Reagan noticed his interest and proceeded to function in the capacity of a pimp.

"I highly recommend you take her along with the rest. She is an excellent game piece for you to use in any position. And there’s security. Her head is in the ethers and come tomorrow, she wouldn’t knew you from the man in the moon. I’ll give you the keys later."

Expertly using Order of the Rose signals and triggers, Mulroney said,

"Just give me the key to her heart, and she’s mine."

"You are wise in the ways of the world," Reagan commented.

"I have to be on top of things. It’s a New World Order," Mulroney said matter-of-factly. As a guard led me away, I heard Reagan tell Mulroney, "You will be on top of the world soon".

I was searched by uniformed Canadian bodyguards and pointed in the direction of one of the White House’s many bedroom suites. When I opened the door, I saw three blonde sex slaves undressing and preparing the bed—one of whom was my close friend and Senator Arlen Spector’s slave.

I excitedly called my friend’s name.

"What are you doing here?" I asked as we hugged each other.

"Small world," she said, as she always did when we were thrust together in various places for prostitution and/or pornography. This universal term was often used among those familiar with the Small, Small World Disney-developed mind-control program.

I hugged my friend again, "Wow, it is a small world. I’m so glad you’re here." I had no comprehension of our predicament and could not see beyond the moment

"Hell girls! It is a small world!" Mulroney entered and strode across the room, tossing his coat on a chair and loosening his tie. "Watch it get smaller and smaller as we rocket further and further away."

 

He slipped out of his shoes, suspenders, and pants while he continued his hypnotic metaphors. "Soaring through the sea of black space. As the world gets smaller and smaller and smaller, then sinks into the black sea of space."

 

Removing his boxer shorts, he announced, "I brought you here for a purpose..." and proceeded to access our sex programming.

In retrospect I know it was no coincidence that my friend and I were brought together to satisfy Brian Mulroney’s perversion for mind-controlled slaves. Identically mirror programmed, we operated in unison. The delicate red rose tattoo on my friend’s left wrist signified her enslavement to the (New World ) Order of the Rose to which Mulroney belonged.

My friend and her young daughter reportedly were often transported across the U.S.-Canadian border at Niagara Falls for prostitution to Mulroney. The sexual abuse of her precious child was used as a trauma base to maintain control of her mind just as Kelly’s abuse traumatized me, Mulroney had previously accessed sex programming at Niagara Falls in my friend and me-along with our daughters-to satisfy his sanctioned perversions as though it were "business as usual".

Had I been capable of connecting events, I would have felt enormous relief that our daughters were not forced to participate in his sexual assault this time.

"Mission" complete, I slipped on my dress and prepared to leave, Mulroney pointed to me and cryptically said, "I’ll be seeing you around. Maybe I’ll see you in Mackinac. May be. Somewhere in time."

In three lines, Mulroney expertly tied the immediate moment to childhood cues and current Mexican NAFTA operations, as well as prepared me for my next encounter with him on Mackinac Island.

1 "The Order of the Rose" was an emblem of those ushering in the New World Order. "Orders from the Rose" were orders From George Bush.

2 Reagan first introduced me to U.N. Ambassador Madeleine Albright as "my mentor" in Jesuit operations in the Caribbean "Madeleine Albright is a Saint," Reagan told me, forming my perception of her "The Mother Teresa of the Caribbean.’

3 While I was in Jamaica under Albright’s (via Bush’s) instruction, Larry Flynt photographers took advantage of my being there to use the picturesque Dunns River Falls as a backdrop for pornographic photos to be used in Hustler.

4 Reagan’s red rose triggered a sexual mode usually used to compromise/blackmail dignitaries and lock them into loyalty to the Order of the Rose.

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CHAPTER 21 - GLOBAL EDUCATION 2000

My programmed role toward implementing Education 2000 according to the plans of those ushering in the New World Order brought me back in contact with former Governor of Tennessee, Lamar Alexander, and eventually Canadian Prime Minister Brian Mulroney. I had met Lamar Alexander in 1973, at a satanic ritual I was subjected to in an affluent neighborhood of Nashville, Tennessee.

Lamar Alexander presided over this sex-oriented occult ritual with full understanding of my Project Monarch Mind-Control victimization and the impact his actions were having on my mind. It was my experience then, and intermittently throughout the years, that Lamar Alexander’s sexual perversion was to bring his victim to the point of death through oral suffocation.

During the course of publicly exposing Tennessee’s need for education reform as instructed, I was in contact with Commissioners, Superintendents, Mayors, and Lamar Alexander. Lamar Alexander, who followed Bennett as Bush’s Secretary of Education, worked in close association with Bill Bennett to manipulate the minds of the masses to accept Education 2000 as the ONLY means of education reform.

When Ned McWherter was moved into the office of Governor to rubber stamp federal projects, Lamar Alexander maintained influence over state politics. At the same time, he maintained influence over national politics through his role as chairman of the National Governor’s Association in 1986.

As the 1984 Governor’s Convention drew near, I met with Lamar Alexander at the Stockyard nightclub where he was drinking with his long time associate and partner-in-crime, Nashville’s Mayor Richard Fulton. In the basement bar of this old, converted stockyard was a modified antique "Shoe Shine" booth, where the term took on new meaning. A key to a private shoeshine booth could be obtained by those in the know through Stockyard owner, Buddy Killen.

This closet-sized booth was lined in mirrors and had a small bench where Lamar Alexander sat after our business was concluded. I knelt at his feet as ordered to perform oral sex. Programmed sex slaves such as myself were trained to go long periods of time without drawing a breath, and users such as Alexander stretched this time to the maximum.¹

On this occasion, Alexander apparently exceeded the maximum. I do not recall completion of my programmed task. It was after hours when my mind- control handler, Alex Houston, dragged my limp body from the booth, roused me, and ordered me out of the building. Buddy Killen opened a back door that once was a cattle run, and Houston half-dragged me out the back exit unseen.

The night of the Convention, Alex Houston’s youngest daughter, Bonnie,2 was to join me. Bonnie and E were close to the same age, and together we dressed for the occasion. As a prostitute, Bonnie was familiar with Lamar Alexander and his perversions but nevertheless was excited at the prospect of seeing "old friends" at the Convention via Louise Mandrell,3 who would be entertaining there. The comradery between Alex Houston and Mandrell that developed during Bob Hope’s U.S.O. tours in the 1960s lasted for decades due to their shared involvement in running mind-controlled slaves for Byrd.

Bonnie shared in this friendship with the Mandrells and was looking forward to seeing her "friends" in the band.

I, too, was looking forward to talking with Louise Mandrell, but for a very different reason. Barbara had just endured her near-fatal car crash, and I was deeply concerned for her welfare. Throughout the 1980s while traveling under the guise of the Country Music Industry, Alex Houston toured with Barbara and/or Louise Mandrell on a regular basis. Occasionally Barbara and I saw each other in "church," the Hendersonville Lord’s Chapel.

This church was an offshoot of Billy Roy Moore’s Lord’s Chapel, and was pastored by his mind-controlled slave, Mike Nelson, who became close friends with Barbara.4 Alex Houston and I were present when Mike Nelson broke program, and attempted to flee for his Life with Barbara Mandrell. The pastor was subdued with a stun gun and immediately relieved of his position, while Barbara frantically sought answers to the questions the two of them had managed to raise.

Alex Houston was touring with Louise Mandrel] in 1984 when Louise had a "premonition" of Barbara’s imminent demise—much the same way Loretta Lynn "psychically predicted" her son’s murder. Like the murders of Loretta’s son and Country Music entertainer Keith Whitley, I was aware of Barbara’s planned accident before it occurred due to Alex Houston’s direct involvement.

These traumas were also used as a means of locking in my mind-controlled belief that I had "no where to run and no where to hide". Worst of all, I could not think to speak of what I knew due to my own absolute mind control. While Barbara physically survived her ordeal, her voice was silenced as planned.

When Bonnie and I arrived at Opryland Hotel, we hurried to the ballroom where Louise Mandrell would be performing. My concern for Barbara detracted me from my appointment with Lamar Alexander until one of Louise’s dancers who knew of my role put me "back on track".

"What are you doing here?" he demanded. "You’re supposed to be at Rhett Butler’s restaurant NOW."

I hurried to the restaurant where Lamar Alexander was having dinner with Senator Byrd and several governors. Byrd was participating in the function for reasons unknown to me, but I was aware that he had fiddled at the Opry. Byrd stopped eating just long enough to acknowledge my presence,

"Where have you been?"

"I was checking on Barbara over at the show," I replied as Lamar Alexander excused himself and walked over.

Putting an arm around me and turning me away from the table, he whispered, "You could wind up just like her if you don’t get with the program. You’ve got programs to hand out. But right now, you’re interrupting my dinner. Have you had anything to drink?".

"No, Sir," I replied, traumatized at the magnitude of his threat.

Lamar Alexander instructed me to leave immediately, order a grasshopper from the conservatory bar, and wait for further instructions.

It was a matter of routine for me to order a "grasshopper" from Opryland Hotel’s conservatory. The ice cream "drink" was specially made—always with a hypnotic drug in it. As sometimes happened, the waitress was unfamiliar with the process, and conservatory harp player and CIA operative Lloyd Lindroth interceded. The drug had the same effect as that administered at the D.C. NASA programming center by Bennett, and my mode was robotic compliance.

After the drug kicked in, Lloyd Lindroth instructed me to proceed to the main ballroom of the Hotel, where Lamar Alexander would be meeting me.

The outer lobby of the ballroom was decorated in wall-size murals that extended to the top of the gothic ceiling. A life-size steam engine depicted on the far wall appeared to be racing toward the grand staircase. I had seen the murals numerous times before, but never had they seemed so real as they did to me that night on the NASA drug. The heavy double doors leading to the ballroom caused me to feel very small as I pulled with all my strength to open it. Inside, the room was a sea of black suits and ties, and I was relieved when Lamar Alexander ushered me back out into the lobby.

Alexander positioned me near the train mural as a cryptic indicator to those in the know that I was a "trained" mind-controlled slave. I was provided a box of brown envelopes packed with the Education 2000 information I was to hand out to the governors.

Alexander instructed me on exactly what I was to say in conjunction with the message Bennett had programmed me with in D.C. Then he returned to the ballroom, where he apparently acted in the capacity of a pimp.

"Are you waiting on the train?" a paunchy governor asked, "No, Sir," I answered. Then, as instructed, I said, "But I do have a packet of information with your name on it. Shall 1 take it to your room for you?"

"Oh? And what is my name?" he asked.

"Governor," I responded. There actually were no names on the envelopes.

"Astute," he responded. "And what is it you have for me?"

"This packet," I answered, handing it to him. "And anything else you want compliments of Lamar Alexander and (tapped) Secretary of Education, Bill Bennett."

According to some of the men, Alexander had cued them as to my position. Others, such as then Governor of Pennsylvania, Dick Thornburgh and Ohio Governor Dick Celeste already knew me, "I’ve got a packet of information with your name on it.. "I was saying as I bent over to lift one from the box.

"I don’t think so," Governor Blanchard of Michigan interrupted. "Bill (Bennett) wouldn’t stoop so low as to insult me that way. I’m doing the same thing here you are, but from a very different approach. The figures I offer reflect the success of Education 2000 in the Michigan school system."

I recognized Governor Blanchard, and was well aware of Michigan’s ranking first in the nation in education.

"Speaking of which," he continued, "I believe I see your mother more often than you do these days since she is working in the schools. That little sister of yours (Kimmy) is a prime example of what proper instruction can produce. Your little sister is coming to Mackinac to further her skills. Your whole family is a prime example of how good Education 2000 works."

I finally met up with Bonnie again in Lamar Alexander’s room as the night came to a close. "Bonnie, how’s that snake of yours?" he asked. Bonnie, who had been filmed pornographically by CIA commercial photographer Jimmy Walker with Dick Flood’s snakes, had a boa constrictor,

"Great!" Bonnie laughed. "How’s yours?"

"Constricted," he replied,

Bonnie unzipped his pants as she admittedly had done numerous times in the past, playfully sayings "Let it loose!"

Lamar Alexander began removing his pants. Referring to me in Project Monarch terms he said,

"When I first saw you, you were a worm with no hint of being a butterfly."

"Daddy (Alex Houston) said she was a diamond in the rough," Bonnie volunteered, "She shines now". Turning to me he said, "I know you are a shoe shiner, and mine need a shine." Bonnie, also familiar with the Stockyard booth and Lamar Alexander’s meaning, laughed when he said, "Why don’t you both take a foot."

Task complete, I went to Byrd’s nearby room as instructed. He was in the bathroom preparing himself for bed, "Louise had her feathers fluffed over Barbara’s collision with destiny and I had to smooth them down a bit," Drying his dough grey hands on a towel, he turned to me and said, "Looks like you’ve had your wings spread a bit tonight."

"I wore a path up and down the stairs," I stated.

Much to my relief he said, "I’m not going to fiddle with you farther. I just wanted to give you something to remember me by--Bye."

He compartmentalized my memory with his stun gun.

Soon thereafter, Kelly and I were transported to Mackinac Island. Michigan to meet with Canadian Prime Minister Brian Mulroney at then-Governor James Blanchard’s mansion.

Houston led Kelly and me to a horse drawn carriage as quickly as we stepped off the ferryboat onto the timeless, antiquated island, I noticed that the Canadian flags were again flying at the Grand Hotel, but was of no mind to question, Kelly sat quietly beside me, apparently drugged as our carriage took us through the woods to the Governor’s mansion.

The guests in the mansion were reminiscent of the recent Tennessee Governor’s convention: Michigan Governor Blanchard, Ohio Governor Dick Celeste, and Pennsylvania Governor Dick Thornburgh. Guy VanderJagt and Jerry Ford were also present. Mulroney appeared to be the guest of "honor".

He reached out his hands and greeted me,

"I told you I would see you somewhere in time! I slipped time, space, and distance to be here this evening. You and I have some ground to cover."

"Yes, Sir. President Reagan’s Global Education Secretary Bill Bennett has sent me to deliver this education packet directly to you." I was to deliver a large, brown envelope of documents similar to those handed out at the Governor’s Convention.

Blanchard excused himself. "I’ve already heard the schpiel," he said as he turned to his other guests, leaving Mulroney and me alone,

"Global Education is the wave of the future," I recited as programmed. As the world gets smaller and smaller due to higher technology spanning the globe, our children must be educated in the ways of the world. Education as it is, barely equips them for life in their own backyard. We need to become involved in our children’s education for the sake of their future and our legacy. Global education is the way. The only way, Look into it..." I handed him the envelope. "...Peer into the future."

Mulroney uncrossed his arms long enough to accept the envelope, which he casually tossed on a chair.

"I am interested in the children, the legacy we leave them, and how we shape their future by the way we record our history in their test." Using Order of the Rose cues, he signaled me to photographically record his words for future delivery.

 

"Tell Mr. Bennett(sss)," he hissed, cryptically revealing his knowledge that Bill and Bob Bennett worked together using reptilian-alien themes, "implementation is high. I’m already sold on Global 2000 and have additional points I would like for them to consider. Headsets at every computer station for openers. Double the impact with dual learning. We’re being thrust forward at warp speed, and the generations of the future may need an added booster to bring them up to speed. A united global effort using your education package as a basis is destined to bring the future into a clear and present reality."

Business complete, Mulroney triggered my sex programming and led me upstairs to the bedrooms where Kelly was robotically waiting, entranced under Orders of the Rose.

1 I have witnessed girls die of suffocation from this practice oven though 3 to 5 minutes without breathing is common.

2 While Bonnie was not raised in Project Monarch, Houston’s pedophilia and stage hypnosis techniques rendered Bonnie unable to control her own actions. Bonnie is a multiple with a record of prostitution in need of therapy and care.

3 Irby Mandrell openly discussed Senator Byrd’s direct involvement in the Project Monarch government mind-controlled victimizations of his incestuously abused daughters with Houston. "Having babies can be a lucrative way to feather your nest-that’s what the Byrd taught me." Mandrel! continued, "Louise was a little withdrawn, and she needed to come out of her cocoon and spread her wings. I ran the idea by Byrd, and he said ’If she doesn’t have a talent, let’s make her one. What is a band without a fiddle?’ And viola, there she is. Another star on the rise launched from NASA City, USA (Huntsville, Alabama)."

4 Friendships between mind-controlled slaves are usually forbidden, and conversations are kept to a minimum lest cross-programming triggering occurs. Throughout the years, my own relationship with the Mandrells was limited to a superficial basis, whereas Irby Mandrell employed Houston’s hypnotic abilities to maintain mind control over his daughters while touring.
 

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CHAPTER 22 - MY CONTRA-BUTION

U.S. and Mexican relations were flourishing in the successes of NAFTA’s groundwork, while political differences pertaining to Nicaragua remained a minor point of contention. Since the Catholic Vatican’s Intelligence arm of Jesuits were working closely with U.S. Intelligence to usher in the New World Order, they used their established influence in Mexico and Nicaragua to provide a common ground for "diplomatic relations".

My dual mind-control victimization by the ClA and the Jesuits since childhood, and my previous "diplomatic relations" in Mexico thrust me into the role of messenger and prostitute to Nicaragua’s Daniel Noriega.

Were President Reagan’s Nicaraguan Freedom Fighters fighters OF freedom or FOR freedom? My mind-controlled existence rendered me incapable of pondering such questions. Nevertheless, I had a programmed "passion burning in my bosom" for the Contras as was patriotically instilled through torture, when I embarked on my "peacekeeping mission" to Nicaragua for Reagan tale in the summer of 1985,

I boarded NCL as usual to reach my appointed destination. Since Nicaragua was not a port of call for NCL, I flew from the Yucatan of Mexico to a remote military airstrip in Managua. It was in this small mountain top clearing that I met with Commandant Daniel Ortega, as had been arranged through the Vatican.

I was dressed seasonably in shorts, with my long blond hair lucked hack in a French braid. Onega’s attire, too, was reflective of the casual air to meeting. His tan, military uniform had worn thin, and was free of any protocol insignias. The dark, rose-colored sunglasses he peered through apparently had not changes his somber view of the "noble cause" he claimed to represent. A man of few words, he greeted me with an order, "Come with me." I rode with him in silence as he drove a jeep the short distance across the airstrip to a small, near, two story, white, frame house.

As we came to a stop in front of the house, Ortega said In a sad, slow voice. "I have needs like any man. But I feel like a whore myself for accepting your President’s offer."

His bedroom was clean and functional, with numerous assault weapons scattered around, I did not see any modern conveniences or personal effects, but Ortega seemed to be at home in his surroundings.

Ortega’s demeanor was that of a man who bad abstained from sex longer than most in big political position. As he slowly unbuttoned his shirt, I noticed a Catholic medallion with the secret Jesuit ascension/descension symbol on it, a common accessory among Jesuit spooks. He sat in wicker chair as I followed his silent lead in gratifying him orally.

While he chain smoked cigarettes, I sat in front of him on the floor, and relayed Reagan’s message to him as programmed. I began. "President Reagan has sent me as a messenger of peace."

He casually interrupted slowly looking me up and down.

"I’d like to have a piece in a few more minutes."

 

I continued, "Your people have endured many hardships Throughout their existence. He (Reagan) only wants to help. The American people want to see peace and freedom in your land. Mexican and U.S. relations are growing stronger by the day, and it is imperative that we resolve your conflict in order to resolve our own with the Mexican government We have come to the agreement with Mexico that the Nicaraguan conflict must be resolved for the sake of your people as well as our own, I am here on a peacekeeping mission representative of Vatican-based common ground shared by both Mexican and American governments, to enlighten you to our peaceful intentions.

 

The unified effort of Mexican-American Catholic missions is to promote peace in your region, while only enhancing your culture. The world is rapidly turning toward world peace, and Nicaragua is way behind the times—from technology and education to government ideals and religious convictions. Pope John Paul is praying diligently for peace in your region, and has joined forces with President Reagan, Mexico, and even the Soviet Union to ensure that peace.

 

He (the Pope) knows your goals, he knows your motives (I leaned forward, almost whispering from my own instilled belief), he knows your soul. We can all work in tandem to achieve that peace. Nicaragua, small though it may be in relation to the rest of the world, is a significant stepping stone toward unifying world powers. It can no longer be a source of contention and disagreement.

 

Your people must be free. Free to worship God through your holy Catholic church. That is first and foremost on President Reagan’s agenda, as well as the Pope’s and President de la Madrid’s. A New World Order is coming into being with or without you; it is an inevitable process that cannot be stopped. A whole new world of peace awaits us all. I can see you are a peace-loving man. It emanates from your being.

 

Blood has flowed across your land so heavily that your people are drowning in it. Together we can cauterize that wound. Replace blood flow with cash flow. Americanization can upgrade your technology at a rapid rate. Your people could compete in world markets by the turn of the century. Your future global position has already been determined by geography alone. Flow with it. Lead your people out of poverty.

 

Educate them in a manner conducive to their destined position in world markets. Free them from their struggles that have held them captive for so long. Allow the church bells to ring with good news of peace, prosperity and freedom. You can achieve all of your goals for your country’s advancement with our help."

Ortega thoughtfully finished smoking a cigarette, and lit up another as he confidently replied,

"Tell your President that I have seen his freedom, and listened to" his words projected through yet another example of it. He paints a beautiful picture suspended within his framework.

 

A picture can appear serene to its beholder while it is being gazed upon. I cannot worship a graven image, and the picture he paints is just that. We have fought too hard and too long, spilling sweat and blood across this land in our determined effort to maintain human values instilled in us by our forefathers, who gained their profound wisdom from the original Catholic missionaries.

 

These values are the same as those portrayed in President Reagan’s painted picture-only ours are real. His have only surface value, like any other painting. If I were to concede, I would only be framed within me picture he paints, hung on his wall like a trophy. I will not mislead my people, in spite of his offers of wealth and position, I am true to my convictions, and when he is true to his, then we will meet on common ground and have something of substance to discuss. For now, words are only a waste of our time."

Ortega put out his cigarette, and pulled back the covers on his bed. "I’ll take you somewhere pleasant." He took a well-used opium pipe/bong off his dresser and handed me a nozzle, I had been trained to accept any drug given to me with the only exception being the strictly forbidden marijuana. I hesitated until Ortega assured me it was opium. As the drug took affect he said, "This could be the way to world peace."

Sex with Ortega was at very least free of pain and perversion. Unlike most I was forced to have "diplomatic relations" with for the Reagan Administration, he fell asleep when he was through due to the difference between opium and cocaine.

The honk of a jeep’s horn outside awoke him. As I prepared to leave, he said, "Wait". He took a small, 1/4 inch or so ball of black opium from his personal stash, wrapped it in the cellophane from his cigarette package wrapper, and said,

"Give this to your President and tell him that you and I found more peace with this substance than he’ll ever impart on the surface of his painted globe,"

As he closed the door quietly behind me he said, "Come back and see me when you have more to offer. "

I was immediately returned by plane to Washington, D.C. where my "mission" had originated. This time I was taken directly to Bush’s office, where I delivered Ortega’s message verbatim. Eliminating most of the dialogue, Bush instructed me to deliver a partial message to Reagan. Unable to perceive message content and people beyond my "Need to Know" mind-controlled limited view, I had no concept that Ortega’s message would have a negative impact.

It never occurred to me that Ortega had proven himself to be as much a hypocrite as he purported Reagan to be by using me as a prostitute and messenger of bad news knowing full well that I had no free will with which to make the message more palatable. Bush’s revision of Ortega’s message added fuel to a proverbial fire that I didn’t even know was burning when I delivered the message to Reagan.

Bush was with Reagan and me in Reagan’s secondary office (to the Oval office) of the White House as I relayed the message as instructed,

"Daniel Ortega is a peace loving man, who seeks the same resolutions that we do. But he told me to tell you-(I dug in my purse for the opium) that he and I found more peace in this substance - (I handed the opium to Reagan) than you’ll ever impart on the surface of your painted globe."

Bush smiled as Reagan’s face instantly turned beet red with rage. Bush then reacted and spun up out of his chair, look the opium for himself, and told Reagan, "Settle down. There’s more. It seems the only peace she spread was between her legs." He headed for the door, saying, "I would reconsider my position if I were in your shoes—considering what’s filling hers." Bush dropped his gaze down the back of my legs to my shoes as he continued, "It’s running down both sides of her legs."

Obviously I wouldn’t be subjected to sex with Reagan that day. I was quickly excused and flown back to Mexico, where I resumed my NCL cruise. With my memory of the event compartmentalized through high voltage, I believed at the time that I had never been gone at all.

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CHAPTER 23 - WHIRLED VISION

In the fall of 1985, the same part of me that met with Ortega was walking with (Reagan appointed) CIA Director William "Bill" Casey through the harbored rose garden of his Long Island estate. Casey began by manipulating my Jesuit/Vatican programming base personality with the expertise indicative of the current union between Catholic and CIA operations.

Casey, whom Reagan referred to as a "man of Vision," was forming my Jesuit mind-control programmed "understanding".

"I have a World Vision,¹ one of peace. By re-moving the more violent factions of societies world wide and replacing them with faithful leaders of one world government, and the one world church, global unification is eminent. It is a beautiful vision, and it came to me in my dreams.

 

God has moved me to move men. I’ve moved them here and I’ve moved them there—now it’s time to remove them. My World Vision encompasses the globe and puts to rest any and all tensions, strife, overpopulation, and starvation. My vision is a World Vision, and the churches see it my way as evidenced by their support of the cause."²

Referring to my mind-controlled involvement in Haitian operations via NCL, Casey further defined ’the cause,’

"Your heartfelt mission in Haiti has helped in my World Vision quest for her people to abandon hedonistic voodoo and turn their eyes to God and Godly ways. By their own design, they have created an atmosphere of evil whereby a plague will be visited on their land.

 

The Lord has so moved me to move men who share our goals into place, and remove those who stand in the way of peace. It is for this reason that your mission in Haiti must be brought to a close. Baby Doc, in his tireless devotion to saving the demonically possessed cannot bear the burden of watching his people die the wretched death unleashed upon those doomed for hell.

 

We are left with no alternative but to heed the word of God and spare him from annihilation. For this reason, we will send in the missionaries (Jesuit Mercenaries) to inoculate the population with a vaccine that will spare only the good of heart by virtue of its design. All attempts to maintain Haiti within the loop of financial gain will cease.

 

Tourism must be stopped for the sake of the innocents visiting a plagued land. Despite our differences, Baby Doc has complied with the Vatican’s orders to the test of his abilities in his demon-infested land, and must resign his post. We owe it to him to transport him to safety. It is our duty as Americans and followers of God to obey the commands of our Lord and Master and enforce the World Vision.

 

It is your duty as an American and follower of God to instill the understanding that God has spoken, and a plague is imminent. Baby Doc is being prepared for transition and awaits word of direction. You will provide him with that word."

With my perceptions distorted and Catholic Jesuit programmed "understanding" instilled, I was prepared to "religiously accept" any and all I was told. I believed that the revolution in Haiti was a holy war, never capable of realizing it was a test run battle for the minds in this 4th world country.

The devotion I felt toward the Haitian people was more than a religious understanding of these alternately Catholic-Santeria³ voodoo worshippers. I was actually subconsciously recognizing other tortured mind-controlled slaves in this human created hell called Haiti. Consciously, I now know it was due in part to the visible stun gun/prod marks, plastic ever-present smiles that never quite reach their dead appearing eyes. The children clung to their wide-eyed mothers, as they performed their tasks in robotic servitude. I had recognized these characteristics in other slaves throughout the years, but never had I seen a whole country entranced. My compassion for the Haitian people penetrated into the realm of the spiritual, into a part of me that mind control and manipulation of religion could never touch.

Casey and I had been walking through the garden, guarded by more armed men than the President. It wasn’t that I was a threat, I couldn’t even think to save myself. It was that Casey and his World Vision were a threat to humanity that so many guards were needed. The men appeared to be U.S. Secret Service officers according to their attire, weapons, and earphone headsets. One guard conspicuously placed his hand to his headset, listening as though it were remote control. He walked briskly over to Casey, who signaled me to leave with an escort who instantly arrived at my side awaiting instruction.

"Take her to my chambers," Casey told him, "Clear her mind. I have something I need to instill." Robotically I followed my escort into Casey’s office library. The room was barren, dark, and hot-just as described in a book I had been given to read in keeping with You Are What You Read programming. It produced a sensation of having somehow stepped into the novel Chameleon by insider William Diehl. The mind scramble of the book and reality instantly commenced,

"It’s warm in here," the agent said, unbuttoning my while eyelet blouse." Bill (Casey) likes to keep it this way in case-he (Casey) gets a chill and his blood runs cold. Chameleons4 are naturally cold blooded. Make yourself comfortable white I turn up the heat. Mr. Casey doesn’t want to hear a peep out of you, so I’ll warn you now-be Silent."

He deliberately triggered and activated the Jesuit programmed part of me that believed in my Vow of Silence.⁵ The walls have ears and the plants have eyes, so your silence is tantamount to success. I’m going to leave you to reflect in Silence, Bill will be along any minute."

Had I been capable of "reflecting," I would have questioned the validity of Casey’s dramatic position of "religious overtones" on Haitian policy. Like Reagan’s, Casey’s sincerity did not ring true considering the fruits of his labor, But then, I could not consider any more than I could reflect, and I sat in a state of what felt like suspended animation awaiting my instructions.

I could not anticipate nor dread what was about to happen as futuristic thinking was left in the hands of my controllers. Had I realized the scramble of reality with William Diehl’s book, I could have "psychically" predicted what happened when Bill Casey strolled in. Casey walked over to his highly polished, dark wood desk and opened the top drawer. Casey’s desk was one of the few furnishings in the large, airy room.

The dark, polished, reddish-wood paneling seemed even darker with the midnight blue carpeting curving slightly up the wall. Heavy, gothic maroon velvet drapes blacked out the sun from the windows behind his desk, "I can see quite clearly that you have taken a Vow of Silence, Maintain it. Maintain it and Lisssten," Casey hissed, using preset triggers. He reached into the drawer and took out a foot-long, maroon box with a diamond embossed on the top.

"I received a box, quite anonymously as I do from time to time," Casey said in keeping with the book scramble. "The box has your name on it. I expected to open it and find the usual pierced chameleon and found, instead, a weapon intended for one."

He opened the box in front of me. Inside, laying on a bed of cotton, was an elaborate dagger with a handle of the same rose crystal from which the crucifix Byrd had presented me on "our wedding night" was made. My first personal meeting with Casey promised to be torturous as I recognized Byrd’s participation in the grisly ordeal.

I listened, deeply tranced, as Casey said,

"Is it a knife or a crucifix? I can’t tell. Both symbolize martyrdom as far as I’m concerned. Note the rose pattern cut into the crystal. Now, I wonder who would have sent me this to give to you."

Even under mind control I knew, as I was supposed to, that Byrd had provided him with the knife. My worst fears were confirmed when Casey began using Byrd’s hypnotic induction, "In like a knife, sharp and clean, I’ll carve out what I want." Casey sliced through the front of my bra, exposing the area between my breasts where Byrd routinely cut me with his pocketknife.

He pierced into my breastbone deeply so that I believed I would split, and indeed did split off a personality fragment compartmentalizing this event. Using standard Jesuit-based infinity program, Casey instructed me and programmed me with messages that I would deliver as though my life depended on it.

"You must go to the Citadel and warn our Dominican brothers of impending doom to their neighbors in Haiti. From the Dominican side (of the Haitian island) you will be flown to Port Au Prince where you will meet with Baby Doc (Duvalier) at his Palace. He is already receptive to your word, and knows that my words are your words and your word is Silence. You must tell General Cedras his Order is from The Rose."

Casey touched the white rose in his lapel, signaling me to photographically record his words verbatim.

When he was through programming me with his message, Casey told me, "As quickly as you complete this mission, you must depart Haiti, never to return again." Casey used excessive high voltage to compartmentalize my memory. I recall being nauseated and ill from his stun gun as I departed his Long Island compound/home via ferry programmed with messages to Cedras and Baby Doc.

Haiti had recently been dropped from the NCL itinerary as a Port of Call, but the Dominican Republic side of the island remained open to tourism. When Houston and I debarked the NCL ship in Puerta Plata, we walked past a World Vision cargo ship that was being unloaded at the dock. I recall that a soft ocean breeze gently lifted the hem of my white, gauzy dress as I weaved my way through the dock load of World Vision freight to a waiting automobile.

Religion and politics apparently mix in the Dominican Republic as evidenced by the inseparable mixture of Catholic Missions, old forts, statues of Christopher Columbus, and Catholic Shrines. As we drove past the mountain tramway that takes tourists up and down to the rustic Citadel and Catholic Shrine at the top, Houston perpetuated the "Chameleon" book scramble. Dually referring to Cedras and the short donkey ride from the tram to the Citadel depicted in Diehl’s book, Houston threatened to put me on the rickety tram saying, "Some Jackass will see you at the top."

In an area reserved for covert activities, out of view of tourists, I met with General Cedras in his Citadel office. Dressed in the eerie, Jesuit, dark, hooded robe, Cedras completed Casey’s "Chameleon" book scramble scenario as we walked through the ancient structure to his office. Cedras’ demeanor made him appear more as a militant than a "spook," despite the corny monk’s attire. With his hood down his back, Cedras’ sharp, craggy features and darting steel blue eyes kept my full attention. I had seen him at a monastery in Santo Domingo as ordered before,6 when Haiti was still being used by the CIA for Operation Watchtower to transport cocaine and Contra weapons from Cuba.

Alone with Cedras and properly signaled, I began photographically reciting Casey’s message,

"I have word of warning from the Vatican by way of the honorable and faithful William Casey. He sends word of impending doom that is to befall your neighbors on the dark side in Haiti. Voodoo manifest itself in mysterious ways while the way of the Lord is clear. Evil must be stopped at all costs. The cost shall be in terms of human casualty, as a plague is being visited upon the land. Those who fornicate with devils shall be infested with the plague. Woo unto them who have stood in the path of World Peace. By God’s design the New World Order shall come into being with or without the Haitians.

 

All American operations in Haiti are now destined for your ports. Your people (the CIA-UN operated Dominicans) will flourish in peace and prosperity while the dark side (Haitians) drown in the blood of this holy war that they have brought upon themselves. Close your borders swiftly and maintain guardians at the gate lest the Haitians infest your land with their evil plague. Inoculation of the masses shall be masked in the body and the blood shall carry the doom.

 

As more and more Haitians turn to God in their final hour, the communion they partake will be Satan’s own. With their God as the scapegoat, your Island in the Son (sun) will be freed of the vile and wicked. I have seen a vision, a World Vision, and it is through communion with the ancients that we have been granted the Keys to the Kingdom ⁷ to unlock the gates of hell. The holy water sent herein has the blessings of the Vatican and must be sprinkled like rain upon the Haitians.

 

Our God reigns, and he rains rivers of blood upon the Haitian masses, and he reigns supreme upon your mission. Your mission is clear. You serve communion and let God son them out. Those who serve the body of Christ are covered by the Vatican, those who serve voodoo evil shall be covered in the blood of their own. It is clear our God reigns. Lei the games begin."

Combining the cryptic language of Cedras’ CIA and Jesuit operations, Casey had weaved numerous cryptic commands into his message. Had I been inadvertently accessed, the instructions would make little sense to those not cued to the language. Cedras was listening religiously, fully grasping the magnitude of Casey’s instructions. I concluded the message,

"The holy water with the Vatican’s blessings will arrive at 1 PM today by way of World Vision, The blood shall host the plague."⁸

I was relieved to depart Cedras’ presence without being subjected to his usual perverse sexual brutality. This would be someone else’s job this time, as my programmed trance was maintained until I delivered Casey’s message to Baby Doc Duvalier on the "dark side" of the "Island in the Son".

Houston took me to the small CIA-operated airport at the foot of the mountain where I boarded a small, white airplane destined for Port Au Prince, Haiti. When we landed, the pilot walked me over to Baby Doc’s Tonton guards, and ordered that I be taken to the Palace. He spoke in rapid Haitian French, and lifted my symbolic, rosy cross necklace for emphasis to the guards.

Reinforcing my instilled belief that the Catholic emblem would protect me, the guards treated me with the respect that apparently was reserved for identified Jesuit spooks. I was driven by white Mercedes to the Haitian Presidential Palace. Looking even more conspicuously out of place in contrast to stark poverty than his fleet of Mercedes, Baby Doc’s Palace was decadent. I stood reverently in the foyer waiting for my arranged meeting to begin, unable to question Baby Doc’s luxurious surroundings in view of the despair and starvation around him.

I had met with Baby Doc throughout the early ’80s in the capacity of a Project Monarch prostitute. All Haitian-based U.S. covert operations were run by a bed-ridden old man referred to as "Ol’ Charlie," who resided at the El Presidente Hotel until his death in the mid ’80s. During my tenure as a mind-controlled messenger and prostitute in Haiti, I had been forced to attend a voodoo ceremony for my (and others’) traumatization purposes.

I was ordered to perform oral sex on Baby Doc as his dark-windowed Mercedes slowly proceeded through the crowds of Haitians on their way to the ritual. With my Haitian missions previously established with Ol’ Charlie for business and Baby Doc for prostitution, my meeting Baby Doc for business was unprecedented.

"What brings you here?" Baby Doc spit the words at me in English. I had been led into his library by three armed guards, "I have no need of a Catholic whore."

Baby Doc’s applicable knowledge of the English language was limited by his intellect whereby an aide filled the need for an interpreter as I delivered Casey’s message.

"I come in the name of peace. I have a message for you from William Casey, sanctioned by the Vatican. The Pope is in agreement with U.S. policy in Haiti. He has seen a vision, a sign from God. The vision is a World Vision, whose people are reaching out to yours with charily in abundance. The goods and services provided require only that the people of Haiti anoint the sick, feed the hungry, and clothe the poor through his servants of World Vision.

 

Their mission will separate good seed from bad and restore peace in your region. The peace that shall be visited upon your land amongst your people is imminent, but not before the rivers run red with the blood of the wicked. The vision is plague, and your people will fall in the streets pleading for mercy, and you will not be here to hear it. The lime has come for you to leave. It is God’s will that you escape the plague with blessings from the Vatican, never to return to your homeland.

 

Prepare for your exodus today for tomorrow holds a promise of doom. Using your prophetic wisdom, warn the masses of impending doom and arm them with World Vision. The vision is one of peace’ for those who flock to the tents and churches for salvation. Your destiny is clear, and the Vatican has cleared the way for your departure."

With Casey’s message delivered, Baby Doc’s Tontons returned me to the same airplane I had left a short time before. I flew in silence, unable to think to comprehend the magnitude of what had just transpired. Events to a mind- controlled slave are all perceived as first and last times.

Therefore, Casey’s instructions that I would "depart Haiti, never to return again" seemed business as usual to me. Flying over the mountains that separate Haiti from the Dominican Republic, I noticed the gentle people below bathing in the waterfalls, toilessly washing their bright clothes on the rocks, and primitively hauling goods in the baskets balanced on their heads. An occasional goat ran across the barren land, and the children, bellies swollen from starvation, played with slicks and vines.

With my mind-controlled and spinning with misperceptions, my whirled vision, like Ortega’s rose colored glasses, prevented me from seeing the reality of New World Orders.

1 World Vision was/is a Jesuit controlled organization that led churches to give them money under the guise of spreading world peace. What they were not saying was what the money was actually funding-a world peace plan under mind control.

2 Perceptual distortions of the virtues that good people hold most dear is one reason for the proliferation of criminal activity within such organizations as World Vision. There are those within affected factions of such organizations, the Catholic church, and even the U.S. Government that operate under distorted perceptions referred to by the CIA as a "Need to Know" basis--and they "Need to Know" that their minds, religion, and/or perceptions are being deliberately manipulated.

3 Since the Catholics had joined forces with the United Nations to overtake the world through mass mind control, the Jesuit influence on Haiti was complete. By maintaining much of the ceremony, placing literal interpretation on "eating the body and drinking the blood," and providing a mirror reversal of good and evil, Catholicism and voodoo, like Catholicism and the United nations, became one in the same.

4 The term "Chameleon" is a term used to describe spies who are expertly trained to blend into any environment at any time unnoticed-just as an MPD mirrors the one they’re with.

5 The Jesuit Vow of Silence was installed through the Rite to Remain Silent of my childhood. Now I know, like so many others in Intelligence, that "Silence Equals Death". Knowledge is our ONLY defense against mind control.

6 Byrd had told me that Cedras was "a strategically placed chess piece that the CIA, Jesuits and U.N. moved around" to usher in their New World Order,

7 "Keys to the Kingdom" was defined by Bill Bennett in accordance with Jesuit programming as follows: "At the onset of Christianity, the Apostles compiled all the information that they had obtained from Christ and built the Holy Catholic Apostolic Church. Christ intended it to be the one world church then—the truth, the light, and the way. The secrets were kept in the ark of the covenant, and passed down generation after generation. And generation after generation Christ caused for more to be written-the fruits of his labors expounding on the truth. Now the ark has become archives—a wealth of information. This information is accessible to very few— the very few who hold the Keys to the Kingdom".

8 Interpretation of the final message is left to the minds of the masses who can still discern truth. My conclusions are "clear", bused on conversations overheard and my experience as a White House sex slave. Although Byrd and Reagan, among others, had prostituted me to officials in AIDS-infected countries, they used no protection against "the plague" when having sex with me.

9 There can be no world peace without peace-of-mind, and there is no peace-of-mind under mind control. Haiti, once a prototype of New World Order controls has now been used up and discarded by the CIA and Jesuits. U.N. "peacekeeping forces" have created a smoke and mirrors illusion of "peace" by keeping it FROM the Haitian people.

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CHAPTER 24 - A-HUNTING WE WILL GO

On December 4, 1986, I turned 29 years old. Usually mind-controlled slaves were discarded, "thrown from the Freedom train," at 30; but I argued with Houston when he told me my government abusers only had one year left to "use me up". I had had no conscious awareness of the passing of time, and believed I was still only 24. Regardless of what I believed, my abusers did their best to "use me up" physically and psychologically before even a month had passed.

I was in Washington, D.C. on a routine trip, which included being prostituted to President Reagan. "Uncle Ronnie’s" cheeks were flushed from excitement and cognac as he told me, "I always take two weeks off for Christmas to go back to California." Reagan interrupted himself to break into an old Hollywood style song and dance, "California here I come..."

The White House, he claimed, had always been confining to him, and he appeared genuinely excited about his upcoming trip.

"I look forward lo this trip every year because I get to see old friends. Oh, I still work while I’m there-the President’s work is never done-but at least I’m there. It’s about time you see where I call home."

Then, quoting the Wizard of Oz, he said, "’There’s no place like home.’ And you’re about to see why. Say it with me, "There’s no place like home. There’s no place like home’." Then he instructed me in Oz cryptic, "Click your heels. There’s no place like home."

Blue-white light seemingly exploded in my brain, like being hit with deadly low voltage AC electrical current. Reagan was "setting the stage" for an attempted mind scrambling time slip, to be reactivated at an upcoming meeting I would have with him in Bel Air, California.

The motor home was packed to the walls, and the walls were packed with cocaine as Houston, Kelly, and I departed on our long drive to California. Houston had planned several "tourist stops" along the way that proved as "nightmarish as the California ordeal itself."

In Las Vegas, Nevada, Houston kept Kelly and me busy prostituting us to everyone he knew "in the know" and in attendance at the Country Music Association’s annual convention. Weary of being sent from room to room, I was back in the lobby literally trying to catch my breath when I saw Michael Dante. He was dressed in an expensive, light grey silk suit and dark glasses, looking more like a Fed than a mobster, leaning on a post, waiting for met "Our love" he professed over the phone for mind conditioning purposes was certainly not apparent now. "You’re late," he growled as he looked at his watch.

He ordered me into the Ladies’ Room to activate programming by having me "lose myself" in the infinity mirrors that lined the walls. With my mind set like he wanted, he then used and directed me in commercial pornography. Later, he did the same with Kelly.

At the Grand Canyon, Houston traumatized Kelly and me in preparation for the upcoming events in California. While hiking down the canyon, Houston attempted to anchor hypnotically all of the trip’s events behind the death and insanity programming to which he was subjecting us. When we stopped for a late afternoon lunch in the Canyon, Kelly collapsed in a state of shock, unable to eat. Houston was pleased because he "got to eat it all himself".

I was, as usual, undergoing the food and water deprivation. I was so thirsty, I could not think to eat. Kelly’s condition magnified my own terrified state, and I did all I could to keep Houston from supposedly pushing her over the edge. I carried her for hours all the way out of the canyon, without pausing to rest. In my own mind I wanted to believe I was actually able to protect her. The fact was, Houston was wearing me down physically to ensure that I could not protect her at our next destination: Lake/Mount Shasta, California.

George Bush was highly active in both the Lampe, Missouri and Shasta, California retreat compounds. Just like Lampe, Shasta’s cover was country music. According to everyone I knew, singer and songwriter Merle Haggard supposedly ran the show at Lake Shasta, diverting any and all attention from the nearby Mount Shasta compound.

Shasta was the largest, covert mind-control slave camp of which I am aware. Hidden in the wooded hills, military fencing corrals an enormous fleet of unmarked, black helicopters and more mind-controlled, military robots than I saw in all of Haiti. This covert military operation served its own agenda, not America’s. I was told and overheard that it was a base for the future Multi-Jurisdictional Police Force; for enforcing order and law in the New World Order. In the center of the high security compound, was another well-guarded military-fenced area that was regarded as a "Camp David" of sorts for those running our country.

George Bush and Dick Cheney shared an office there, and claimed the outer perimeter woods as their own hunting ground where they played "A Most Dangerous Game". Predicated on conversations I overheard between the two, it was this world police military background that earned Dick Cheney his cabinet appointment as Secretary of Defense ¹ with the Bush Administration.

Houston stayed at Haggard’s Lake Shasta resort while Kelly and I were helicoptered to Mount Shasta for our scheduled meeting with Bush and Cheney. The helicopter pilot directed our attention to the military fencing surrounding the outer perimeter of the compound. Rarely did pilots ever speak to either of us, but this one smiled wickedly as he told us we would need to know the outer limits for A Most Dangerous Game.

As soon as we arrived at Bush and Cheney’s inner sanctum, I noticed George Bush, Jr. was with them. It was my experience that Jr. stood by his father and covered his backside whenever Bush would become incapacitated from drugs or required criminal backup. It appeared that Jr. was there to serve both purposes while his father and Cheney enjoyed their work-vacation.

Hyper from drugs, Cheney and Bush were eager to hunt their human prey in "A Most Dangerous Game". They greeted me with the rules of the game, ordered me to strip naked despite the cold December winds, and told me in Oz cryptic to "beware of the lions and tigers and bears". Kelly’s life became the stakes, as usual, which resurrected my natural and exaggerated programmed maternal instincts. Tears silently ran down my cheeks as Bush told me,

"If we catch you, Kelly’s mine. So run, run as fast as you can. I’ll get you and your little girl, too, because I can, I can, I can. And I will."

Cheney, daring me to respond, asked, "Any questions?" I said, "There’s no place to run because there’s a fence—the kind I can’t get over. I saw it"

Rather than physically assault me. Cheney laughed at my sense of "no whereto run, no where to hide and explained that a bear had torn a hole in the fence somewhere, and all I had to do is find it. He lowered his rifle to my head and said, "Let the games begin. Go."

Wearing only my tennis shoes, I ran through the trees as fast and as far as I could, which wasn’t very far at all. Bush was using his bird dog to track me, the same one that had recently been used with me in bestiality filming as a "Byrd-dog" joke on my owner, Robert C. Byrd. When caught, Cheney held his gun to my head again as he stood over me, looking warm in his sheepskin coat. Bush ordered me to take his dog sexually while they watched, then he and Cheney ushered me back to their cabin.

I pulled on my clothes and sat in the office part of the cabin awaiting instructions. I had no idea where Kelly was, nor do I in retrospect. Bush and Cheney were still in their hunting clothes when the programming session began. Bush said,

"You and I are about to embark on A Most Dangerous Game of diplomatic relations. This is my game. You will follow my rules. I will have the distinct advantage of hunting you with my Eye in the Sky (satellite).

 

I’ll watch every move you make. As long as you play the game by my rules and make no mistakes, you live. One mistake and I’ll get you, my pretty, and your little girl, too. You die, and Kelly will have to play with me. I prefer it that way. Then it will be her Most Dangerous Game. The cards are stacked in my favor because, well, it is my game! Are you game?"

There was no choice. I responded as conditioned, "Yes, Sir! I’m game." The parallels to The Most Dangerous Game that had just occurred in the woods were deliberate and intended to make retrieval of memory "impossible" due to cryptoamnesia scrambling.

"Good. Then let the games begin. Listen carefully to your instructions. You have no room for error." Cheney flipped his "game timer"—an hourglass. Bush continued, "This game is called the King and Eye, and here’s the deal. You will be establishing stronger diplomatic relations according to order between Mexico, the U.S., and the Middle East. Your role will require a change of face at each new place. I’ll chart your course, define your role, and pull your strings. You’ll speak my words when I pull your strings. There is no room for error."

Cheney was half lying across the plain, military issue style desk in an apparent drug stupor as Bush talked. Still wearing his hunting coat and hat, Cheney aimed his rifle at me from the desk and threatened, "Or a-hunting we will go." Bush finished Cheney’s threat by singing, "We’ll catch a fox and put her in a box and lower her in a hole."

Bush looked at Cheney and burst out laughing. The sight of him dressed in his hunting clothes with a huge bore, double-barreled shotgun to his shoulder inspired Bush to tell him he "looked tike Elmer Fudd".

Cheney, imitating the cartoon character, said, "Where is that waskily wabbit?"

Operation The King and Eye would involve Reagan’s #1 envoy Philip Habib (who cryptically played the Alice In Wonderland role of the White Rabbit with slaves such as myself) and Saudi Arabian King Fahd. So when Bush referred to the two as "Elmer Fahd and the Waskily Wabbit," he and Cheney laughed until they cried.

Since both were already high from drugs anyway, they had a great deal of difficulty maintaining composure long enough to complete my programming.

1 Dick Cheney has no official U.S. military history to justify his position as our nation’s former Defense Secretary under President George Bush.

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