CHAPTER 25 -
It was late evening when Bush and Cheney finished programming me
with numerous messages pertaining to the immediate opening of the
Juarez, Mexican border to free (drug and slave) trade. They then
took me downstairs to the living quarters of the western cedar and
redwood structure where Kelly soon joined us. George Bush, Jr.
deposited my obviously traumatized and withdrawn child at the door.
Referring to The Most Dangerous Game she told me in a quiet, defeated
and sad voice, "I was caught same as you".
In retrospect, I do not know if she was actually hunted (I can only
hope she was not). Regardless, this reinforced the fact that I had
been caught and therefore was "responsible" (when in fact I was not)
for everything that happened to Kelly from that point on.
The decor of the residence area reflected Cheney’s primitive,
rustic, western preference. Like his "ultra secret" Pentagon
Bunkhouse, use of leather was in abundance. The main room was small,
but appeared larger due to an infinity mirror on one wall. The room
was decorated in mirror fashion with one side looking like the
other. Centered between two facing black leather sofas was a coffee
table littered with drugs and paraphernalia. Bush and Cheney
were sitting in matching black leather recliners angled towards the
large stone fireplace where a fire was blazing, illuminating and
heating the room.
Heroin, Bush’s drug of choice, was in abundance and Cheney joined
him in using it. The smorgasbord of drugs laid out supposedly
included opium, cocaine, and Wonderland Wafers (MDMHA-XTC aka
ecstasy), which indicated to me they intended to celebrate their
vacation with abandon. I had seen Cheney stumbling drunk before, but
this was the only time I saw him use heroin and give it to me. Kelly,
too, was subjected to the drugs.
Bush attempted to sell Cheney on the idea of pedophilia through
graphic descriptions of having sex with Kelly. Both were already
sexually aroused from drugs and anticipation. Cheney demonstrated to
Bush why he did not have sex with kids by exposing himself to Kelly
and saying, "Come here".
Upon seeing Cheney’s unusually large penis,
Kelly reeled back in horror and cried, "No!" which made them both
laugh. Bush asked Cheney for his liquid cocaine atomizer as he got
up to take Kelly to the bedroom. When Cheney remarked how benevolent
it was of Bush to numb her with it before sex, Bush replied, "The
hell it is. It’s for me." He described his excited state in typical
vulgar terms and explained that he wanted it to spray cocaine on his
penis to last longer.
Cheney said, "I thought it was for the kid." Bush explained, "Half
the fun is having them squirm." He took Kelly’s hand and led her off
to the bedroom. Cheney told me that since I was "responsible" for
Bush’s assault on my daughter by being caught in A Most Dangerous
Game, I would "burn" (in hell).
He burned my inner thigh with the
fireplace poker, and threatened to throw Kelly in the fire. He
hypnotically enhanced his description of her burning to traumatize
me deeply. As he sexually brutalized me, I heard Kelly’s whimpers
coming from the bedroom. As her cries grew louder, Cheney turned
on classical music to drown out her cries for help.
At 4:00 am, as ordered, Bush Jr. (and his helicopter pilot) came to
retrieve Kelly and me. We were flown (by helicopter) back to the
Lake Shasta area where Houston and the motor home awaited us. Bush’s
assault of Kelly proved to be a mind shattering experience for me,
and physically devastating to Kelly.
She was in dire need of medical
attention and was unable even to move. Houston threatened to stop
the motor home in the Yosemite area and throw me from a steep cliff
if I didn’t settle down. His threats and commands could not control
my hysteria, as much of his control programming had
inadvertently shattered. Fearful he would lose both his
"money-makers," Houston permitted me to telephone Kelly’s doctor and
begin administering medicines.
As for me, he arranged for assistance
in picking up the pieces in order that I complete my primary purpose
in traveling to California, i.e., meet with Mexican President Miguel
de La Madrid and finalize plans Co-open the Juarez border.
NEW WORLD ORDERS
There was "no time to lose" in bringing me back around to a
functioning level. I knew I had work to do. Although I was to be
"used up" by my 30th birthday, I do not believe it was Bush and
Cheney’s intention to expedite the process so quickly. Apparently it
was their incompetence due to over-indulgence of drugs and
subsequent abuse of Kelly in my presence that destroyed parts of my
maternal-based programming. Regardless of their "excuse,"
drove us to San Francisco, California where
Temple of Set (Satan)
founder U.S. Army Lt. Col. Aquino made some emergency "repairs".
I was not taken to a hospital or a mental institution, but to a
brain/mind research and development lab on the U.S. Army Reservation
at Presidio. There are many facilities such as this one across the
country at various CIA, military, and NASA compounds where
hyper-advanced government knowledge is put to the test, developed
and modified. Those I met who had expertly learned the scientific
mechanics of the brain in conjunction with the ins and outs of the
mind used their gained secret knowledge to manipulate and/or control
others. The only thing Mark Phillips, Byrd, and Aquino had in common
was the belief that "secret knowledge equals power".1
to me that New World Order "powers were strengthened" by allowing the
mental health community only partial and/or deliberate misinformation
through their organization lobby, The American Psychiatric
Association (APA), concerning treatment modalities for severe
dissociative disorders being created through mind control! Perpetrators believed that withholding knowledge and the proliferation
of deliberate misinformation allowed them control over their secrets,
and subsequently over humanity. They may be correct if no one can or
will react to the information presented in this book.
Intended or not, I overheard a conversation pertaining to death and
the mind between Aquino and a lab assistant as I lay on a cold,
metal table in a deep hypnotic state, Aquino was saying that 1 had
come close to death numerous limes which "increased my ability to
enter other (mind) dimensions en route to death". I had listened to
Aquino talk at length about such concepts before, as though he were
trying to convince himself of some interdimensional time
travel theory. "Whether in principle or in theory, the results are
the same," he claimed.
"The concept of time is abstract in itself."
Hypnotic talk of past- present-future set my mind in a spin that,
when combined with Alice In Wonderland/NASA mirror world concepts,
created an illusion of timeless dimensions. I now know that the only
"dimensions’ I experienced were elaborate memory
compartmentalizations of real, earthly events by real, earthly
criminals, and certainly not by aliens, Satan, or demons.
After moving me from the table to an elaborate box, Aquino then
shifted my mind to another area of my brain, claiming to have taken
me into another dimension by way of "death’s door". This was
accomplished while I was subjected to sensory deprivation combined
with hypnotic and harmonic re-programming. The seemingly coffin-like
structure was transformed in my mind to a crematorium, where I endured the sense of increasing heat while "I slowly burned" through
hypnotic suggestion. Aquino then "pulled me through death’s door"
and into another dimension, "void of time".
Parts of my programming
were "recreated for the recreation of world leaders," i.e., U.S.
Reagan, Mexican President de la Madrid, and Saudi Arabian
In my next recollection of awareness, Houston, Kelly, and I were
in Hollywood, where Houston claimed the motor home "broke down"—an
overused attempted memory scramble. He sent me down the street to
telephone Michael Dante, who lived nearby in Beverly Hills. Dante was
expecting Kelly and me to join him in his Beverly Hills mansion for
several days as bad been previously arranged by our handler, Alex
Kelly and I waited at the phone booth as instructed until
Dante arrived to pick us up in his midnight blue Ferrari. As soon as
I sat down, Dante said, "I got something for you, Baby, Give me your
arm." Heroin was a common "vice" he shared with Bush, and
he shot me
up with the drug right in front of Kelly.
Later that evening at his house, Dante told me that he refused to
"handle damaged goods," and that he would not be my next handler as
previously planned. Not only was I "not fit to live with" him, but I
was not "fit to live" at all. I am not certain what he meant to
accomplish by these threats, but I know in retrospect that this was
not his decision to make. Besides, I never perceived existence with
him and his professed "love" as a "future" anyway- Instead,
he would go along with the original plan long enough to acquire
The next day, hours before I was to meet with de la Madrid, L.A,
Dodgers baseball team manager Tommy LaSorda, George Bush, Jr., and
star pitcher of Jr.’s Texas Rangers, Nolan Ryan (who was also a
banker) were at Dante’s house working out the details of money
laundering and bank transactions for the imminent opening of the
Juarez border cocaine, heroin, and white slavery route.
bond of covert criminal activity overrode any professional
baseball conflicts between them. All three were in town to be in
attendance at various gatherings and parties of Reagan’s, who would
be arriving in a matter of days. And all three appeared to have an
understanding of my function as Reagan’s "Presidential Model"
mind-control sex slave.
Dante was gathering the necessary clothes and props for the
evening rendezvous with de la Madrid. LaSorda, Nolan Ryan, and Jr.
were standing in the entrance way of Dante’s house attempting to
activate my "Baseball Mind Computer" programmed personality fragment
that had inadvertently been shattered by Bush and Cheney’s traumas
at Shasta. Dante told them,
"She knows more about baseball than you
and Tommy (LaSorda) put together. Go ahead and ask her something.
Much to LaSorda’s amusement, Nolan Ryan asked, "How many times does
Fernando Valenzuela (Dodger pitcher) touch his hat if he’s going to
throw as rewgy (screw ball)?" I could not respond, although I had
once known more statistical data than would ever be in print,
Jr. hollered, "Hey, Dante. What’s with your baseball computer here,
huh? Are we supposed to say a magic word?" "I don’t know," Dante
responded. "Could be drugs. Her sex is working fine, though. Give it
Jr. declined, saying, "No thanks. The Baseball Computer sucks
enough. Listen, we’ll see you later." Jr. had never shown any
interest in me sexually. Like his father, he had only shown sexual
interest in Kelly, who had been away with him most of the day. As he
turned to leave, he stroked me under the chin and cryptically said,
"Have a Ball tonight".
LaSorda, who had not been on his Ultra Slim Fast-sponsored diet yet,
said, "Speaking of balls, mine could use a little attention here."
He unzipped his pants.
Dante told me, "We gotta get dressed. Three minutes." Three minutes
was a trigger for me to perform a specific, oral sex act. I knelt on
the floor and pushed up LaSorda’s enormous belly, resting it on my
head as I groped for his penis as ordered.
Dante’s two Great Danes
came in as Jr. and Nolan Ryan left I had been forced to participate
in a bestiality film with these sex-trained dogs earlier that day,
and I had to fight them off as I sexually gratified LaSorda before
getting ready for "the Ball".
1 Mark Phillips explained to me that, by revealing their "secrets"
their power would diminish. "Good always prevails through positive
application, whereas the bad guys are hindered and slowed in their
criminal endeavors through having to cover-up their negative actions
with lies to support lies. This inevitably allows the truth to
emerge," Mark said.
Dante threw me a short, red, slinky dress with rhinestone straps and
a pair of "glass slippers" to wear to "Cinderella’s Ball", The
shoes, like Oz ruby, slippers and Philip Habib’s "magic lightening
boll" shoes, were to trance-form me into the personality
fragment that had been pre-programmed for the event,
Dante escorted me to the party/"Ball" where I was to meet with
Mexican President de la Madrid. Dante had been bragging about his
"second home in Malibu" ever since I first met him, and the place
was opulence personified. I do not know who actually owned "his"
second home in Malibu, California, but Reagan’s influence was
evident in the decor. From the front, the white stucco house gave the
illusion of being two-story.
The view overlooked a secluded Pacific
bay, and revealed three levels built into a cliff. Through the
smoked glass wall panels that spanned the back, the three stories,
lavishly carpeted in red, white, and blue provided a patriotic view.
All levels had a beige-white interior decorated in gold and crystal.
An enormous chandelier hung from the "cathedral ceiling,
illuminating all three levels at once from the great room which
overlooked the bay.
I was told that Uncle Ronnie (Reagan) would be arriving the next
day. It was my "patriotic duty" to attend de la Madrid’s welcome
party and "wear down any resistance he may have" in order that
Reagan’s business meeting with him would "go smoothly". This was not
the first time I heard this excuse for being politically prostituted,
nor would it be the last. In reality, I was to do the initial dirty
work, delivering messages, and encourage de la Madrid lo use
drugs and party with abandon.
The diplomatic relations between the
U.S. and Mexico were already strong, but this phase of the operation
requited total commitment from de la Madrid. Dante and I waited at
the top of the staircase as de la Madrid, accompanied by two
bodyguards, climbed to the red level of the house. I greeted de la
Madrid, "Welcome to the U.S. and (seductively) welcome to the
Hotel California." His deep-throated laugh indicated he had been cued
to the ramifications of my cryptic statement.
taken from a popular song by the Eagles, stated "you can check out
anytime you like, but you can never leave." To de la Madrid this
confirmed the permanency of his involvement in the criminal, covert
operations in which he was conspiring. Blackmail was openly
initiated to ensure that each criminal participant understood that if
one fell, they all fell. Maintaining "dirt" on each other through
this Mafia-style method was seemingly the only way these
criminals implementing the New World Order kept each other "honest."
De la Madrid and I went into a nearby bedroom, followed by Dante and
the bodyguards. Dante then activated the programmed message
instilled at the Shasta resort from Bush to de la Madrid. I recited,
"If you please, Sir, I have a message to deliver to you from the
Vice President of the United States. Welcome to our Neighborhood. As
you know, Salinas and I have worked out the details towards
implementing our plan to open the Juarez border tomorrow.
preparation and celebration of this accomplishment, this little
party tonight will bring you face to face with a trusted few who are
integral parts of this endeavor, and give you the latitude to see
firsthand the friendship and honor
among the (government-involved Mafioso) family members, I regret
that I could not be here in person to greet you, but Ron (Reagan)
can show you the ins and outs of the organization better than I. The
transaction numbers have been recorded, and are available to you for
cross reference purposes and to uphold the integrity of the players
involved on your end of the Juarez border.
Your commitment today
ensures you of a higher economic standard of living for your people,
increased relations with the U.S., an influx of American industry,
and a position of high esteem in the New World Order, With your
’Seal of Approval’ we can dissolve the Juarez border and make way
for a future of prosperity for Mexico. For now, relax and enjoy your
One of de la Madrid’s guards was shuffling through some papers from
a briefcase, and he told Dante he would like the bank transaction
numbers. Dante switched me to "You Are What You Read" Passbook
programming, and I delivered the numbers intended for the border
guards to de la Madrid as ordered. A computer of sorts was used to
calculate and confirm the numbers.
Aware that the meeting was being
filmed by one of Dante’s high tech "hidden" cameras, de la Madrid
held up a paper-wrapped ball of Mexican heroin. Speaking directly at
the camera, he cleverly said, "A token of appreciation, Mr. Bush,
Something for your private stock. The finest heroin available.
Dante strode across the room and said,
"I’ll take that and see to it
that he gets it myself."
"I’m sure you will," de la Madrid laughed.
He then put all but one
paper back in the briefcase. I was instructed to present the
elaborately embossed Mexican Presidential Seal (of Approval) to
pre-appointed Juarez border guards as proof of de la Madrid’s
commitment, then deliver it directly to Bush for his file on the
future NAFTA agreement.
Prepared to present a modified Hands-On Mind-Control Demonstration
to de la Madrid, Dante said,
"You’ve heard from a Carrier Pigeon
(messenger). You’ve seen her in a mode to accept program. And now I
will demonstrate some of her sexual modes."
"That will not be necessary," de la Madrid told him. "I have been
given a handful of keys that I would like to use on my own,
including the one to destroy all memory. Not that it matters when we
are monitored (he gestured toward the camera), but nevertheless I
was instructed to do it." Dante did not seem to know this was not
the first time I was sexually prostituted to the Mexican President.
"She rides a horse well," Dante said, referring to both the rare
practice of heroin to supposedly block my memory of this event, and
a Reagan-inspired sex act. Dante stuck a needle in my arm. "May I
recommend a ride for you?"
"I am on one now that I would like to maintain," de la Madrid
answered, referring to cocaine use and his running nose.
out several generous lines of the white drug on a black mirror. He
stroked me under my chin triggering Reagan’s sex Kitten personality,
picked up Bush’s heroin, and ushered the two guards out the door.
De la Madrid, fully aware of my pornography exposure, said, "You
like cameras? Let’s give them something to watch." He snorted two
more lines of coke, undressed, and further activated my sex
programming with the verbal and physical keys and triggers Reagan
had previously provided him.
At one point he enthusiastically
commented that "if I have my way, the Free Trade Agreement will
include a few top of the tine (he snorted another line of coke for
emphasis) "models" (vaginally) carved and trained like you." De la
long been obsessively fascinated with my vaginal mutilation carving.
He was perversely excited at the prospect of the Juarez border joint
venture drug deal including protected "free trade" of
mind-controlled slaves. He reiterated his desire the next day during
a meeting with Reagan.
"FREE TRADE" OF DRUGS
AND SLAVES AT THE JUAREZ BORDER
The next day. Dante drove me to a Bel Aire mansion high on a hill
where another party was underway. As I joined those who had gathered
on the manicured lawn, I recognized many of the same Mafia people who
had been at the Malibu retreat aka "Hotel California". This was a
welcome party for President Reagan who had just arrived. He was
walking across the yard toward me with his friend.
Jack Valenti, who
was the president of the powerful Motion Picture Association of
America. Reagan looked his role amongst his mobster friends, his
beige coal with fur collar draped over his shoulders revealing a
dark grey, pinstripe suit underneath. In retrospect I remember him as
dressed like the one mobster I did not have to meet, John Gotti. As
soon as my eyes met his, I was knocked to the ground by a familiar
blue-white blast (high voltage) like the one I had recently
experienced in D.C.
When I came back around and my eyes refocused, Dante was holding me
up. Reagan said,
"Well, hello Kitten".
"Uncle Ronnie, how’d you get here?" I asked in child-like innocence.
"The rainbow, Kitten, the rainbow," he answered in Oz cryptic, "I
told you I was coming home. There’s no place like home, and you said
it with me. So, here we are. I keep a little piece of the rainbow in
my pocket so I can get back over it (to D.C.) anytime I want to. I
make a wish, and click my heels, and I’m gone."
For the moment, Reagan succeeded in confusing my mind with Oz
cryptic metaphors, reconfirming to my child personality that he was
indeed the powerful Wizard. As we went inside for a brief meeting,
my personality was deliberately switched to the one that had dealt
with de la Madrid the night before.
The grey-white stucco house was decorated in plush Presidential blue
carpeting and deep, cherry wood tones. The "office" was small and
further crowded by those of us present for the meeting. De la Madrid
was comfortably seated, as was Jack Valenti. I was not privy to
Valenti’s exact role in opening the Juarez border, I only know that
he was well educated lo the particulars of this meeting. Dante and I
remained standing since we would be leaving as quickly as I heard
what Reagan, who was shuttling papers and pacing the room, had to
"Well, Kitten," Reagan said to me, "this is your death sentence:
You’ll go out in a blaze of glory."
I was not surprised to receive
confirmation of my imminent death by Reagan. I had heard about death
by fire from seemingly everyone involved in establishing "free
trade," through Mexico, of our nation’s children for drags. Reagan’s
use of patriotic metaphors and puns while matter-of-factly
informing me he ordered my death was reflective of his often
displayed lack of respect for human life.
What reflected his
character even more were the crimes he was involved in that prompted
him to cover-up through "sentencing- me to death. I had witnessed
the criminal foundations of NAFTA, which in turn could threaten the
successful implementation of the New World Order should these
secrets ever be revealed. Initial "Free Trade" including drugs and
white slavery extended beyond the U.S./Mexican border. It
routed U.S. traumatized, robotic, mind-controlled children into
Saudi Arabia, while building up weapon stockpiles in Nicaragua and
Although I was considered to be no threat, predicated on the
(erroneous) belief that I could not be deprogrammed to regain my
memory of these events, my death would provide extra insurance to
those involved. I was nearly "used up" anyway, and recording my
death via "Snuff Film" was agreed upon as proof to De la Madrid and
other leaders at risk, that I had indeed been silenced through
I could not think to respond to Reagan’s "death sentence". Dante
wanted to make sure I grasped the point as he graphically expounded,
"The next time I ignite your (sexual) flame, Baby, it will consume
you, body and soul. And you will burn, Baby, burn. And I’ll take
your ashes and scatter them to the wind. I’m going to blow you away.
Upon hearing something cryptic to which he could relate.
laughed at Dante’s twist of words. Referring to the old, porn, blue
pencil editing term "Blue movies," he added, "Blue blazes".
Dante laughed with him.
"We’ll call it ’Who In Blue Blazes Was
That?’ Or, how ’bout ’Cream-Ate’?"
De la Madrid noticed Reagan was not laughing and said, "That’s
like erasing a Mercedes to film a stunt," He leaned forward in his
chair closer to Reagan, lowered his voice and said, "It is my desire
to have seven just like her roll off the assembly Line and shipped to
me prior to the agreement’s completion."
Reagan agreed, responding, "Those (blonde-haired, blue-eyed) fine
kids on the relay to Saudi Arabia are top of the line, but they don’t
have what she’s got."
"Two faced Ones are hard to come by," de la Madrid quipped,
referring to my vaginal mutilation and Presidential programming code.
He cut his eyes over to me, touched himself and cryptically
continued, "—from one perspective, anyway. And I like having ’One’ I
can ’count on."
Reagan chuckled while Dante shifted his feet and unfolded his arms
long enough to cough-laugh. Valenti seemed to be bored of clichés or
was missing many of the cryptic double meanings, but judging from the
tone of the meeting, that was just as well.
"I’ll mention it to
Bobby (Byrd) and delegate your order to him," Reagan told his
Mexican counterpart. "It should be relatively simple to slip one in
for you every few shipments or so once the Juarez border is open to
such free trade activities as planned."
Reagan spoke as though he
were distracted and thinking of something else, even when he
looked my direction.
"If you please, Sir," I began, "I have the Presidential Seal of
Approval and am prepared to fulfill my role." Dante looked at his
watch, aware that I was scheduled to be at the Juarez border by the
"stroke of midnight". Reagan walked over to see the paper I had
received from de la Madrid the night before.
"OK. Well, farewell. Kitten," Reagan said, as he kissed my cheek. He
added in Oz cryptic, "I’ll see you on the other side (of the rainbow
in D.C.). Click your heels..."
My world spun black. Someone had hit me with a powerful stun gun and
I was down, feeling as though Dante was half dragging me as he led me
to his car, which was already idling in the circular drive. We soon
pulled up to the motor home at the gas station on Hollywood
Boulevard, where he had picked Kelly and me up several days before,
Kelly was already in the motor home, vomiting sick and horribly
She had been convinced by someone that I had been
killed. Houston attempted to create a hypnotically induced
"time slip," acting as though I had only been gone a few minutes. We
drove quickly, stopping only for fuel in order that I be in Juarez at
the appointed time.
There I robotically presented the Presidential Seal of Approval to
the proper officials as programmed, officially opening the border to
"Free Trade" of crimes against humanity. Houston and I had hurried
across the Juarez border where we were met by the Mexican official in
charge. The guard looked to be in his late 40s, with classic, rugged,
Mexican features. He stood approximately 5’ 11", had black hair, an
unkempt moustache, black beady eyes and a paunchy belly protruding
over his short, squat legs.
He spoke excitedly in Spanish, with a
harsh, cold lone to his voice as he spit out the necessary words in
English, "Give me the Seal", He snapped his fingers, impatiently
hurrying me. He took the Presidential seal and knocked me face down
on top of a small, barren metal desk while he closely inspected the
document. Even Houston was unusually quiet while this particular
uniformed guard paced the small tower room, sweating profusely while
he talked on his walkie talkie.
Finally, he accessed and verified the
bank transaction codes provided through whom he said was George Bush,
Jr. He concluded the encounter by taking a stun gun from his belt and
jolting me with it, supposedly to erase my memory.
I was nauseated and weak from high voltage and the ordeal as Houston
and I made our way back across the border. My empty stomach rolled,
prompting Houston to lie, "I told you not to drink the water". In
reality, I had had nothing to drink since the champagne at the Hotel
California, and I hadn’t eaten in days. I was thoroughly exhausted
when we reached the motor home in El Paso, but Houston was sexually
aroused from cocaine and the criminal events that merged Mexico with
the U.S. at the Juarez border.
CHAPTER 29 -
THE LIZARD OF AHS
After the opening of the Juarez border, I was kept actively busy
according to the plan to "use me up" before my 30th birthday death
sentence. I was subjected to a brutal (near death gang rape)
"celebration benefit" at an identified Masonic Lodge in Warren, Ohio
to "celebrate the free trade benefits" gained by involved East Coast
politicos. Centers such as the nearby Youngstown "Charm School" went
into mass production of slaves to mule drugs or be part of
the mind-controlled sex slave "trance-sport operations". Mexico was
not the only country reaping the economic benefits of criminal free
After Kelly’s ordeal in California, Dante and Houston were
criminally exploiting her for literally "all she was worth".
Subsequently, she missed an extraordinary amount of schooling. When
she was in school, she was experiencing difficulty with her peers.
These factors prompted plans to send her to a local Catholic school
the next year, where her unusual behavior would be overlooked and
Soon thereafter, Senator Byrd came to Nashville to fiddle at the
Grand Ole Opry and, as my handler. Houston, remarked, "fiddle around
with me" at the Opryland Hotel. Byrd explained that close
association with me had become volatile due to my roles in
Iran-Contra and NAFTA, and therefore he would be distancing himself
from me. He spent most of "our last night together" working on his
memoirs for a voluminous book on the U.S. Constitution he was
writing (now published at taxpayers’ expense), which focuses on his
long-winded Senate (filibuster) speeches.
Byrd attempted to strengthen my programmed "loyalty bond" to him to
me quiet "until death do us part". He told me, "If it was up to me,
I would let
you live". He talked at length about how our time together had been
upon by both de la Madrid and Reagan. Bitterness over their stronger
on me was evident as he mocked their self appointed roles as the
Lizard of Oz.
De la Madrid’s fascination with U.S. mind-controlled
slaves reportedly inspired him to combine Bush’s lizard-like alien
themes and his reputed Mayan roots/lizard man theories with Reagan’s Oz themes to
role of Lizard of Ahs. From Byrd’s ramblings, it appeared that his
their roles was due to their having decided how "his" slave would
die, and had
nothing to do with caring that I would be killed. Byrd maintained
"bonding" programming charade all night. He played his fiddle and
me" in place of his usual torturous whipping and brutality. Sex was,
first and last time, painless.
Byrd had not distanced himself too far from me, though, where
government operations were concerned. When I was "over the rainbow"
in D.C. during the summer of ’87, it was business as usual with Byrd.
I was escorted to Goddard Space Flight Center where Byrd was waiting
for me in a sterile hallway near the brass-trimmed, mirrored
elevators. He was loaded down with items, which he deposited on a
small table as he greeted me.
He picked up a NASA ID badge and
clipped it on my nipple, the metal teeth biting me with their
serrated edges. When I (softly) cried out, he said, "Oh OK. I l l
wear it," removed it, and clipped it on his white lab coat. He handed
me a NASA lab coat like his and a white hard bat. His hard hat
suggestively and "humorously" said HARD in bold red letters. My hat
said NASA, in a mirror reversal of the standard bold red lettering.
When I read it in a mirror, it appeared as though I were on the
side of the mirror and needed to step through (according to Alice
In Wonderland/NASA programming). It also clearly indicated to
those-in-the- know that I was under mind control. Byrd looked at his
pocket watch prompting a wave of terror in me, and said in Wonderland
cryptic, "We’re late. As the elevator drops down the rabbit hole,
we’ll reverse time in order to get there a few minutes early."
Byrd spun me around to face the elevator’s mirrored doors saying,
"Look deep into the mirror and be all that you can be by becoming
infinitely lost in all that you see." Byrd timed his hypnotic
induction so that when he ordered. "Step through the mirror," the
doors opened and we stepped through.
As the elevator supposedly went "down 99 (taken from Aquino’s corny
reversal of 66) levels to the depths of hell," Byrd told me the
Earth "spins faster and faster at the core, causing us to spiral
downward in a tornado effect." I dropped deeper in my hypnotic
trance. The elevator doors opened to what appeared to me as an exact
replica of the floor we just left. However, this floor’s hallway led
to a computer room and sanitized-looking lab area.
Several of the
scientists working there were amused by our hats, prompting Byrd to
ham up his comedic act, Byrd ignored the fact that these NASA
workers, like many others, may have deliberately stroked his
entertainer’s ego because they relied on his appropriations for
Byrd made me robotically announce to the workers,
"He’s taking me to
"I’m the Commander, here," the apparent director of the underground
lab said. The workers again busied themselves as he stood, arms
folded defensively across his chest, while his bespectacled
intelligent eyes darted the room surveying the situation.
Commander had a few, grey strands salting his short, dark hair, yet
his build was surprisingly youthful and trim for his age. He and
Byrd apparently knew each other quite well. Byrd strode over to
him, dragging me along.
"Tom," Byrd called to his 50ish 6’ 1" friend.
"This is your specimen of the day that I promised I would deliver. I
will be most interested to see what you can deliver since diplomatic
relations with Mexico depends on it. Not that I want to increase any
pressure you may feel, but we need seven more just like her to stuff
in the mouth of his royal Lizardry (de la Madrid) to keep him from
spilling his guts on the project."
"It’s just as well, my friend," the Commander said, stroking his
chin without uncrossing his arms. "That way he can’t talk without
"That’s the way the Chief feels about it," Byrd agreed. "He’s
already in deep anyway, but this order (for slaves) hits him closer
to home since they’ll be serving him personally."
We walked to a clinical, sanitized area that had a maze of small
rooms where I was undressed and prepped for the lab. A nurse of sorts
injected me with the NASA "Tranquility" drug and instructed me to put
my lab coat back on. "Walk this way," she ordered as she led me down
the hall, swinging her hips in an exaggerated manner. I immediately
complied. The Tranquility drug had no recreational affects, but
produced an attitude of peaceful compliance to all orders given. As
we approached the theater-type lab, a small group of men who would
be in attendance were talking with Byrd and the so-called
Commander. They looked at us and laughed at my literal compliance to
walk like the nurse.
I was then led by the Commander to a "backstage" entrance which
was actually a glass-encased lab surrounded by seats in ascending
rows. Scientists in NASA lab coats looked down on the lab table where
I lay as the Commander wired me up to a computerized machine. A
camera was positioned high in one comer of the room, filming all
I was aware through conversations between
the Commander that de la Madrid had requested a video of the latest
advancements in mind-control technique being used to create his seven
slaves. In reality, the camera was filming scientific methodisms
salted with "comic" misinformation as a humorous "no" to his
Since I was considered "used up" and my death was imminent, the
Commander told the scientists to "feel free to fuck the lab
specimen", "But first," he said, "before you satisfy your mental and
physical curiosities sampling the President’s (Reagan’s) wares, we
must satisfy El President’s (de La Madrid’s) perverse intellect with
a little space humor." He turned to one of the technical workers and
"You’re going to have to edit this tape for de La Madrid’s
benefit and take this part out while we prepare her for an ’off
color’ chameleon joke."
A live lizard encased in a glass test tube of sorts was inserted in
my vagina. The camera was focused on the area while my legs were
spread in a birthing position. Acting as though I had conceived
while having sex with de la Madrid, the Commander said,
"Now for the
finished product, which in layman’s terms equates to the
reproductive offspring of a Lizard breeding machine."
He dramatically snapped on a rubber
glove and probed me as though he were giving me a gynecological
exam. In fact, he was opening the trap door of the Lizard’s tube to
turn him out. Very slowly, the sluggish lizard poked his head out of
my vagina and crawled out onto the metal table, "This concludes all
of the experimentation demonstration of the cloning of a
Presidential model," the Commander said.
I apparently had been selected as the prototype for the seven
programmed slaves de La Madrid had requested. De la Madrid was
interested in NASA programmed staves that would be vaginally
mutilated like I was. He was sexually obsessed with the hideous
carving. I have no way of knowing what, if any, technological
advancements were actually provided to de la Madrid via the film. I
only know that deliberate misinformation tainted the methodologies
depicted, and that I had never experienced programming
or testing before or at the time by any such methods.
This video created for "his Royal Lizardry" was one of many cryptic
lizard themes that NASA used in its Mexican operations. All of my
programmed roles in Mexico involved the prolific, local, iguana
lizards. De la Madrid had relayed the "legend of the Iguana" to me,
explaining that lizard-like Aliens had descended upon the Mayans. The
Mayan pyramids, their advanced astronomical technology, including
the sacrifice of virgins, was supposedly inspired by the lizard
He told me that when the aliens
interbred with the Mayans to produce a form of life they could
inhabit, they fluctuated between a-human and Iguana appearance
through chameleon-like abilities. "A perfect vehicle for
transforming into world leaders." De la Madrid claimed to have
Mayan/alien ancestry in his blood, whereby he transformed "back into
an Iguana at will." De la Madrid produced a hologram similar to the
one Bush did
in his You Are What You Read initiation.
His hologram of lizard-like
tongue and eyes produced the illusion that he was transforming into
an Iguana. While in Mexico, I was always ordered to wait by rocks
where the abundant Iguanas sunned before being "trance-ported" to my
scheduled meetings with "his Royal Lizardry," the Lizard of Ahs.
Back to The Reptilian Saga
IN THE INTEREST OF TIME AND SPACE
Senator Patrick Leahy (D-Vermont), who served as vice chairman on
U.S. Senate Intelligence Committee in 1985-86, was a "friend" of
Senator Byrd. Leahy’s position on Byrd’s Senate Appropriations
Committee, coupled with his former position in Intelligence,
afforded him an inordinate amount of power and influence. While I
had cause to have contact with Senator Leahy on numerous occasions,
Kelly was apparently more familiar with him than I. This was
evidenced by our meeting with him in Vermont in the late summer of
Alex Houston was booked to "entertain" at the State Fair in Rutland,
Vermont. The entire trip proved to be a whirlwind of covert activity
for me, during which time I obtained a packet of papers from an
unidentified operative with orders to hand deliver them to Senator
Leahy. Kelly had been kept as busy as I, since Boxcar Willie and
other CIA operative pedophiles were in abundance at the fair in
Leahy’s home state.
President Reagan had given me specific orders to carry out while in
Vermont, which included delivering a message to "Patrick" for him.
He also told me,
"When you go to Vermont, be sure and go by ("buy")
Literally interpreting what he suggested, I asked, "The whole
"No," Reagan laughed. "I meant stop by there.
I didn’t mean buy the
whole store. I already own it. Just buy a few things, like an LL
Bean Swiss Army Knife." 1
When Reagan said he "already owned" LL Bean, I thought he was
referring to the amount of shopping he did there." He wore LL Bean
shirts, sweaters, and slippers; slept on LL Bean flannel sheets in
his LL Bean pajamas; and carried his "Presidential" black, LL Bean,
Swiss Army Knife, with which he cleaned his fingernails. But I
learned the real significance of Reagan’s statement when I "stopped
by" the Vermont LL Bean outlet on the final day of Houston’s
lengthy Vermont State Fair engagement.
The LL Bean outlet, located near the fop of supposedly the highest
mountain in the pristine forest, appeared to be a store front for
CIA covert activity. When I asked the ’clerk’ assigned to Kelly and
me for a black, Swiss Army Knife, his response was indicative of
familiarity with government covert operations. Using the old familiar
statement (trigger), he ordered Kelly and me to "Walk this way," as
he led us through a storage area and out the back door. There, a
black, unmarked helicopter was waiting on a pad for us.
The pilot flew us a short distance to the top of a mountain, where
we landed in a clearing next to a house that appeared to have no
other access. The place was run like a fortress, and two guards in
suits met us as Kelly and I emerged from the helicopter. The guards
escorted us into the house, keeping Kelly while I met with Senator
I walked into an office-type room that had a panoramic view of the
wilderness, where Leahy was leaning against a highly polished,
wooden desk. He was wearing an orange flannel shirt that lost its
purpose in crispness. It was my experience that Leahy’s
surroundings, like his appearance, were as sanitized as possible.
I delivered the documents and message as ordered. Leahy then
proceeded to explain that he was aware that my death was imminent due
to my groundwork
participation in NAFTA, and that subsequently Kelly would be traded
to the West Coast pornography operation. Not only did he obviously
want to join in on "using me up" before my 30th birthday, but he had
"tracks" to cover-up where Kelly was concerned.
Most of my traumatic encounters with Leahy were alien-themed, but be
often relied on my Catholic upbringing to drive his points into my
mind. From my perspective, Leahy was unquestionably one of the most
intelligent criminals of this entire
Shadow Government. His
carefully contrived chameleon-like characteristics provided him the
latitude of appearing to share the principals and beliefs of whomever
he was masterfully manipulating on both a national and international
He won Reagan’s respect through their shared diplomatic ties
to the Vatican, and his Irish-Catholic heritage. While he appeared
publicly to oppose Byrd on Senate Appropriations issues, they
actually worked together behind the scenes in their shared world
Again from my perspective, Leahy was a loner who
had his own agenda and answered to no one I knew. Leahy’s
intelligence was often manifested to me by triple depth meaning to
his words and actions. Everything he did was for a deeper
purpose, and this trip to Vermont proved to be no different,
Kelly and I had been given what felt like a sophisticated variation
of the NASA CIA-designer drug, Tranquility, which turned us into the
robotic mind- controlled slaves that Senator Leahy preferred. As the
drug was overtaking me, I attentively listened to what Leahy was
"God condones that one," Leahy said, referring to both my role in
NAFTA and his pedophile abuse of my daughter.
"Of course, God is not
the one you need to be concerned with. He is a passive God, One who’s
passed on and lives only in a Bible. The God you need to be
concerning yourself with is the all-seeing, all-knowing God. That
great, big, Eye in the Sky. It sees all, records all, and transmits
the information right where it’s needed.
Let me give you some sound
advice-Keep your mouth shut and none of this need be known anywhere.
Only your Vice President (Bush) will know for sure, and he’s been
keeping secrets all his life. I’m not suggesting George Bush is
Oh no, he is much more than that. He is a semi-God, which means he is
straddling the heavenly and earthly planes in order that he take
action on what he sees with his ever watchful Eye In The Sky."
Content with his metaphorical manipulation of my literal mind, he
finished, "Now, that’s enough fore-play. Go get the kid."
Kelly was standing quietly and robotically just outside the door
with the two guards. They ushered us down the hall, through an
ornately carved door, and into Leahy’s bedroom. The room was highly
effeminate for a man, decorated in pastels, white eyelet, and huge
billowy pillows. When the Senator walked in, Kelly groaned, "Noooo,
not you again", Leahy signaled Kelly with his hand, thus switching
her into total silence and submission.
Then, accessing specific
personality fragments that previously re-compartmentalized in my mind
from Bush’s and Byrd’s sexual abuse of Kelly, Leahy began
undressing. His pale skin looked even whiter against the white
eyelet sheets, which seemed to accentuate the perversity of his
pedophile actions with my daughter that I was forced to watch. His
torturous abuse complete, Leahy ordered Kelly and me to follow him
downstairs to his "torture lab",
I had seen and experienced basement "spy conditioning" torture
chambers before both in the U.S. and Mexico, and Leahy’s "torture
lab" looked more like a NASA lab. His access to the latest
advancements in electronic/drug mind-control technology was
consistent with his ability to use it. I was immediately
strapped to a cold, chrome and stainless steel table by the two
guards. Leahy began reciting, "Cross your heart and hope to die,
Stick a needle in your eye".
A wirey "needle" was pushed slowly into
my right eye while Kelly was forced to watch. This entire ordeal was
directed for trauma purposes primarily at Kelly since Leahy figured I
would be dead soon anyway. "If you holler, if you cry, Kelly will be
the first to die. Pray to God and Bush will hear, because his Eye now
has an ear."
Leahy interrupted his poem to explain that I was now a
"computer-eyesd" link-up to Bush’s Eye in the Sky, with the
needle-like "antenna" transmitting every word Kelly spoke. He
continued with me, "Each word you speak, each breath you sigh, ’Your
eye trance-mits to the Eye in the Sky". Kelly believed it, which
locked her into silence. Leahy’s secret was safe-for the moment.
While I was literally out of my mind from intense pain, Leahy
utilized the opportunity to program me with what he said was
financial information to deliver to Byrd. This required no
"personality", therefore the shattered fragments Leahy had
deliberately shifted me into when raping Kelly would be ideal to
"computer-eyes" his message. He told me that my body was a
link him up to the Eye in the Sky, where he was transmitting the
information for storage until such time as Byrd accessed it. "Only
the tiniest little prick can access the computer-eyesd’ storage
bank," Leahy said, laughing at his own double meaning mockery of
Byrd’s penis size.
This was not the first time Leahy transferred apparently sensitive
U.S. Government intelligence information to Byrd through me. I had
photographically recorded numbers in my mind’s "computer banks"
ever since Leahy prepared me for the task some months before at
White Sands Missile Base in New Mexico. It was there in the TOP
SECRET mind-control area of the base that Leahy subjected me to
extreme tortures and high-tech programming.
Combining purposes as
usual, Leahy was saying, "Funding will continue to be approved as
long as (mind-control) Projects such as this continue to receive your
full attention". I was treated like a lab animal with no apparent
regard for whether I lived or died. I was put in an electrified
metal walled and floored cell, referred to by some as the woodpecker
grid, which provided inescapable physical torture.
In spite of his tortures, intelligence, high-tech methodism, and
sophisticated mind manipulations, Senator Leahy failed to cover his
"secrets"—including his sexual abuse of Kelly. He did succeed,
however, in causing Kelly and me to be hospitalized from his
torturous abuses upon our return to Tennessee. I had suffered
excruciating pain and irreparable damage to my right eye, while
Kelly psychosomatically suffered respiratory failure due to his
extreme traumas. The physical manifestations of the psychological
devastation wreaked on us by Senator Leahy failed to raise questions
from outsiders as to the cause.
Equally worthy of mention, are numerous other high profile
perpetrators that Kelly and I had exposure to over the years. These
individuals, in spite of the CIA’s "need-to-know" M.O. of
maintaining "the left hand does not know what the right hand is
doing," were in positions to be knowledgeable of Kelly’s and my
victimizations. All of them accessed our programming either for
drug distribution, banking/message delivery, mind-control
demonstrations, or, most often, for their perverse sexual
These too numerous individuals and events are significant chapters
in my life who, in the interest of time and space, will be fully
exposed in a forthcoming book. Rather than point a finger at these
individuals for reasons of
"vengeance" (there is none comparable), they must be publicly
identified for all our sakes and, above all, for our children’s
Therefore, a list of perpe-Traitors has been compiled and
strategically distributed for posterity, as well as to prevent these
individuals from interfering in any Congressional hearings 2 that
should be forthcoming as a result of this exposure.
1 Black LL Bean Swiss Army Knives were a coded indicator of White
House-level operations. Red LL Bean Swiss Army Knives, and regular
Swiss Army Knives were a standard CIA indicator with which I was
2 Please support us in this effort by writing your Congressmen.
THE KING AND EYE
Saudi Arabia threaded in and out of most operations in which I was
involved, primarily due to their purchase and routing of weapons,
drugs, and blond-haired, blue-eyed programmed children. According to
George Bush’s claims, Saudi Arabia was in essence a controlled
financial arm of the United States. Saudi Arabian King Fahd and his
Ambassador to the U.S., Prince Bandar, provided a front for the
unconstitutional and criminal covert operations of the U.S.
included the arming of Iraq and the Nicaraguan Contras;
U.S. involvement in the Bank of Credit and Commerce International
(B.C.C.I.) scandal; and funding of the
Black Budget through purchase
of our nation’s children to be used as sex slaves and camel jockeys.
Since the U.S. "won" control of the drug industries through the
so-called Drug Wars, Saudi Arabia played an integral role in
It was my experience that Bush’s claim of having
Arabian King Fahd as his puppet was, in fact, reality. It was only
natural that criminal diplomatic relations with Mexico interface
with Saudi Arabia under the circumstances. After all, King Fahd and
Mexican President Miguel de la Madrid were active members of George
Bush’s elite "Neighborhood" in the New World Order. Before I left
Washington, D.C., it, was "my duty as a (programmed) American
Patriot" to participate in initiating the King and Eye branch of
Operation Greenbacks for Wetbacks.
While plans were being finalized for a clandestine 3:00 A.M. meeting
at L’Enfante Hotel which I would be attending, I was rushed around
D.C. gathering last minute messages and information. I had no choice
in leaving. Kelly at Bush’s Residence Office where Houston had
dropped us off earlier in the day for my initial briefing.
Congressman Guy VanderJagt was in Bush’s office along with Dick
Cheney when we arrived. Before taking Kelly upstairs to the residence
area, VanderJagt told Bush his story about taking my virginity when I
was a small child. He recommended Bush do the same to Kelly
before someone else "beat him to it". Bush laughed and replied, "What
makes you think I haven’t?""
VanderJagt look Kelly by the hand and led her upstairs while Bush
and Cheney began giving me my instructions. Bush joked about working
"grave yard" in the "shadows" for "the White House night shift" of
the King and Eye operation. Cheney began my instructions with the
usual threat to Kelly’s life, and was interrupted by a phone call
ordering me over to the White House.
The whole time I was gone, I
experienced a sensation of panic and dread at having had to leave
Kelly at Bush’s. Although I could not think to reason, the
Shasta experience had left me with an incomprehensible subconscious
fear for Kelly’s life that was compounded by Cheney’s most recent
threats. I was apprehensive when I was returned to Bush’s house late
that evening for completion of my instructions. A party was
underway, and I was dismayed to see the place so crowded yet void of
As I made my way through the crowd, Cheney saw me and started
across the room towards me, I spotted VanderJagt nearby, who had been
drinking excessively, and anxiously asked him where Kelly was. He
said, "Upstairs sleeping, George is expecting you". I wanted
desperately to go to Kelly, but Cheney, who was drunk as usual, had
reached me by that time.
"Walk this way," Cheney slurred. He imitated the Oz Scarecrow’s walk
as he led me through the middle of the crowd to Bush’s office. Bush
was busy behind his desk, and his tension was apparent. He said,
"Phil Habib is doing a number on his highness’ (Fahd’s) head, I want
you to do a number on his ’dick’".
"Please," Dick Cheney groaned at the term. "That means give him a
Royal fucking. Wear him out. You’re going on a magic carpet ride
tonight, little Genie, down through the rabbit hole, through the
mirror and we’ll meet you on the other side."
"Good. He’d better have a smile on his face when we walk in (to the
A.M. meeting)," Bush told me as I went out the door. "If you do your
part right, he will."
I was escorted to L’Enfante Hotel where I was to be prostituted to
King Fahd. I had been exposed to him sexually before, but this was
my first time with him and his five young girls. Physical likeness
characteristics strongly suggested that these Saudi Arabian girls
were his own children.
Their ages ranged from approximately ten to
twenty years old. Indicating Genie-in-the-Bottle programming, of
which Fahd was familiar, I bowed and said, "Your wish is my command",
Fahd’s first wish was for information, which I told him I would
deliver later at the meeting. Fahd "disrobed" as his girls removed
my dress. Then they "prepared" me as ordered by "washing me" with
their tongues, while the youngest briefly performed oral sex on him.
The girls were ordered aside while I proceeded to sexually gratify Fahd according to his instruction and those I had received earlier
from Cheney and Bush. When I finished doing "my part" in the name of
"Diplomatic Relations," Habib was at the door to escort me out. I
was to meet with Fahd again at 3:00 A.M. in Habib’s suite.
As I stepped out the door, Habib was impatiently hopping up and down
like be was energized from cocaine. Using his role as White Rabbit,
he said in Wonderland cryptic, "We’re late! We’re late! For a very
important date!" He led me downstairs to the entrance of the hotel,
where Bush and Cheney had just walked in looking ridiculously
conspicuous in their trench coats.
Bush immediately ordered Habib, "Call in" and gestured to the phone
across’ the lobby. Habib turned and hurried for the phone. Cheney
dashed up the stairs, leaving me alone with Bush. Bush said,
referring to Habib, "Don’t you love to see the wabbit hop?"
When Cheney returned a moment later, my (identified) Secret Service
escort led me to the boutique area of the hotel to wait while the
meeting in Habib’s suite got under way. I had endured water
deprivation for some time, which my escort noted as we sat near a
fountain. He told me his orders were, "You can lead a whore to
water, but you can’t let her drink." He teased me further, stating
that he knew I could "suck the humps of a thousand camels dry." At
last, he took me on to the meeting in Habib’s room, where Bush,
Cheney, Fahd, and Habib were in the midst of discussion.
Bush accessed the messages and bank transaction details I was
programmed with at Shasta, and ordered me to relay an account of my
meeting with de La Madrid and subsequent opening of the Juarez
border. The complexities of this meeting, compounded by my being
privy only to certain parts, should not be documented here out of
I do know that Bush was setting the stage for implementing
the New World Order, using Mexico and Saudi Arabia’s roles for cover
and for further expansion of U.S. covert criminal activity. This
included the arming of Iraq with weapons and chemical warfare
message Reagan had me programmed with earlier that day was further
evidence of this.
I delivered Reagan’s message to King Fahd as
"Greetings to King Fahd from President Reagan. The negotiations you
are about to embark on are not only critical to the world peace
process, but may solidify U.S.-Saudi relations beyond your wildest
expectations. You have my word that what appears to be the building
up of forces in Iraq is but a mirage in the whirlwind. And when this
operation is completed and the dust finally settles, you will see
that the sands have shifted in time, running out on our adversaries
and shifting all power and control to our unified effort.
stand to conquer all in the name of world peace and world order, and
I am confident that together we can not fail. The more Saddam
destroys is that much less for us to do and deal with when we
implement the Order. In the meantime, we all have much to gain and
not a moment to lose."
It was raining by the time I was escorted back to Bush’s residence
where Houston was waiting to take Kelly and me back to Tennessee.
1 The Alaska state-appointed child sexual abuse physician’s exam and
photos corroborate that, for once, Bush may have told the truth.
A PLACE TO RUN, NO NEED TO HIDE
Alex Houston had maintained his capacitor distributing business
cover throughout the years, routinely changing company names and
customers. By summer’s end in 1987, Houston had stumbled onto a
legitimate sales inquiry from the Peoples Republic of China, Unable
to profitably manage a legal business, he look on a partner whom he
said checked out to have a curious but inconclusive association in
This partner was Mark Phillips. Houston had forbid
me from meeting Mark until his background check was completed and his
allegiances understood. As much as he was intrigued with Mark’s
past, Houston was enthralled with his propensity for conducting
inter- national business. In exchange for Mark’s cooperation,
Houston and he formed a legal corporation. Mark Phillips became
President and CEO of Uniphayse. It wasn’t long thereafter that he won
Houston’s confidence through repeated professional successes, and
Houston permitted me to meet him.
I sensed right away that Mark was very different from the other men
I encountered routinely. He treated me as though I were a person, and
his eyes revealed no sexual interest in me at all. Instead of
discussing world domination, slavery, pornography, drugs, and
genocide like the other men I knew, he introduced me to the raccoons
he had years ago rescued from certain death and then tamed. I was
deeply impressed with how his "wild" pets loved and trusted him.
I could not think to trust, ask for help, or even question at the time
what it was that made Mark different.
In the fall of 1987, Kelly was enrolled in Nashville, Tennessee’s
St. Pius Catholic School. Her unusual behaviors were addressed in
school counseling, but their causes and/or origins were never
addressed. Kelly still laughs at the absurdity of being counseled to
vent her "anger" by scribbling the source of her anger on a piece of
paper and then jumping on it. With her "anger" being caused by
extreme physical and psychological tortures and sexual abuse, it
could not be so simplistically relieved.
Houston had forbidden Kelly
to display emotion, and had so conditioned her. Once, when he
savagely beat her for laughing, I huddled in a corner holding her for
hours. That did not positively affect her enormous nurturing needs
any more than jumping on a piece of paper. With tears streaming down
her face, she opened her bedroom curtains and cried out to what she
believed was "Bush’s Eye in the Sky". "Why do you hate me? Why do
you hate me so much, world, when I love you? I want to die now. I can’t take it any more."
That, as evidenced by the near death asthma attack she endured,
further proved that Houston’s tortures were too much for a
seven-year-old child to co- exist with. In retrospect, that
remaining part of her mind that could question why her existence was
too horrible to comprehend was locked away- And so it goes in the
"life" of a mind-controlled slave.
In December 1987, my 30th birthday launched the final countdown to
my death. Houston was in regular contact with Michael Dante (as
telephone receipts prove), and arrangements were finalized for Kelly
and me to be transferred to California. There, I was supposed to be
burned alive in a snuff pornography film and Kelly would become the
property of Dante. But first, I had orders to conclude my part in
Operation Greenbacks for Wetbacks by
meeting with de la Madrid.
Houston had booked a New Year’s NCL
Mexico for all three of us. Kelly and I were walking among the
Mexican pyramid ruins in Tulum, when Houston pointed out an iguana
lizard sunning itself on a rock near the parking lot. As Kelly and I
approached the iguana, two Mexican Secret Servicemen emerged from a
dark blue Mercedes.
They used the keys, codes, and triggers to our
programming that had been provided them to hypnotically create the
illusion that the iguana was trance-forming into de la Madrid. This
control technique was to build an amnesic block to ensure against
In reality, we were transported by automobile to de La Madrid’s
museum-style house nearby. There, Kelly and I were taken into his
familiar bedroom by a uniformed matronly woman. De la Madrid’s bed
king-size waterbed set in a dark wood canopy frame. This time the
was a plush black-blood red, which de la Madrid pointed out to Kelly
as he set
her on the bed. It was my experience that de la Madrid’s bed was in
NASA technology adventure.
Mounted inside of the canopy was a movie screen where de La Madrid
viewed porn videos and/or NASA-provided films. From his bed I
saw replicas of the NASA Goldstar multi-screen monitors that were
routinely used in "experimental" mind-control conditioning. By
filming the actual NASA multi-screen grouped monitors, the resultant
video provided the illusion of seeing a Goldstar multi-screen when
shown on a (single) screen such as was built into de la Madrid’s bed
For example, once when I was in his bed, the same light blue
sky with moving clouds was depicted on the monitor screens that NASA
had used to lock-in my programming "Somewhere in Time," de la Madrid
showed on his canopy movie screen. He further enhanced the effect
by having me hypnotically "float/drift" on his waterbed which he had
covered with a spread of similar light blue sky with clouds print.
My previous NASA programming was easily accessed "Somewhere in Time"
through this simple, but nevertheless complex visual triggering
method. The pornography shown was of me from previous taping,
alternating with a built-in video camera projecting our sex acts
onto the screen as they occurred.
This time de la Madrid said, "Let us end where we began...,"
referring to my witnessing the rape of my daughter in Shasta. He
ordered me to undress and recline against the headboard of his bed.
At the foot of the bed, he began pulling Kelly’s jeans off as he
"You gave birth to her, just as you gave birth to the border
agreement, and now your role is through on both counts. The tears she
will shed as you burn cannot extinguish the flames of passion you
have passed on to her. Your intense sexuality has been regenerated
in her, and this hormonal experiment in genetics will successfully
evolve for generations to come.
Your role is complete. And thanks to
my friends in Washington, NASA has perfected the formula and given
birth to the technology of mirrored procreation using recreated
bloodlines. The only detectable difference makes the blood run cold.
Reptilian. See for yourself"
De la Madrid gestured up toward the canopy screen, where the NASA
created video of my "giving birth" to the lizard was depicted. By
this time, the NASA provided designer drug for mind control,
"Tranquility," had been administered and was kicking in full force.
My eyes were hypnotically fixed on the video as he began performing
oral sex on my daughter.
She, too, was rendered helplessly
defenseless by the drug and quietly complied with his every demand.
Using specific commands, de la Madrid ordered me to spread my legs
and display the vaginal mutilation carving. He positioned himself
over Kelly’s face, smothering her with his penis while he performed
oral sex on my carving.
When at last we were returned to the NCL cruise ship, Kelly and I
were vomiting sick from de la Madrid’s abuse and the high voltage
trauma that followed. An unusually large shipment of cocaine and
heroin had been loaded, which was transferred into the walls of our
custom built motor home once we docked at Key Biscayne, Florida.
Houston supposedly stayed aboard ship for the next week of his
engagement, while I drove the motor home full of drugs and my sick
daughter to Houston’s farm where we resided in Tennessee.
By the time Houston returned to Tennessee from his NCL cruise,
Riley had already emptied the motor home and dispersed the drugs as
previously planned. The only business Houston had to attend was
implementing the final phase of trance-ferring Kelly and me to Dante
and being updated on Mark Phillips’ latest successes.
Houston immediately began programming me to not take anything
but Kelly’s and my clothes when sent to Dante. At the same lime, Mark
Phillips and I had reached a level of communication that was new to
me. Although I had no conscious understanding of what he was saying,
the truths he spoke resounded throughout the depths of my being. For
instance, when he showed me his "Back to the Future" Delorean sports
car, he wisely cryptically stated, "Sometimes you have to know where
you’ve been in order to know where you’re going."
Just before Kelly and I were to leave for California, Mark asked me
to help him force Houston out of business by providing him with the
files on suspected (corporate) criminal activity that Houston kept
hidden at our house. Not only did I gladly do so, but "somehow" I
was able to ask for Help in return. I asked him to help Kelly and me
get away from Houston before I was killed and Kelly was sentenced to
a fate worse than death. Mark assured me that he would help.
The day Houston intended for Kelly and me to be transferred to
Dante, I felt a strange compulsion to telephone Mark and notify him.
That morning, Houston drove to Mark’s office believing he was going
to meet with him later that day. But Mark had brought a team of
movers to the house, and rescued Kelly and me. He had brilliantly
intercepted us as we were being passed to our intended destination!
Mark even understood Kelly’s and my need to rescue our farm pets
from Houston’s abuse. He not only found good homes for our
live-stock, but he had arranged for them to be loaded and
transferred during our frantic rush to move out of Houston’s house.
Within two hours, Mark safely moved Kelly, me, our pets and
livestock to freedom. Despite brilliant orchestration, pandemonium
broke out when it was discovered that Kelly and I had been
intercepted and detoured from our intended demise.
"Wake up, sleeping beauty," Mark said as he gently roused me with a
cup of fresh coffee. "Welcome to a new day."
My eyes opened. I had never experienced such kindness before, and
it seemed like a whole new world to me. Mark presented me with a
beautiful watch, which he strapped on my wrist. Noting my wonder and
surprise, he explained, "Now you will always know that I gave you the
time of day."
The time of day? No one had ever given me their time before. They
only took mine. And I never wore a watch before. I did not even know
what month or year it was, let alone the tune of day. I had no
concept of time, which Mark explained I must always monitor from that
"You say someone is trying to kill you. Why?" Mark asked.
not think to answer. I was totally amnesic. All three of us were now
in grave jeopardy, literally dodging bullets while I desperately
sought the answers. How could I have requested help when I did not
even know who and/or what I was running from? Somewhere inside were
the answers, and I intended to uncover them all. Fast. Now there
were three lives on the line.
Mark understood that safety was tantamount to memory recovery. At
the same time, none of us could be safe until I could recall who and
what we were up against. Mark quickly sold everything he owned,
including his DeLorean, retaining only basic necessities. He also
sold the motor home which had been awarded me in my divorce from Alex
Houston. Using these funds, Mark took Kelly and me to the peaceful
wilderness of Alaska.
February 4, 1988 marked the beginning of life for Kelly and me, free
from our mind-controlled existence. It also marked the beginning of
a new kind of survival as we embarked on "The Most Dangerous Game"
of international proportions. Despite death threats and attempts,
intimidation and cover-ups, we have survived these past seven years
by refusing to keep secrets - which is in itself "another story."
1 As quickly as the accuracy of my deprogramming notes were
corroborated and/or verified, abstracts of various experiences and
identification of abusers were vastly disseminated. Those who read
these abstracts over the years, literally watched me gain