It is a detailed attempt to describe who, what, when, where, and the why of it all. Mostly cold cases, I should imagine, but then great investigative leads for those in that business.
https://picasaweb.google.com/102808565057379993580/GaryConditSLongListOfVictimsAndIVeKnownManyOfThem#5412337846899755714
Imagine being put into espionage by the US Army because your father is a high-ranking East German Communist STASI Master Spy. So they train you in German, send you to Germany, you witness and are made to do things, you find out he's putting into place another one of his sons as US President, and then they give you a new "Life" as a trucker in Wyoming. All along the way people die around you like flies in horrible ways, and the suspicions rest on you. You can't leave.
Wednesday, June 25, 2014
Tuesday, June 24, 2014
Birther Report's criminal expert says 0bama is just a "CIA Intelligence Product."
This lends credence to all my past claims that 0bama's real father was former East German Communist STASI Gen. Markus Wolf, who was "Turned" in 1977, long before publicly known.
I know, because I was ushered in US Army MI in 1974 and told I'd be sent there to lure him to the West, where he was. I was told that he was my actual natural father, and I do, indeed, have early memories of him once doing that before to see when I was a kindergartener in Augberg.
I had several occaisons to meet with Gen. Wolf during his debriefing, and learned that he had deliberately bred others with specific genetic traits to mirror his own. To include the "Perfect President-To-Be," for the US, a kind of Master Communist Plan. All their propaganda efforts would go to this in subsequent years.
Yet I was sent to ground with all this and other things.
If you study the dates and events of this following article you will see how Gen. Wolf had arraigned for 0bama's adoptions, covering up his true parentage.
Wolf was white, and his mother a black Indonesian.
Note all of 0bama's false documentation is professionally chosen - To look good on the surface, and yet cleverly spiked to be found out one day. A good example is his Connecticut SSN#. It comes from a dead psychiatric patient, whose facility was but a mile from the famous "Sandy Hook" orchestration.
To see a SS card, one at first would not doubt it. One has to know, specifically, that the first three numbers identify the state it is registered in, and it could be proven later that 0bama never lived in Connecticut.
0bama's birth certificate is very similar. Being adopted so many times, his real father is totally hidden - Unless a true copy has been salted away for the day his "Stewarding of the Presidency," as a CIA Disinformation Campaign ends.
Like now? 0bama's clearly sinking faster than the Titanic.
You can see why he'd spend $millions to keep it secret, for it would destroy his own dream of communizing and destroying America, as he was indoctrinated to do from birth through Gen. Wolf.
Now that 0bama's ineligibility (His parents were certainly NOT American Citizens, and his father a Communist Espionage Master Spy!) comes to light, the overall clear intent of the CIA becomes clear.
I was told, in 1977, when going to ground (See my enovel, BRED TO BE A MANCHURIAN CANDIDATE) that my end goal of completion of mission, military rank, past pay and the like involved a couple things:
One was for me to publize this. I've been doing that.
I was to remember the phrase, "How do we lure all of the moles and spies out of the woodwork? Well, we'll hoist - We can't use the word 'hang' in this case with a black guy - a 'Barry Soetoro' from the flagpole, and see who salutes."
That was my boss and agent handler, newly promoted Dir. CIA, George Herbert Walker Bush. He has often spoken of "Stewarding the Presidency," a necessity since the beginning of the Communist attack upon the Office of the President with JFK.
One of my duties was to independently declassify the identity of the "Young shooter on the Grassy Knoll," and that's in my enovel, too. Of course, my going-to-ground-duty was pretty much With Prejudice, as one can tell from my subsequent lifestyle.
So, the term of 0bama giving the enemy everything they could ever have wanted to see happen to America - Except the Sting: We DID NOT get stupid and invade Ukraine and Iraq again... etc.
Means, using the Commies' own timetable, we now bring it down. With the revelation of 0bama's true birth certificate, probably at the Phoenix Federal Court in a Hearing, probably on 6/25/2014, we end it all.
With 0bama declared "Ineligible," so is NULL AND VOID everything he's signed, appointed, indebted... Ect.
Let the Games begin!
http://www.birtherreport.com/2014/06/shocker-criminology-professor-explains.html
I know, because I was ushered in US Army MI in 1974 and told I'd be sent there to lure him to the West, where he was. I was told that he was my actual natural father, and I do, indeed, have early memories of him once doing that before to see when I was a kindergartener in Augberg.
I had several occaisons to meet with Gen. Wolf during his debriefing, and learned that he had deliberately bred others with specific genetic traits to mirror his own. To include the "Perfect President-To-Be," for the US, a kind of Master Communist Plan. All their propaganda efforts would go to this in subsequent years.
Yet I was sent to ground with all this and other things.
If you study the dates and events of this following article you will see how Gen. Wolf had arraigned for 0bama's adoptions, covering up his true parentage.
Wolf was white, and his mother a black Indonesian.
Note all of 0bama's false documentation is professionally chosen - To look good on the surface, and yet cleverly spiked to be found out one day. A good example is his Connecticut SSN#. It comes from a dead psychiatric patient, whose facility was but a mile from the famous "Sandy Hook" orchestration.
To see a SS card, one at first would not doubt it. One has to know, specifically, that the first three numbers identify the state it is registered in, and it could be proven later that 0bama never lived in Connecticut.
0bama's birth certificate is very similar. Being adopted so many times, his real father is totally hidden - Unless a true copy has been salted away for the day his "Stewarding of the Presidency," as a CIA Disinformation Campaign ends.
Like now? 0bama's clearly sinking faster than the Titanic.
You can see why he'd spend $millions to keep it secret, for it would destroy his own dream of communizing and destroying America, as he was indoctrinated to do from birth through Gen. Wolf.
Now that 0bama's ineligibility (His parents were certainly NOT American Citizens, and his father a Communist Espionage Master Spy!) comes to light, the overall clear intent of the CIA becomes clear.
I was told, in 1977, when going to ground (See my enovel, BRED TO BE A MANCHURIAN CANDIDATE) that my end goal of completion of mission, military rank, past pay and the like involved a couple things:
One was for me to publize this. I've been doing that.
I was to remember the phrase, "How do we lure all of the moles and spies out of the woodwork? Well, we'll hoist - We can't use the word 'hang' in this case with a black guy - a 'Barry Soetoro' from the flagpole, and see who salutes."
That was my boss and agent handler, newly promoted Dir. CIA, George Herbert Walker Bush. He has often spoken of "Stewarding the Presidency," a necessity since the beginning of the Communist attack upon the Office of the President with JFK.
One of my duties was to independently declassify the identity of the "Young shooter on the Grassy Knoll," and that's in my enovel, too. Of course, my going-to-ground-duty was pretty much With Prejudice, as one can tell from my subsequent lifestyle.
 | |
| He would have been 15 years of age at the time, just starting his career as professional assassin |
So, the term of 0bama giving the enemy everything they could ever have wanted to see happen to America - Except the Sting: We DID NOT get stupid and invade Ukraine and Iraq again... etc.
Means, using the Commies' own timetable, we now bring it down. With the revelation of 0bama's true birth certificate, probably at the Phoenix Federal Court in a Hearing, probably on 6/25/2014, we end it all.
With 0bama declared "Ineligible," so is NULL AND VOID everything he's signed, appointed, indebted... Ect.
Let the Games begin!
http://www.birtherreport.com/2014/06/shocker-criminology-professor-explains.html
The mysterious but omnipresent "Mel H." in my life and his sexual/psychiatric destruction of it
I reference my previous writing, "VA Horror!" To describe how I was saddled with a 20-year hitch of being a "Congessionally-Paid Homosexual Serial Killer In Situ Study" by HI Judge Komo in 1994. At the behest of Secret Service Brian Larkin, and at the acquiescence of the Public Defender assigned to me. This "Plea Bargain" included 3 prior Security Breaches I'd been ordered to commit and keep secret about, and the witnessing of an actual disposal of such kind of crime by a "Sexual/political embarrassment disposal team" I'd witnessed, and also sworn to secrecy about. Not to mention... Well, uh...
Included in these files to be sent to Phoenix Federal Court under seal was also, as Larkin put it, "I'm not sure what it is, Your Honor, but it's the birth certificate from some Indonesian guy named Barry Soetoro. And his, too."
Meaning my own.
When AZ Sheriff's "Universe-shattering stuff" comes out, you'll understand.
"Why Phoenix?" The Judge had asked.
"Well, he gets this inheritance, and it's based in Phoenix... His psychological profile says he'll move to the Mainland and become a truck driver." Had said Larkin. Another issue.
And of course the Judge was impressed by the APA hocus-pocus. Something super-secret to seal about some kind of government homosexual deal. Without even reading what was in the sealed envelopes.
So when my wife insisted we sell our house and move to the Mainland, I was relieved to be away, and to try to start a new life.
That was not to be, for my designed "Reputation" preceded me, and became very well known in the local Platte Valley community, as spread about by Senior FBI Agent Jonstono.
I nearly got fried to a crisp in an Encampment VFD "Burning Trailer Exercise," for example. They REALLY don't like homosexuals or especially suspected ones, in Wyoming, and it shows.
So, my "Ex" (Wife) kept insisting we go to Cheyenne to go to an Oriental Store. But always pointing out the SAGE Truck Driving School there, as well.
It so happened that I eventually had to go there and get trained and hired as a truck driver.
Each and every trainer (3 of them, each flaking out because of meth) and co-driver would always try to hide their cell phone conversations as they got some kind of instructions. Each would try to press homosexuality and drug use, and even violent stuff on me. I got the drift: They wanted me to "Do it again." What the above-mentioned assassination team had done - And I had to keep secret about.
There'd be "Media input," such as a SWIFT flyer, that would describe how one shrink used a dunce cap to lure out paranoid schizophrenics, to "Help them."
She was at the Salt Lake City terminal twice in a row - And not another driver in sight. For me. The presumed guilty one. Suspected mind crimes, you know.
I finally gave up on SWIFT for reasons I detail elsewhere. Homesick for Wyoming, I went to the Job Center. The usual clerk suddenly had to leave for lunch, and I was to come back two hours later.
A woman I later ID'd as Cindy Delancy, local County Attorney and Feminist, met me alone in the suddenly empty office room.
She printed out a form, saying, "Oh, yes, if he gets you, he'll KEEP YOU."
Whatever that meant.
And then made calls which felt like she was getting some Judge's (Stebner?) approval on something. My "Wife" had pretty much laid a mind trip on him the way she had back on Maui with Judge Richard Komo. And, later, another female Judge in Rawlins. All of it a typical Feminist act of "Poor me!"
But it meant I had to go to work for, let's call it - M&B Water Service (sic) in Wamsutter as a water truck driver. Good thing the SWIFT personnel had INSISTED I also get HAZMAT certification in addition to my CDL.
In spite of interrogating me on whether I could pass the INTERPOL in order to go to Canada, since it seemed I was listed for something... In Europe...
So, at first happily driving water truck for this rinky-dink company, I was offered to drive as many hours as I wished. DOT regulations be damned.
There was a daily briefing, of course, and there was this somewhat quiet, but somehow authoritative tall fat dude there who subsequently tried to "Control" my life.
I'd be briefed on the workings of water tanker trucks, and be asked to inspect the outlet nozzle, on my knees, so that I'd "See how it sucked and blowed." I'd get my ass pinched by said "Supervisors," or just bumped into from behind.
"Fat F***", as I eventually did name him, would just "Happen" to be the sole person at some remote site I was to deliver water, and just have me "Hang around," as if there were something I was just dying to tell him, or the like.
But he usually used his real name, "Mel. H."
He would show up in many of my job center-sent oil field truck jobs in the next many years. As a "Sudden new supervisor."
I was assigned to put my camper next to the mechanic's, who usually had a six-pack for lunch. He'd spend the evening at the bar, and then bang on my door, proclaiming that he was a "Viet Vet Sniper," and would shoot me if I came out.
Then FF all of a sudden had to "Go to the Red Desert for a vacation." But he actually went to train as an oil truck driver. When he returned, it was announced that I would either train "Under him" as an oil truck driver or lose my job and these sudden new riches entirely.
I quit.
So, looking at the bulletin board at at the Job Center, I found Malesso (sic) Trucking, and that would be a story unto itself.
To be cont.
It was at Needlestacks (sic) Oil Heating company at Wamsutter that I wintered one year. I long no longer trusted the job referrals given me by the job center, so I took up an ad on the radio to take work with them.
Right away, there was a "New Senior Person," made it clear he wasn't going to do anything he didn't want to do, etc...
I was assigned to go with him in the methane truck for pressure testing at one of the sites: Simply put, he ran me through several "Shrinkola" tests, like, "Rick, go use this metal wrench and gauge what the (Highly volatile) methane level is in the tank. You don't need a mask."
Since I knew that if the methane concentration were such that it was dangerous, he'd be wearing a mask, and wasn't. He'd fiddled in there, and had not been overcome with anything. It was more Shrinkola, and I had to put up with that all the time.
When we suddenly got the choice job of doing the Frac heating at an oil site, I was happy. 12 hour shifts, and as I had been told innumerable times, all's one did was to watch CD's and get up once an hour to check the gauges.
But I noticed that the site's Security Officer actually came by hourly to dutifully log such readings in detail. So why not us?
Instead, FF, or the others would provide pornographic CD's, and until I brought my own laptop, there was nothing else to do, except walk around.
Which they found suspicious.
On the trip there, FF would be driver, and endlessly brag about things. He often would recount how he had "Told somebody something, and when they resisted, he would beat the shit out of them!"
The others in the truck would laugh uproariously.
Once, a rather decrepit slovenly female with us responded with a quote from some cartoon characters known for such slapstick. The others glared at her to shut up.
It rather reminded me of hypnosis, when a certain stimuli would be used to encourage a group reaction - And provoke one from me? I never found the violence funny.
But then, to be sent to Wamsutter, WY, has its peculiarities: With a stated population of 300 or so, they have reportedly 30 registered sex offenders...
Kind of like a Soviet gulag-to-be fostered situation?
To be cont.
But when one day, I had to go out with Mike, a guy who endlessly portrayed himself as an expert on CDL regulations, since he said he was a former cop (Others said he was a former dog catcher), and heat up an oil site.
What comes out of the ground is a mix of oil and water. In the winter, that's a grey sludge that must be heated before it can be separated and drained off.
And so we went to a rather quiet site west of Love's with the propane heater truck to do so. An odd, out of the way, place, for what was usually done.
I could tell that Mike was nervous as hell, and it had been said that it was his last day, too. He kept repeating to me over and over again, that HE heated up the tanks way up at 140 degrees, because that was the way HE did it, etc. Way too high.
As usual, I played deaf and dumb. I knew he wouldn't do anything that blew him away as well as myself. But there was certainly something ominous in the air. Another trainee kept lighting cigarettes way too close to the site.
But, finally, Matthew, one of the owners, who consistently gave me evil looks, came up. That seemed to be the norm: I'd get a new job, be the "New Guy" for a while, pretty much accepted as such. Then, all of a sudden, I'd be treated as if some kind of hidden pervert, or thief, or nut case, and peoples' attitudes would change. He would stare at me, whatever it was.
And here would come "Mel H., the new supervisor."
Matthew consimerated on how long everything was taking, and all, and I dutifully followed him with hoses and the like up to the top of the tanks, and all that, just having to absorb his disgust of myself. He was some kind of highly-holy LDS type.
Finally, having to watch the top of the tank where the heater input hose had been put in, I decided to change my position upwind so as not to breathe so many sulfide dioxide fumes.
Oddly, over the years working the oil fields, it was frequent to be deliberately put in the lee of such fumes. More than once, was I directed to park my camper where such was overwhelming. Even the "Mechanic" of NBC Trucking had directed where I put my camper, in lee of rail tankers' fumes. In Wamsutter, as well.
The stuff can not only kill you, it can swell your sinuses so much one can get deaf, even lose one's sense of balance. And I had no choice in either housing, nor employment...
Good thing I did move position. Suddenly, the (Deliberate?) overheating of the oil tank meant that it erupted in a volcano of hot oil. At about 140 degrees, I would have been a sorry semi-fried gooed up mess, had I not moved downwind at just the right time.
It would have been a long, protracted, miserable death, in fact.
Contrary to all oilfield rules, Matthew then took rags to clean the stairs and the rest of the mess as best as possible. It was sure the hell more than the required one gallon of spill to make a report, but... That was surely not going to happen.
I survived, once again, with my trained, or somewhat natural ability to "Act dumb."
And yet to the "Mentals" around here, that's called "Mental Illness." That I not want to "Share" my deepest feelings, and true emotions with them when they walk up with Shrinkola Dogs, and the like.
Following, after all, past given military orders to not be interrogated.
To be cont.
So, my disjointed employment as an oilfield driver eventually meant I'd have to find a place to park my truck/camper for the winter. The Wyoming Red Desert can be inhospitable but livable until the snow flies. After that, one must find a parking place with an electric line to run a heating fan, or else all freezes inside. All, canned goods, water, everything, and me.
So I had heard "Suggestions" from one of the "Openly gay" truck drivers, "Dave," (Yeah, right) suggesting I go to the Junk yard outside of Rawlins.
My "Wife" had previously set me up with that to go to a "Yard Sale."
Even my son.
FF had been there, the apparent owner of the combination petting farm and junk yard and had right away, years ago, suggested that if I EVER needed to live someplace, why, he'd rent me cheap one of the empty RV's he had.
It seemed that people would forever park them there and abandon them, so while there was no running water, sewer, nor electricity, one could use small tanks of propane to freeze by.
One only needed to keep a window cracked, FF had said, and run the stove at high blast. My own propane heater didn't work, oddly enough, anyway, so I was forced to do this frowned-upon practice and wear insulated gear to stay warm.
Or, of course, I could come into the trailer, where he kept containers of water to defrost and feed the animals with, my "Job."
And, of course, he would tell me often, I could come up to the main heater, and would I put my hand on it, to feel how warm it was? Then he would adjust and adjust his girth, and his pants, for they suddenly would be out of line. "Why, just put your hand up here, and feel how warm it is!"
Or, he would tell me on occasion, "You'll get used to me after a while You'll be giving me blow jobs before you know it!"
After a while, he would bolt lock the doors to the "Abandoned RV's" shut, and then after a while strip all inside as his own property, and then haul off the vehicle to parts unknown. "Sold for $100," he would say.
As events turned out, I ended up having no choice. Framed and set up for a DUI at the P*-Bar-And-Grill with a mickey (I know the effects, believe me) by police officers deliberately waiting at the curb for me, I found myself with no place to live and no way to drive.
"Put your camper... Right there." Had instructed FF, which made no sense. What with all the other spots available, that put it right next to the burn barrels. He daily had, and wanted me, to collect scraps of everything from around the area, to include plastics and other odd bits and ends he would scavenge from Rawlins, to burn.
Glass parts went with "G," who took them to Medicine Bow for ditch filler, where it was rumored by Bill of NBC trucking that G. had obtained a farm by making an old woman disappear. What kind of shit was that?
The purpose was clearly not recycling, for he would let the plastic goo accumulate until it was heavy enough, and then transport the barrel to the Rawlins landfill. After it would no longer produce smoke.
While the usual Westerly wind blew the odor and fumes perpendicular to my camper, and I wouldn't get so much, the sunset, night and storm winds would blow the same directly into my camper.
I found myself being dizzy all the time. When he insisted that I help with chainsawing wood, he would also insist I hold the logs (Stupid) while he cut with the dullest saws I have ever seen. Like I could have had an "Accident," or something.
One day, he threw one saw after the other out unto the ground. Running. But never sharpened them.
The tall driver I knew from Bandit Trucking, "G.," was another resident, and also constantly talked about homosexuality and violence in despicable, suggestive, ways to me. He was my only ride to the grocery store, job center, and library, pretty much, but had worked also at CBN (sic) and Grand Forge (sic) trucking when I had.
I'd read in the paper of how some shrink had a theory that "Waving" could hypnotize a person.
We had circular routes, and his "Waving" used to about drive me nuts. Much State-level fraud was evident at that highway project, as well.
He assumed, and accused, me of much. They all did.
It was not until later that I realized that the constant supply of vinyl, like in a huge chair, set upon the burn barrel to smolder for days, was a cause of lightheadedness and stupor. It was cyanide poisoning, actually, and it took months of Power Walking to clear my lungs. Think I'll live to be 100?
While working for Bandit Trucking, there had been much fraud. But two of the owner's other drivers from Colorado were pretty much a good sort.
They were in love, but married to others. Like the other decrepit drivers he hired, they often would team up to offer me "Messages." Yet, try to be kind on the side.
He'd tried to warn me, as the part-time mechanic, that the trailer I'd been assigned had a bad spring bushing, and the rig could leave the road or overturn at any time. With me and who knew else as part of it.
After being fired there for having insisted upon doing my DOT paperwork properly, Debbie had offered me to come live in Hanna for a while. They had an RV someone had deserted, but I could use it for a while. They, too, lost their jobs when the DOT busted Bandit Trucking, and according to FF, someone like them had lost their housing in Hanna.
And, there, right next to where I had to park my camper, was the one they'd described, having no registration. When I'd arrived, there'd been all kinds of things left out, from a generator to fuel to water to rugs - All kinds of things one would put away at a camp site if not returning right away.
Once, much later, I heard a cell phone ringing over and over from the camper. That could only have been if the cell had been plugged in to the RV's battery to last that long.
As with everything and everywhere, FF, always subtly suggested I steal stuff. Like I was being set up to.
Every day, he would arrive with old lettuce from a fast food restaurant, and game carcasses from an outfitter, to feed his chickens, dogs, goats and horse. He was big on his stories of inviting children to come to his "Petting farm," but I never saw any. Instead, I was to come into the crap-laden chicken coop (It was never cleaned) and "Hang out with him."
He claimed he sold his chickens on the classifieds, but I never saw any ads, nor any slaughtered, nor any sold.
Or, come into his "Workshop," where he'd put in a wood burning stove on the wrong wind side, which he would light and fuel with old engine oil and damp newspapers until the room would fill with smoke, and invite me to sit down and take apart aluminum door frames and such.
Purposely intoxicating, if that's the right word.
Once, "G." said that one of the old watchdogs had killed FF's favorite goat. He'd spoken endlessly on how FF loved his goats and such. Yet he underfed them all.
Yet, to see the dog's body, there was blood on the neck, but no ripping wound as if caused by a dog. More like a pistol shot.
He arrived and tried to hide the .22 pistol he had, but it was definitely .22 shorts that I heard as he killed that dog. It died pretty slowly, obviously.
I was told to gut the goat, as they said only I must have a good hunting knife, and not they. I was, in my impoverishment, to eat this goat, hung in a trailer full of trash, but I declined.
Lucky I had food stamps.
They were constantly asking and checking me if I owned a .22 pistol.
G. burned the dog in a barrel with motor oil.
They didn't like it when I added scrap wood to make the fires burn hotter - And not so smoky. They'd take the wood out.
FF, to this day, stalks me. It can only be a police cell phone GPS tracker that tells him that I'm at a certain store, etc., when I am. And he "Appears," but never approaches. I guess by some Shrink theory, I'm supposed to approach him for his "Graces."
Just today (6/24), he knew I was at City Market, and parked right next to me. It was the only day of the week I wasn't trailed around town by RPD or SO.
Is that protective surveillance? I can't tell.
I've been told by a Deputy that FF is a well-known pervert. I'm pretty sure I read in the paper how it's suspected that transients disappear there, maybe chopped up by chainsaw, and then fed to the chickens and dogs, and then burned in the barrels, and then hauled off to the landfill. But no one is eager in Rawlins to dig up over there.
Is this orchestration on my behalf? Or for real?
There are no homeless in Rawlins that I can tell.
But FF DID come daily to collect and take home the eggs the chickens produce. (And to "Talk...") One of those Jeffrey Dahmer things, maybe?
Well, he has his support, I can tell, because the bus drivers use their cell phone while taking me someplace, and I'll see his truck, or he, there. I've been in espionage my whole life, and I'm also not stupid.
To think: My "Wife," should the insurance policy still be valid would collect $100K. Not only if I die, but if I'm sent away...
The woman I was forced to marry, I've written.
She's made a career of collecting money on men and insurance companies.
And never gets caught... Not afraid to pay commissions either, I think.
And she's the one who demanded so often I become a truck driver. To "Meet" FF. So many things.
To be cont.
If I continue to be able to type, that is. Tomorrow is the 25th, a mnemonic important to me, perhaps a marker in my life...
Included in these files to be sent to Phoenix Federal Court under seal was also, as Larkin put it, "I'm not sure what it is, Your Honor, but it's the birth certificate from some Indonesian guy named Barry Soetoro. And his, too."
Meaning my own.
When AZ Sheriff's "Universe-shattering stuff" comes out, you'll understand.
"Why Phoenix?" The Judge had asked.
"Well, he gets this inheritance, and it's based in Phoenix... His psychological profile says he'll move to the Mainland and become a truck driver." Had said Larkin. Another issue.
And of course the Judge was impressed by the APA hocus-pocus. Something super-secret to seal about some kind of government homosexual deal. Without even reading what was in the sealed envelopes.
So when my wife insisted we sell our house and move to the Mainland, I was relieved to be away, and to try to start a new life.
That was not to be, for my designed "Reputation" preceded me, and became very well known in the local Platte Valley community, as spread about by Senior FBI Agent Jonstono.
I nearly got fried to a crisp in an Encampment VFD "Burning Trailer Exercise," for example. They REALLY don't like homosexuals or especially suspected ones, in Wyoming, and it shows.
So, my "Ex" (Wife) kept insisting we go to Cheyenne to go to an Oriental Store. But always pointing out the SAGE Truck Driving School there, as well.
It so happened that I eventually had to go there and get trained and hired as a truck driver.
Each and every trainer (3 of them, each flaking out because of meth) and co-driver would always try to hide their cell phone conversations as they got some kind of instructions. Each would try to press homosexuality and drug use, and even violent stuff on me. I got the drift: They wanted me to "Do it again." What the above-mentioned assassination team had done - And I had to keep secret about.
There'd be "Media input," such as a SWIFT flyer, that would describe how one shrink used a dunce cap to lure out paranoid schizophrenics, to "Help them."
She was at the Salt Lake City terminal twice in a row - And not another driver in sight. For me. The presumed guilty one. Suspected mind crimes, you know.
I finally gave up on SWIFT for reasons I detail elsewhere. Homesick for Wyoming, I went to the Job Center. The usual clerk suddenly had to leave for lunch, and I was to come back two hours later.
A woman I later ID'd as Cindy Delancy, local County Attorney and Feminist, met me alone in the suddenly empty office room.
She printed out a form, saying, "Oh, yes, if he gets you, he'll KEEP YOU."
Whatever that meant.
And then made calls which felt like she was getting some Judge's (Stebner?) approval on something. My "Wife" had pretty much laid a mind trip on him the way she had back on Maui with Judge Richard Komo. And, later, another female Judge in Rawlins. All of it a typical Feminist act of "Poor me!"
But it meant I had to go to work for, let's call it - M&B Water Service (sic) in Wamsutter as a water truck driver. Good thing the SWIFT personnel had INSISTED I also get HAZMAT certification in addition to my CDL.
In spite of interrogating me on whether I could pass the INTERPOL in order to go to Canada, since it seemed I was listed for something... In Europe...
So, at first happily driving water truck for this rinky-dink company, I was offered to drive as many hours as I wished. DOT regulations be damned.
There was a daily briefing, of course, and there was this somewhat quiet, but somehow authoritative tall fat dude there who subsequently tried to "Control" my life.
I'd be briefed on the workings of water tanker trucks, and be asked to inspect the outlet nozzle, on my knees, so that I'd "See how it sucked and blowed." I'd get my ass pinched by said "Supervisors," or just bumped into from behind.
"Fat F***", as I eventually did name him, would just "Happen" to be the sole person at some remote site I was to deliver water, and just have me "Hang around," as if there were something I was just dying to tell him, or the like.
But he usually used his real name, "Mel. H."
He would show up in many of my job center-sent oil field truck jobs in the next many years. As a "Sudden new supervisor."
I was assigned to put my camper next to the mechanic's, who usually had a six-pack for lunch. He'd spend the evening at the bar, and then bang on my door, proclaiming that he was a "Viet Vet Sniper," and would shoot me if I came out.
Then FF all of a sudden had to "Go to the Red Desert for a vacation." But he actually went to train as an oil truck driver. When he returned, it was announced that I would either train "Under him" as an oil truck driver or lose my job and these sudden new riches entirely.
I quit.
So, looking at the bulletin board at at the Job Center, I found Malesso (sic) Trucking, and that would be a story unto itself.
To be cont.
It was at Needlestacks (sic) Oil Heating company at Wamsutter that I wintered one year. I long no longer trusted the job referrals given me by the job center, so I took up an ad on the radio to take work with them.
Right away, there was a "New Senior Person," made it clear he wasn't going to do anything he didn't want to do, etc...
I was assigned to go with him in the methane truck for pressure testing at one of the sites: Simply put, he ran me through several "Shrinkola" tests, like, "Rick, go use this metal wrench and gauge what the (Highly volatile) methane level is in the tank. You don't need a mask."
Since I knew that if the methane concentration were such that it was dangerous, he'd be wearing a mask, and wasn't. He'd fiddled in there, and had not been overcome with anything. It was more Shrinkola, and I had to put up with that all the time.
When we suddenly got the choice job of doing the Frac heating at an oil site, I was happy. 12 hour shifts, and as I had been told innumerable times, all's one did was to watch CD's and get up once an hour to check the gauges.
But I noticed that the site's Security Officer actually came by hourly to dutifully log such readings in detail. So why not us?
Instead, FF, or the others would provide pornographic CD's, and until I brought my own laptop, there was nothing else to do, except walk around.
Which they found suspicious.
On the trip there, FF would be driver, and endlessly brag about things. He often would recount how he had "Told somebody something, and when they resisted, he would beat the shit out of them!"
The others in the truck would laugh uproariously.
Once, a rather decrepit slovenly female with us responded with a quote from some cartoon characters known for such slapstick. The others glared at her to shut up.
It rather reminded me of hypnosis, when a certain stimuli would be used to encourage a group reaction - And provoke one from me? I never found the violence funny.
But then, to be sent to Wamsutter, WY, has its peculiarities: With a stated population of 300 or so, they have reportedly 30 registered sex offenders...
Kind of like a Soviet gulag-to-be fostered situation?
To be cont.
But when one day, I had to go out with Mike, a guy who endlessly portrayed himself as an expert on CDL regulations, since he said he was a former cop (Others said he was a former dog catcher), and heat up an oil site.
What comes out of the ground is a mix of oil and water. In the winter, that's a grey sludge that must be heated before it can be separated and drained off.
And so we went to a rather quiet site west of Love's with the propane heater truck to do so. An odd, out of the way, place, for what was usually done.
I could tell that Mike was nervous as hell, and it had been said that it was his last day, too. He kept repeating to me over and over again, that HE heated up the tanks way up at 140 degrees, because that was the way HE did it, etc. Way too high.
As usual, I played deaf and dumb. I knew he wouldn't do anything that blew him away as well as myself. But there was certainly something ominous in the air. Another trainee kept lighting cigarettes way too close to the site.
But, finally, Matthew, one of the owners, who consistently gave me evil looks, came up. That seemed to be the norm: I'd get a new job, be the "New Guy" for a while, pretty much accepted as such. Then, all of a sudden, I'd be treated as if some kind of hidden pervert, or thief, or nut case, and peoples' attitudes would change. He would stare at me, whatever it was.
And here would come "Mel H., the new supervisor."
Matthew consimerated on how long everything was taking, and all, and I dutifully followed him with hoses and the like up to the top of the tanks, and all that, just having to absorb his disgust of myself. He was some kind of highly-holy LDS type.
Finally, having to watch the top of the tank where the heater input hose had been put in, I decided to change my position upwind so as not to breathe so many sulfide dioxide fumes.
Oddly, over the years working the oil fields, it was frequent to be deliberately put in the lee of such fumes. More than once, was I directed to park my camper where such was overwhelming. Even the "Mechanic" of NBC Trucking had directed where I put my camper, in lee of rail tankers' fumes. In Wamsutter, as well.
The stuff can not only kill you, it can swell your sinuses so much one can get deaf, even lose one's sense of balance. And I had no choice in either housing, nor employment...
Good thing I did move position. Suddenly, the (Deliberate?) overheating of the oil tank meant that it erupted in a volcano of hot oil. At about 140 degrees, I would have been a sorry semi-fried gooed up mess, had I not moved downwind at just the right time.
It would have been a long, protracted, miserable death, in fact.
Contrary to all oilfield rules, Matthew then took rags to clean the stairs and the rest of the mess as best as possible. It was sure the hell more than the required one gallon of spill to make a report, but... That was surely not going to happen.
I survived, once again, with my trained, or somewhat natural ability to "Act dumb."
And yet to the "Mentals" around here, that's called "Mental Illness." That I not want to "Share" my deepest feelings, and true emotions with them when they walk up with Shrinkola Dogs, and the like.
Following, after all, past given military orders to not be interrogated.
To be cont.
So, my disjointed employment as an oilfield driver eventually meant I'd have to find a place to park my truck/camper for the winter. The Wyoming Red Desert can be inhospitable but livable until the snow flies. After that, one must find a parking place with an electric line to run a heating fan, or else all freezes inside. All, canned goods, water, everything, and me.
So I had heard "Suggestions" from one of the "Openly gay" truck drivers, "Dave," (Yeah, right) suggesting I go to the Junk yard outside of Rawlins.
My "Wife" had previously set me up with that to go to a "Yard Sale."
Even my son.
FF had been there, the apparent owner of the combination petting farm and junk yard and had right away, years ago, suggested that if I EVER needed to live someplace, why, he'd rent me cheap one of the empty RV's he had.
It seemed that people would forever park them there and abandon them, so while there was no running water, sewer, nor electricity, one could use small tanks of propane to freeze by.
One only needed to keep a window cracked, FF had said, and run the stove at high blast. My own propane heater didn't work, oddly enough, anyway, so I was forced to do this frowned-upon practice and wear insulated gear to stay warm.
Or, of course, I could come into the trailer, where he kept containers of water to defrost and feed the animals with, my "Job."
And, of course, he would tell me often, I could come up to the main heater, and would I put my hand on it, to feel how warm it was? Then he would adjust and adjust his girth, and his pants, for they suddenly would be out of line. "Why, just put your hand up here, and feel how warm it is!"
Or, he would tell me on occasion, "You'll get used to me after a while You'll be giving me blow jobs before you know it!"
After a while, he would bolt lock the doors to the "Abandoned RV's" shut, and then after a while strip all inside as his own property, and then haul off the vehicle to parts unknown. "Sold for $100," he would say.
As events turned out, I ended up having no choice. Framed and set up for a DUI at the P*-Bar-And-Grill with a mickey (I know the effects, believe me) by police officers deliberately waiting at the curb for me, I found myself with no place to live and no way to drive.
"Put your camper... Right there." Had instructed FF, which made no sense. What with all the other spots available, that put it right next to the burn barrels. He daily had, and wanted me, to collect scraps of everything from around the area, to include plastics and other odd bits and ends he would scavenge from Rawlins, to burn.
Glass parts went with "G," who took them to Medicine Bow for ditch filler, where it was rumored by Bill of NBC trucking that G. had obtained a farm by making an old woman disappear. What kind of shit was that?
The purpose was clearly not recycling, for he would let the plastic goo accumulate until it was heavy enough, and then transport the barrel to the Rawlins landfill. After it would no longer produce smoke.
While the usual Westerly wind blew the odor and fumes perpendicular to my camper, and I wouldn't get so much, the sunset, night and storm winds would blow the same directly into my camper.
I found myself being dizzy all the time. When he insisted that I help with chainsawing wood, he would also insist I hold the logs (Stupid) while he cut with the dullest saws I have ever seen. Like I could have had an "Accident," or something.
One day, he threw one saw after the other out unto the ground. Running. But never sharpened them.
The tall driver I knew from Bandit Trucking, "G.," was another resident, and also constantly talked about homosexuality and violence in despicable, suggestive, ways to me. He was my only ride to the grocery store, job center, and library, pretty much, but had worked also at CBN (sic) and Grand Forge (sic) trucking when I had.
I'd read in the paper of how some shrink had a theory that "Waving" could hypnotize a person.
We had circular routes, and his "Waving" used to about drive me nuts. Much State-level fraud was evident at that highway project, as well.
He assumed, and accused, me of much. They all did.
It was not until later that I realized that the constant supply of vinyl, like in a huge chair, set upon the burn barrel to smolder for days, was a cause of lightheadedness and stupor. It was cyanide poisoning, actually, and it took months of Power Walking to clear my lungs. Think I'll live to be 100?
While working for Bandit Trucking, there had been much fraud. But two of the owner's other drivers from Colorado were pretty much a good sort.
They were in love, but married to others. Like the other decrepit drivers he hired, they often would team up to offer me "Messages." Yet, try to be kind on the side.
He'd tried to warn me, as the part-time mechanic, that the trailer I'd been assigned had a bad spring bushing, and the rig could leave the road or overturn at any time. With me and who knew else as part of it.
After being fired there for having insisted upon doing my DOT paperwork properly, Debbie had offered me to come live in Hanna for a while. They had an RV someone had deserted, but I could use it for a while. They, too, lost their jobs when the DOT busted Bandit Trucking, and according to FF, someone like them had lost their housing in Hanna.
And, there, right next to where I had to park my camper, was the one they'd described, having no registration. When I'd arrived, there'd been all kinds of things left out, from a generator to fuel to water to rugs - All kinds of things one would put away at a camp site if not returning right away.
Once, much later, I heard a cell phone ringing over and over from the camper. That could only have been if the cell had been plugged in to the RV's battery to last that long.
As with everything and everywhere, FF, always subtly suggested I steal stuff. Like I was being set up to.
Every day, he would arrive with old lettuce from a fast food restaurant, and game carcasses from an outfitter, to feed his chickens, dogs, goats and horse. He was big on his stories of inviting children to come to his "Petting farm," but I never saw any. Instead, I was to come into the crap-laden chicken coop (It was never cleaned) and "Hang out with him."
He claimed he sold his chickens on the classifieds, but I never saw any ads, nor any slaughtered, nor any sold.
Or, come into his "Workshop," where he'd put in a wood burning stove on the wrong wind side, which he would light and fuel with old engine oil and damp newspapers until the room would fill with smoke, and invite me to sit down and take apart aluminum door frames and such.
Purposely intoxicating, if that's the right word.
Once, "G." said that one of the old watchdogs had killed FF's favorite goat. He'd spoken endlessly on how FF loved his goats and such. Yet he underfed them all.
Yet, to see the dog's body, there was blood on the neck, but no ripping wound as if caused by a dog. More like a pistol shot.
He arrived and tried to hide the .22 pistol he had, but it was definitely .22 shorts that I heard as he killed that dog. It died pretty slowly, obviously.
I was told to gut the goat, as they said only I must have a good hunting knife, and not they. I was, in my impoverishment, to eat this goat, hung in a trailer full of trash, but I declined.
Lucky I had food stamps.
They were constantly asking and checking me if I owned a .22 pistol.
G. burned the dog in a barrel with motor oil.
They didn't like it when I added scrap wood to make the fires burn hotter - And not so smoky. They'd take the wood out.
FF, to this day, stalks me. It can only be a police cell phone GPS tracker that tells him that I'm at a certain store, etc., when I am. And he "Appears," but never approaches. I guess by some Shrink theory, I'm supposed to approach him for his "Graces."
Just today (6/24), he knew I was at City Market, and parked right next to me. It was the only day of the week I wasn't trailed around town by RPD or SO.
Is that protective surveillance? I can't tell.
I've been told by a Deputy that FF is a well-known pervert. I'm pretty sure I read in the paper how it's suspected that transients disappear there, maybe chopped up by chainsaw, and then fed to the chickens and dogs, and then burned in the barrels, and then hauled off to the landfill. But no one is eager in Rawlins to dig up over there.
Is this orchestration on my behalf? Or for real?
There are no homeless in Rawlins that I can tell.
But FF DID come daily to collect and take home the eggs the chickens produce. (And to "Talk...") One of those Jeffrey Dahmer things, maybe?
Well, he has his support, I can tell, because the bus drivers use their cell phone while taking me someplace, and I'll see his truck, or he, there. I've been in espionage my whole life, and I'm also not stupid.
To think: My "Wife," should the insurance policy still be valid would collect $100K. Not only if I die, but if I'm sent away...
The woman I was forced to marry, I've written.
She's made a career of collecting money on men and insurance companies.
And never gets caught... Not afraid to pay commissions either, I think.
And she's the one who demanded so often I become a truck driver. To "Meet" FF. So many things.
To be cont.
If I continue to be able to type, that is. Tomorrow is the 25th, a mnemonic important to me, perhaps a marker in my life...
The VA Concentration Camps
Answer to Stars & Stripes article about Vet committed for 8 years before even being seen by a shrink.
Oh, so, they call you in, lock you up, and throw away the key? No wonder the VA tried so hard to do that to me back in 1994 after they thought I knew too much about a prominent conservative intelligence officer and his "Sex life." They keep trying to get me to "Come in for a little exam," here lately too. I HAVE already found out that Judges don't like my anti-0bama website. And I WAS kept incommunicado for the entire term of that set-up DUI charge, first time in my life, even. Totally trashed, when I got out, from cell phone to bank account. Trusting the VA is somewhat akin to trusting the Gestapo if you have Jewish blood.
The funny thing? I'd been told to go to the VA in about 10 years after a '77 unneeded hernia surgery, as they'd "Sewn it up too tight." The claim that they "Can't locate my medical records, because they're in the hands of an unnamed agency." That "Surgery" was VERY painful, and its true purpose was to keep me from remembering intel-related matters of the time. But they had dirty little minds, and thought they had blackmail material! Now you know part of why the VA has had so much money thrown at it for so many years... For what I know to be the truth..
And am never asked to my face in the open. Just threatened with brain-altering chemicals and the like in a secure location, or shut up. The Judge was pressing for it, in fact.
Oh, so, they call you in, lock you up, and throw away the key? No wonder the VA tried so hard to do that to me back in 1994 after they thought I knew too much about a prominent conservative intelligence officer and his "Sex life." They keep trying to get me to "Come in for a little exam," here lately too. I HAVE already found out that Judges don't like my anti-0bama website. And I WAS kept incommunicado for the entire term of that set-up DUI charge, first time in my life, even. Totally trashed, when I got out, from cell phone to bank account. Trusting the VA is somewhat akin to trusting the Gestapo if you have Jewish blood.
The funny thing? I'd been told to go to the VA in about 10 years after a '77 unneeded hernia surgery, as they'd "Sewn it up too tight." The claim that they "Can't locate my medical records, because they're in the hands of an unnamed agency." That "Surgery" was VERY painful, and its true purpose was to keep me from remembering intel-related matters of the time. But they had dirty little minds, and thought they had blackmail material! Now you know part of why the VA has had so much money thrown at it for so many years... For what I know to be the truth..
And am never asked to my face in the open. Just threatened with brain-altering chemicals and the like in a secure location, or shut up. The Judge was pressing for it, in fact.
Rain in China for 41 days and nights. Now, what have I said about Weather Weapons?
rly 9,000 More Homes Lost to Flooding as China’s 41-Day Deluge Continues
(Side-by-side LANCE- MODIS satellite shots of China and Southeast Asia on May 23 (left frame) and June 23 (right frame) of 2014. Notice the massive swath of cloud and stormy weather covering much of the region? It’s been like this for 41 days, now.)
* * * * *
It rained for 40 days and 40 nights? In the case of China, it’s 41 days and 41 nights and counting. A litany of previously abnormal storm events that, for too many parts of the world, have now become all too common.
Tempest after tempest wracks the atmosphere over China as moisture flooding off a super-heated Pacific Ocean keeps becoming entrained in a south-to-north flow that collides with an intense and unstable upper level storm track running a thousands-mile gauntlet between sprawling heat domes. To the southwest, one of these high pressure domes continues to establish over India and Bangladesh, squeezing monsoonal moisture into its periphery over southern China. These three storm generating and moisture injection patterns have combined and persisted since May 12th. With the result being episode-after-episode of catastrophic rainfall for China.
In the middle of May, a massive rain event emerging from this destructive weather pattern capsized 25,000 homes and forced more than half a million to flee. Over the past four days, a re-intensification of these brutish storms over six provinces once again resulted in nearly half a million evacuated and, this time, destroyed nearly 9,000 homes while damaging more than 60,000 others.
Already saturated grounds gave way to the recent bout of heavy rains triggering numerous landslides. In Jiangxi, inundation set off a school building collapse. In total, these events resulted in the loss of more than 26 souls. Heavy rains and hail also caused widespread damage to crops. In Hunan province alone, more than 127,000 hectares were destroyed.
(River flooding in Lanxi, China submerges street lights and traffic signs. View more images of China flooding here.)
The worse may be yet to come as the rainy pattern continues to persist over much of China.
Storms Build With Global Warming, El Nino
Though historically vulnerable to flooding, China’s multi-river region has been treated to more and more severe events in recent years. Warm ocean waters associated with El Nino and human-caused climate change have triggered weather alterations spurring ever more intense periods of heavy rainfall during summer over much of Eastern China. The worst of these episodes occurred in conjunction with the monster 1998 El Nino and then record atmospheric heating resulting in both massive structural damage and a terrible human toll. In total, more than 5,000 souls were lost in an extreme flooding episode along the Yangtze River during that major atmospheric disturbance.
For 2014, a potentially strong El Nino developing in the Pacific is combining with record high global temperatures to spike severe weather risks yet again. In the case of China, the potential is for summer-long rains punctuated by a continuation of extreme episodes as the current flood pattern remains locked in place and gorges on an amped-up heat and moisture flow off the blazing Pacific and Indian Oceans.
Links:
LANCE- MODIS
Storms Leave 26 People Dead in Landslides Across China
Rainstorms, Floods Affect Millions in China
Two Week Long Flood Destroys 25,000 Homes in China
Saturday, June 21, 2014
The hidden political secret behind semi trucks in Wyoming oil fields and highways that have no brakes.
Whenever I see the occasional article regarding a semi related accident,
it strikes me that the driver is ALWAYS cited, and NEVER is there any
reported investigation into the truck's maintenance, or lack of it. Was
this accident caused by faulty brakes?
Having worked that kind of off-road, small company type driving for
quite a while, let me fill you in. First of all, since the work is
largely seasonal, the truck takes a lot of abuse, these smaller
companies are going out of business to larger interests, and much is
government funded, insurance scams are the norm.
And most of these jobs I was sent to by the Work Center.
In other words, the owner gets quietly rich through the insurance
payments on a crashed truck. They deliberately seek out poorer drivers
desperate for work - Who will accept being underpaid what they were
originally promised, and look the other way when the pay vouchers do not
state "Hours Worked," but by the "Load," instead. So, if the driver
drives fatigued overtime to get extra loads, whatever paperwork he
dutifully turns in are tossed.
If he's fool enough to do so. And the pressure to do so is not subtle.
Trucks are fixed only enough to run, and a good driver doesn't need
brakes that much, anyway, except in an emergent situation. There are
more of these rigs on the road ready to fall apart in front of you than
you know. I've seen entire wheel assemblies come off - Usually on dirt
roads, belly dumps full of gravel suddenly open, and, once, I had to use
a flashlight in my mouth to see the speedometer. The rest of the
instrument panel simply didn't work.
If the tanker is improperly HAZMAT placarded, the owner doesn't care -
The driver gets the ticket and points off his own insurance rating.
That truck's lighting system blinked like a Christmas tree - Headlights,
too. The owner had rewired it wrong. Sometimes, if one is a
trouble-maker, they'll do things like that on purpose. Like having the
mechanic spray the steps with lubricant. I threw my shoulder out that
way, but didn't go to get stitches. Their promised medical benefits
never materialize. It's kind of America's own slave trade (Outside
WALMART).
One owner on a local Federal highway job deliberately leased trucks,
like with faulty clutches. Telling the novice drivers they didn't know
how to shift. And when the clutch blew, he would fire them. But rehire
them the next day if they paid for a brand new clutch. Then he left
town with the paychecks one day, even though I'd tried to tell
authorities in writing in advance.
The drivers ALWAYS get the blame. And having a CDL is a special
legislative punishment designed by politicians who get off on passing
heavy fines on some despicable social caste. Everyone hates truck
drivers. So one can be extra fined even in one's own car when cited.
It's really kind of a political Hate Crime. So, such drivers never
complain, of course.
So, if in any such accident, do you think the driver will point these
things out? Do you think the cops even ask? Do you think the
Politicians turn a blind eye?
Of course, the cost of being an attempted whisteblower is immense. I
got set up for a mickey and a DUI at a local prominent bar-and-grill,
and the Prosecutor offered 8 days in jail as it was my first ever
offense.. I got six months, most of blamed upon my anti-Obama web site.
An extra long driver's suspension, and my career as a driver
effectively ended. So I live on Food Stamps and church hand-outs, now.
On at least four occasions did such owners tamper with my brakes,
especially, in such manners in a technical way I did not know until
later, but could have been downright fatal to me and/or others.
Were it not that I have some other past military-related issues
on-going, and if I'd been allowed to, I would have just done something
else with my time. But I've had no choice.
The bottom line is: Why would our politicians and authorities allow this
to go on? What have they got against Wyoming small businesses? The
main cause of this is the legislated super-high insurance costs they've
been targeted with.
Do you remember when former County Attorney Cindy Delancy wanted to
target drivers who had HAZMAT endorsements? Theose drivers - Every gas,
oil, chemical, etc. shipment - would have needed "Psychiatric Exams,"
cancelable at any time by Homeland Security, for any political reasons
whatsoever.
Amazing how being a whistleblower falls into that category in this Obama
age.
Sunday, June 15, 2014
I went to the VA and they tried to use me as homosexual blackmail material on Conservatives!
In 1974, I was ushered into US Army MI, taught German and told I was being sent to Germany to lure my natural father, former East German STASI (espionage) Gen. Markus Wolf to the West. He was, and was turned a lot earlier than publicly known.
In 1977, I was made to have (At age 24) an unnecessary hernia operation at SHAPE HQ Hospital, where it was much more like a painful waterboarding session than any hernia repair.
I was told I wouldn't remember things lest I feel that pain, especially if anyone tried to interrogate me about intelligence matters, but since "They'd sewn it up too tight," to go to the VA and request a "Tune-up surgery in about 10 years." I used to limp a lot. People would inquire.
What I remember mostly about THAT surgery was waking up naked in sweat-soaked hospital sheets, and the pain of the clamp they inserted and pressed upon a nexus of nerves, there. The looks on the military nurses' faces, afterwards. But they were sworn to secrecy.
There was more later, like at Tripler AMC, and at Kaneohe.
Because Wolf's specialty revolved around sex and blackmail to motivate his spies, my boss went to extremes to orchestrate - yet document - such seeming scenes, deliberately made, between he and I over a long period of time.
A fellow soldier, SP5 Brian Larkin, a known quantity, was made to believe such things, and others, to be true, and was later made a Secret Service Agent. He even believed the acts of a professional political sexual embarrassment assassination for hire team were as if my own: And they've still been active since at least Laci Peterson and Chandra Levy.
All my reports to local authorities are always ignored. Why not, since the Shrinks, their APA and governmentally-funded DSM-IV, and it's biblical political correctness, overrule actual evidence, right?
What's a cop worth, today? In the light of such?
I was ordered to commit fake security breaches. And to go to ground with these secrets.
After I did dutifully go to the Maui VA in 1987 or so, my life changed dramatically. I found myself pressed to "Confess to acts of violence, homosexuality, and serial killing...." Much was done to try to have me institutionalized and imprisoned. Maui Shrinks Drs. Pittenger and Sword were keys to this encapsulation. Evidence? They didn't need any - They had "Theory" and "Statements" from those with an ax to grind.
The woman I was forced to marry had been given financial incentive to aid this endeavor, for example. She still is a foreign-born contractual agent.
In a 1994 Hearing before Hawaii (Yeah, that place they make fake birth certificates) Judge Richard Komo, SS Agent Larkin offered an unbeknownst to me "Plea Bargain" for 20 years in a "Congressional funded In Situ Serial Killer in his own natural habitat Study." This by the appointed for me Public Defense Attorney David Serrano.
In other words, I've not been able to choose who I marry, live where I have had to, have friends, keep family nor wealth, and especially not a career I would have chosen. They made me a trucker in the oil fields.
My life has been fit to fit my "Psychological Profile," as defined by they.
Komo, thinking he was helping to cover up a government homosexual scandal, eagerly went along with it. And probably passed it around.
Each job I've been sent to by the government work center or otherwise has suddenly had a "New Supervisor," usually a man I'll refer to as "Mel H.," who's pressed me with homosexuality, extreme violence, and to do "Dangerous Things."
Like, "Would you mind taking this metal wrench (sparks) and use it as a dipstick to check the inside level of the (highly volatile) methane tank? You don't need a mask."
I'd ignore him, or play deaf, so he thinks I'm "Not in touch." "Mentally Ill."
I've been surveilled intrusively by not only police, society in general and "Volunteer Groups," but even store camera systems, library, medical, eye doctor personnel, and social and "Mental Health" services. Store employees note when I come in, and quietly discuss my presence and "Any signs of Mental Illness."
Trying to drive me nuts, actually. Or, maybe, just dead?
So the vastly funded resources of the VA were used to do what? Expectedly, they went for broke when they thought they'd found political and homosexual blackmail on a prominent conservative. In fact, I note that, for years, no Conservative in America will touch Obama's ineligibility with a ten foot pole. I'm not the only seasoned Veteran they're trying hard to disarm. And the homosexual movement has went far beyond disrupting military morale. Is this the reason why? The high political rank my boss (Knowingly) reached in the years since?
And there's more to it - What AZ Sheriff Arpaio would call "Universe-shattering" stuff. Like - Who's 0bama's real father, anyway?
What could STASI Gen. Markus Wolf have to do with that?
Well, the 20 years is up, I can tell, and I should be getting promised back pay and rank and other things, soon. Too bad my sons don't understand, nor respect me, on this Father's Day.
But, when as of late, I get constant calls and letters from the VA to "Come on in for an Exam!" Well, I just don't return their calls. Another "Tune up surgery" like that I don't need.
It might be noted: This is my own personal copy of that Surgery Report. The VA says they can't find my medical records, but that are "Held by another unnamed Agency."
Maybe it's marked "SECRET." And if so found, would guarantee an FBI investigation, would it not?
Could there be anything more amusing to add to this?
Well, my "Wife" of sorts, usually calls to add to my emotional misery when she can, for she would profit should I be sent away.
On Father's Day, she called to tell me how much she wanted to see me again, and wish me a "Happy Father's Day."
She's went to extremes to ruin my boys' trust in their father. And my own life that could have been, with them. She really seeks to rub it in.
There's timing involved that is pivotal.
So, it was with some amusement, the next day, that I was served with Divorce papers, which she had sent the Monday before.
But that's not the gallows humor!
When she insisted we be married on a certain day in 1982, after she'd forced me to have to, a career Maui Mortician named Bert Friedland showed up to marry us. Openly gay (Notably), he was also active in the hotel industry, as "Concierge," and such.
He told me that he'd only recently applied for his Justice of the Peace Permit, and that he would marry us. He also had been a Special Forces Officer in Vietnam, and was a world-renowned forensics expert.
He had me sign some military papers along with the marriage stuff... Making me an Army Warrant Officer, he'd said...
But it was years later that, at a funeral wake for Bud Kunte, a fellow co-worker at Westin Maui who'd died in suspicious circumstance, that he told me something: That he'd applied for the Justice of the Peace Permit, but had not been approved yet at the time. So he'd used the registration number given him to sign off on our marriage certificate.
But since his permit wasn't valid at that point, our marriage certificate also wasn't valid.
He'd said that before my Agent Handlers of the time, a Mr. Ronald Mitchel, an Indonesian "Auxiliary MPD Officer," and former Navy Captain, MPD Lt. Barry Born. (Also openly gay.)
I wouldn't want to be married to Her when the time came, Bert had said.
What a laugh!
She's trying to get a Divorce - Or create emotional havoc - When our forced-upon Marriage isn't worth the paper it's written upon!
And a major legal deal should be coming down... An inheritance...
Well, compare it to Hawaii's COLB for Barrack Obama and see if you get usable toilet paper... Or the Autopsy report for for you know who...
In 1977, I was made to have (At age 24) an unnecessary hernia operation at SHAPE HQ Hospital, where it was much more like a painful waterboarding session than any hernia repair.
I was told I wouldn't remember things lest I feel that pain, especially if anyone tried to interrogate me about intelligence matters, but since "They'd sewn it up too tight," to go to the VA and request a "Tune-up surgery in about 10 years." I used to limp a lot. People would inquire.
What I remember mostly about THAT surgery was waking up naked in sweat-soaked hospital sheets, and the pain of the clamp they inserted and pressed upon a nexus of nerves, there. The looks on the military nurses' faces, afterwards. But they were sworn to secrecy.
There was more later, like at Tripler AMC, and at Kaneohe.
Because Wolf's specialty revolved around sex and blackmail to motivate his spies, my boss went to extremes to orchestrate - yet document - such seeming scenes, deliberately made, between he and I over a long period of time.
A fellow soldier, SP5 Brian Larkin, a known quantity, was made to believe such things, and others, to be true, and was later made a Secret Service Agent. He even believed the acts of a professional political sexual embarrassment assassination for hire team were as if my own: And they've still been active since at least Laci Peterson and Chandra Levy.
All my reports to local authorities are always ignored. Why not, since the Shrinks, their APA and governmentally-funded DSM-IV, and it's biblical political correctness, overrule actual evidence, right?
What's a cop worth, today? In the light of such?
I was ordered to commit fake security breaches. And to go to ground with these secrets.
After I did dutifully go to the Maui VA in 1987 or so, my life changed dramatically. I found myself pressed to "Confess to acts of violence, homosexuality, and serial killing...." Much was done to try to have me institutionalized and imprisoned. Maui Shrinks Drs. Pittenger and Sword were keys to this encapsulation. Evidence? They didn't need any - They had "Theory" and "Statements" from those with an ax to grind.
The woman I was forced to marry had been given financial incentive to aid this endeavor, for example. She still is a foreign-born contractual agent.
In a 1994 Hearing before Hawaii (Yeah, that place they make fake birth certificates) Judge Richard Komo, SS Agent Larkin offered an unbeknownst to me "Plea Bargain" for 20 years in a "Congressional funded In Situ Serial Killer in his own natural habitat Study." This by the appointed for me Public Defense Attorney David Serrano.
In other words, I've not been able to choose who I marry, live where I have had to, have friends, keep family nor wealth, and especially not a career I would have chosen. They made me a trucker in the oil fields.
My life has been fit to fit my "Psychological Profile," as defined by they.
Komo, thinking he was helping to cover up a government homosexual scandal, eagerly went along with it. And probably passed it around.
Each job I've been sent to by the government work center or otherwise has suddenly had a "New Supervisor," usually a man I'll refer to as "Mel H.," who's pressed me with homosexuality, extreme violence, and to do "Dangerous Things."
Like, "Would you mind taking this metal wrench (sparks) and use it as a dipstick to check the inside level of the (highly volatile) methane tank? You don't need a mask."
I'd ignore him, or play deaf, so he thinks I'm "Not in touch." "Mentally Ill."
I've been surveilled intrusively by not only police, society in general and "Volunteer Groups," but even store camera systems, library, medical, eye doctor personnel, and social and "Mental Health" services. Store employees note when I come in, and quietly discuss my presence and "Any signs of Mental Illness."
Trying to drive me nuts, actually. Or, maybe, just dead?
So the vastly funded resources of the VA were used to do what? Expectedly, they went for broke when they thought they'd found political and homosexual blackmail on a prominent conservative. In fact, I note that, for years, no Conservative in America will touch Obama's ineligibility with a ten foot pole. I'm not the only seasoned Veteran they're trying hard to disarm. And the homosexual movement has went far beyond disrupting military morale. Is this the reason why? The high political rank my boss (Knowingly) reached in the years since?
And there's more to it - What AZ Sheriff Arpaio would call "Universe-shattering" stuff. Like - Who's 0bama's real father, anyway?
What could STASI Gen. Markus Wolf have to do with that?
Well, the 20 years is up, I can tell, and I should be getting promised back pay and rank and other things, soon. Too bad my sons don't understand, nor respect me, on this Father's Day.
But, when as of late, I get constant calls and letters from the VA to "Come on in for an Exam!" Well, I just don't return their calls. Another "Tune up surgery" like that I don't need.
It might be noted: This is my own personal copy of that Surgery Report. The VA says they can't find my medical records, but that are "Held by another unnamed Agency."
Maybe it's marked "SECRET." And if so found, would guarantee an FBI investigation, would it not?
Well, my "Wife" of sorts, usually calls to add to my emotional misery when she can, for she would profit should I be sent away.
On Father's Day, she called to tell me how much she wanted to see me again, and wish me a "Happy Father's Day."
She's went to extremes to ruin my boys' trust in their father. And my own life that could have been, with them. She really seeks to rub it in.
There's timing involved that is pivotal.
So, it was with some amusement, the next day, that I was served with Divorce papers, which she had sent the Monday before.
But that's not the gallows humor!
When she insisted we be married on a certain day in 1982, after she'd forced me to have to, a career Maui Mortician named Bert Friedland showed up to marry us. Openly gay (Notably), he was also active in the hotel industry, as "Concierge," and such.
He told me that he'd only recently applied for his Justice of the Peace Permit, and that he would marry us. He also had been a Special Forces Officer in Vietnam, and was a world-renowned forensics expert.
He had me sign some military papers along with the marriage stuff... Making me an Army Warrant Officer, he'd said...
But it was years later that, at a funeral wake for Bud Kunte, a fellow co-worker at Westin Maui who'd died in suspicious circumstance, that he told me something: That he'd applied for the Justice of the Peace Permit, but had not been approved yet at the time. So he'd used the registration number given him to sign off on our marriage certificate.
But since his permit wasn't valid at that point, our marriage certificate also wasn't valid.
He'd said that before my Agent Handlers of the time, a Mr. Ronald Mitchel, an Indonesian "Auxiliary MPD Officer," and former Navy Captain, MPD Lt. Barry Born. (Also openly gay.)
I wouldn't want to be married to Her when the time came, Bert had said.
What a laugh!
She's trying to get a Divorce - Or create emotional havoc - When our forced-upon Marriage isn't worth the paper it's written upon!
And a major legal deal should be coming down... An inheritance...
Well, compare it to Hawaii's COLB for Barrack Obama and see if you get usable toilet paper... Or the Autopsy report for for you know who...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)