CHAPTER
4 - THE MOST DANGEROUS GAME
When I learned of a pending rendezvous with Senator Byrd in Traverse
City, Michigan (VanderJagt’s headquarters), I stole some candy at a local
convenience market hoping to go to jail and escape my encounter with Byrd. I was
caught, and the police were even called. But, of course, my poetically powerful
abusers would not allow for me to have a police record. The entire matter was
not-so-mysteriously and suddenly dropped. My only "punishment" was to
have a conference with the school principal, Father Vesbit.
Father Vesbit knew I was part of Project Monarch, and handled the matter
accordingly. He raped me in the school’s private chapel after school while
holding a Satanic ritual involving several of my project friends. Kids
often attached nicknames to their teachers, and there were only a few of us who
knew the reason why Father Vesbit was called Father "Fuzzbutt". His
backside was covered with thick black hair. He "counseled" me on
several occasions, once remarking, "I thought kids in your situation were
all part of the Exchange Student program."
My Uncle Bob Tanis was visiting our house soon after that. He had flown
in from what he claimed was a "black ops" Air Force Intelligence
operation. I know now that in typical CIA mode of operations, he was
relating a story of lies salted with some truth. His point was to inform me that
the Catholic Church is "justified" in its involvement with our
government due to the Priests’ "hearing confessions from mobsters and
spies".
He
also explained that Exchange Students were "spies in the
making" that Priests found, through Confession, were problems. Thus they
were considered expendable and transferred out of the country. He then suggested
to my father that I see the school guidance counselor, CIA Operative Dennis
DeLaney, immediately. My father enthusiastically told me that DeLaney was a
long time friend of his from St. Francis who "knew how to handle kids like
me". Arrangements were made for me to see him after school.
DeLaney began by informing me that he was "aware of everything"
and that he knew just what I needed "to put me back on track". He said
that my family needed to lake a trip to the Teton Mountains of Wyoming. He even
provided maps and information in an envelope for my father. He turned off the
lights in his office, and turned on a slide projector. He showed me scenes of
the numerous waterfalls of the Tetons, all of which were to "wash my
brain" of the reality that I was performing oral sex on him as ordered
while the slides ran. Then he scheduled a follow up appointment for further
"counseling".
This trip to the Tetons would provide a change of scenery tram the usual
Mackinac/Niagara Falls trip, but I could no longer hope for a change in the
direction life was leading me. I was told my life was "predestined,"
and all I had to do was follow the road stretched out before me, i.e., the
"Yellow Brick Road". I was destined for Wyoming, but would not know
why until I arrived.
I confirmed the family trip to the Tetons when Isaw DeLaney for my
follow-up "counseling". He informed me that he had already talked to
my father about the trip, as well as our upcoming trip to Disney World in
Florida. I was not surprised to learn of an additional trip. Nor did I have
the capacity to become excited, suspicious, or apprehensive. I was aware that
DeLaney was heavily involved in Project Monarch, not only because he was
accessing my sexual personalities again, but because he was helping to pave the
way toward my destiny of total mind control.
During Christmas vacation of 1974, my father flew us all to Disney
World by route of Tampa, Florida. Ignorant of geography, it did
not occur to me that Tampa was out of the way to Disney World until my father
drove the rented van to the gates of MacDill Air Force Base. Military personnel
met me there and escorted me into the base TOP SECRET high tech mind-control
conditioning facility for "behavioral modification" programming. This
was the first in what became a routine series of mind-control testing and/or
programming sessions on government installations that I would endure throughout
my Project Monarch victimization.
Whether I was in a military, NASA, or government building,
the procedure for maintaining me under total mind control remained consistent
with Project Monarch requirements. This included prior physical and/or
psychological trauma; sleep, food, and water deprivation; high voltage electric
shock; and hypnotic and/or harmonic programming of specific memory
compartments/personalities.
The
high tech equipment and methodisms I endured from that time on gave the U.S.
government absolute control of my mind and life. I had been literally driven out
of my conscious mind and existed only through my programmed subconscious. I lost
my free will, ability to reason, and could not think to question anything that
was happening to me. I could only do as I was told.
After the MacDill Air Force Base experience, my home life worsened. The
controls and conditioning that my father and mother executed on me tightened
even more. I was no longer permitted to have any contact with my own brothers
and sister (I only had one younger sister at that time). This stopped me in my
subconscious efforts to protect them from my father’s abuse, and left me with
a desperate, empty aching for the loving relationships I previously shared with
them.
Of course, I never was able to protect them any more than I could defend myself or later protect my own daughter. However, until government programming began, I had routinely "baby sat" them every evening and took them for long walks that lasted for hours in my feeble attempt to keep them out of my parents’ range. Subconsciously I believed I was making a difference. The day my youngest brother told my mother he much preferred my company over hers was the day I could no longer be near him or my other brothers and sister.
Apparently
I was making enough of a difference that my parents were compelled to separate
me from them. I was ordered to my closet-sized bedroom in the garage as soon as
I got home from school or work. I could not speak to, look at, or hug my
brothers and sister. I was not permitted to eat dinner with my family, although
they let me out of my room to set the table, wash dishes, and do other chores.
If I ventured from my bedroom to use the bathroom and was caught by my mother,
she said, "nobody rattled your cage" and ordered me back to my room in
the garage.
In the summer of 1975, my family drove all the way from Michigan to the Teton
Mountains of Wyoming. I was ordered to ride in the back storage area of the
family Chevy Suburban since 1 was forbidden to associate or communicate with my
brothers and sister. So I dissociated into books, or into the metaphorical,
hypnotic suggestions from my father and tranced deeper as I watched the prairies
seemingly endless sea of "amber waves of grain" streak past my window.
Once
when we stopped at a gas station, my father took me inside to show me a stuffed
"jackalope" mounted on the wall. Due to my tranced, dissociative state
and high suggestibility level, I believed it was indeed a cross between a jack
rabbit and antelope. It was 100+ degrees in the Badlands when it cooled down at
night. The intense heat of the day accentuated my ever increasing thirst. My
father was physically preparing me though water deprivation for the intense
tortures and programming I would endure in Wyoming.
Dick Cheney, then White House Chief of Staff to president Ford, later
Secretary of Defense to President George Bush, documented member of the Council
on Foreign Relations (CFR), and Presidential hopeful for 1996,
was originally Wyoming’s only Congressman. Dick Cheney was the reason my
family had traveled to Wyoming where I endured yet another form of brutality—
his version of "A Most Dangerous Game," or human hunting.
It is my understanding now that A Most Dangerous Game was devised to
condition military personnel in survival and combat maneuvers. Yet it was used
on me and other slaves known to me as a means of further conditioning the mind
to the realization there was "no place to hide," as well as traumatize
the victim for ensuing programming. It was my experience over the years that A
Most Dangerous Game had numerous variations on the primary theme of being
stripped naked and turned loose in the wilderness while being hunted by men and
dogs. In reality, all "wilderness" areas were enclosed in secure
military fencing whereby it was only a matter of time until I was caught,
repeatedly raped, and tortured.
Dick Cheney had an apparent addiction to the "thrill of the
sport". He appeared obsessed with playing A Most Dangerous Game as a
means of traumatizing mind-control victims, as well as to satisfy his own
perverse sexual kinks. My introduction to the game occurred upon arrival at the
hunting lodge near Greybull, Wyoming, and it physically and psychologically
devastated me.
I
was sufficiently traumatized for Cheney’s programming as I stood naked in his
hunting lodge office after being hunted down and caught. Cheney was talking as
he paced around me, "I could stuff you and mount you like a jack lope and
call you a two legged dear. Or I could stuff you with this (he unzipped his
pants to reveal his oversized penis) right down your throat, and then mount you.
Which do you prefer?"
Blood and sweat became mixed with the dirt on my body and slid like mud down my
legs and shoulder. I throbbed with exhaustion and pain as I stood unable to
think to answer such a question. "Make up your mind," Cheney coaxed.
Unable to speak, I remained silent.
"You don’t get a choice, anyway, I make up your mind for you. That’s why you’re here. For me to make you a’ mind, and make you mine/mind. You lost your mind a long time ago. Now I’m going to give you one. Just like the Wizard (of Oz) gave Scarecrow a brain, the Yellow Brick Road led you here to me. You’ve ’come such a long, long way’ for your brain, and I will give you one,"
The
blood reached my shoes and caught my attention. Had I been further along in my
programming, I perhaps would never have noticed such a thing or had the
capability to think to wipe it away. But so far, I had only been to MacDill
and Disney World for government/military programming. At last,
when I could speak, I begged, "If you don’t mind, can I please use your
bathroom?"
Cheney’s face turned red with rage. He was on me in an instant, slamming my
back into the wall with one arm across my chest and his hand on my throat,
choking me while applying pressure to the carotid artery in my neck with his
thumb. His eyes bulged and he spit as he growled, "If you don’t mind me,
I will kill you. I could kill you—Kill you—with my bare hands. You’re not
the first and you won’t be the last. I’ll kill you any time I goddamn well
please," He flung me on the cot-type bed that was behind me. There he
finished taking his rage out on me sexually.
On the Long trip back to Michigan, I lay in a heap behind the scats of the
Suburban, nauseated and hurting from Cheney’s brutality and high voltage
tortures, plus the whole Wyoming experience. My father stopped by the waterfalls
flowing through the Tetons to "wash my brain" of the memory of Cheney,
I could barely walk through the woods to the falls for the process as
instructed, despite having learned my lessons well from Cheney on following
orders.
The next year when our "annual" trip to Disney World rolled around, my
father drove, pulling his new Holiday Rambler Royale International trailer. (I
slept outside in a tent because I was not permitted inside it since "I
wasn’t family".) My father dropped me off en route at the Kennedy Space
Center in Titusville, Florida where I was subjected to my first NASA
programming. From then on, I was "obsessed" with following the
"Yellow Brick Road" to Nashville, Tennessee. Moving to Nashville was
all I could talk about. If anyone asked me the question I could not think to ask
myself "Why?", I would respond by reiterating it was something "I
had to do".
I had gone through the motions of my senior year in a dissociative trance. I
became further distanced from religious values by my religion class teacher.
Brother Emmett. This was due to his promotion of cannibalism via Pier Paul
Reed’s book Alive, and by his teachings at a religious
’corseal’ retreat I attended that included occult ritual at ST. Francis
Church. I graduated from Muskegon Catholic Central High School in our
bicentennial year of 1976.
I
was led by Senator Byrd to revise my plan to attend Hope College like I
had promised VanderJagt as a child. This new plan was for me to
temporarily attend Muskegon Community College, because my "real
education" was to come through mind-control programming-not school. In
order to be exhausted, as was necessary for my "real education," I
worked three menial jobs in addition to attending college.
During my first semester of college in 1976, I made plans to take a trip to
Nashville with my Project Monarch friend from Catholic Central. (She remains an
expendable victim to date, and therefore her identity must be protected from
public release for her safety.) My father explained that I was to stay at the
Fiddler’s Inn in Nashville, see the World Famous Printer’s Alley row
of sleazy country music nightclubs, and attend the Grand Ole Opry on Friday
night, as ticket arrangements had been made through a "friend," in
spite of their scarcity during the Thanksgiving holiday.
I never thought to associate Fiddler’s Inn with Senator Byrd’s fiddle
playing when my friend and I arrived in Music City, U.S.A. Nor did 1 find it odd
when a country music "star" entertaining at the Black Poodle nightclub
in Printer’s Alley began directing my activities. My friend and I were
provided with free passes to the Black Poodle to encourage us to return each
night where entertainer and CIA operative Jack Greene and his
Desperado band were playing.
During breaks between sets, Greene and his band would sit with my friend and me to manipulate our suggestible minds. I was told it was "my destiny" to have met band member, Wayne Cox, who had been trained for paramilitary mercenary operations under Louisiana’s U.S. Senator J, Bennett Johnston, I soon learned that everyone associated with Greene was involved in his CIA "Freedom Train" operations.
When
I told Greene that my friend and I would not be returning on Friday night due to
attending the Grand Ole Opry, he told us that he would be working the
Opry that night. He made arrangements for us to come back stage and see him
immediately following his segment. He explained that the "security"
guard at the Opry, Nashville Metro Police Lt. Bob Ezell, was a good
friend of his and would let us in.
At the Opry, my friend and I sat in the audience watching as Jack Greene
introduced his "special guest," U.S. Senator Robert C. Byrd. At
the sight of Byrd, I went into a pre-conditioned deep trance and robotically
went through the motions of following Greene’s instructions. Once backstage,
Greene pointed out his dressing room, which he was sharing with Senator Byrd,
and ordered me in. The personality that had been sitting in the audience had
perceived Byrd as an entertainer and could not, or would not, think further.
But
as I walked into the dressing room and saw Byrd perched on the edge of the
mirrored vanity in his boxer shorts, I switched into the child personality that
had known him as a U.S. Senator on Mackinac Island since age 13, and responded
sexually. Afterward, Byrd was claiming me as "his," excitedly telling
me that he had "always wanted his own little witch". I soon learned
the enormity of this statement.
Jack Greene’s band member, Wayne Cox, later told me that playing music
behind Senator Byrd at the Opry was not the only way he "backed him".
He also backed him politically and in Freedom Train operations. Cox then made
arrangements for my friend and me to stay the remainder of our trip at his
trailer in Hendersonville, Tennessee. There was no choice but to comply.
The
following night, after Jack Greene completed his show at the Black
Poodle, he drove my friend and me to a nearby participating after-hours club,
the Demon’s Den. There, Cox was to pick us up and take us to Hendersonville.
Instead, we were slipped a drug and taken "on a tour" of Union
Station, Nashville’s then abandoned train station, where supposedly the
only train still running through there was the Freedom Train.
Senator Byrd’s attempted cultivation of superstition through my Catholic
schooling should have maximized the impact of the occult ritual I was subjected
to in the tower of the old stone and slate turn-of-the-century train depot. But
the pain and horror was sufficiently effective in itself—even without my
adhering to superstition-to produce the intended mind shattering results. Cox
took my friend and me on a "flashlight tour" through the rubble of
Union Station, until we came to a homeless man sleeping on the ground.
Cox
ordered me to "kiss the railroad bum good-bye," then shot him between
the eyes while I was still only inches away1. He then used a machete to chop off
the man’s hands, which he put in a zip-lock bag. He then led us up the rickety
stairs into the lower of the old depot. There Jack Greene, his band members, and
others dressed in black robes were gathered around a black leather alter in a
room lit by candles and draped in red velvet. In total shock, I was laid on the
alter and subjected to rape and torture while the participants indulged in sex,
blood, and cannibalism ritual.
The next day I woke up on Cox’s couch, vaguely aware that I had suffered a
"bad nightmare". When I stood up, I passed out from blood loss. I was
bleeding profusely from the vagina. It was all I could do to prepare to drive
back to Michigan, and my friend was certainly not in a stable frame of mind to
help. I did not know what happened to me, nor was I able to question it. I had a
new "obsession" on my mind. I had been programmed at the ritual to
move to Nashville and marry Cox, as ordered by Senator Byrd.
Back in Michigan, I made the announcement to my parents that I was moving to
Nashville to marry Cox, as it was "predestination". What they would
not tell me was that my father had just literally SOLD me to Senator Byrd
in exchange for lucrative military contracts that made him a millionaire
overnight—a millionaire on a sixth grade education—a perverse, child
exploiting criminal, immune from prosecution, working as a CIA operative
for the U.S, government!
That mind shattering occult ritual I endured in Nashville marked a new life of wealth and prestige for my father white thrusting me into a new phase of my torturous existence-and I had no choice in any of it!
1 Nashville
Metropolitan Police Lieutenant Bob Ezell, who also acted in the capacity of
Grand Ol’ Opry security guard, covered up the murder.