War Is Crime note: While the new American administration hesitates whether or not they have enough reasons to prosecute their predecessors as criminals, here is a shocking picture of the ex-U.S. Vice President Dick Cheney. Forget the ‘legal’ aspect of the issue: this scum tortures for pleasure!
The Most Dangerous Game
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.
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 I 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 prairie’s 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 jackalope 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 cartorid 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 as 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 seats 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. 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.”
The Most Dangerous Game: Revisited
George Bush was highly active in the Lampe, Missouri and Mount Shasta, California retreat compounds. Just like Lampe, Shasta’s cover was country music. According to everyone I knew, singer and songwriter Merle Haggard supposedly ran the show at Lake Shasta, diverting any and all attention from the nearby Mount Shasta compound. Shasta was the largest covert mind control slave camp of which I am aware. Hidden in the wooded hills, military fencing corrals an enormous fleet of unmarked black helicopters and more mind controlled military robots than I saw in all of Haiti. This covert military operation served its own agenda, not America’s. I was told and overheard that it was a base for the future Multi Jurisdictional Police Force for enforcing order and law in the New World Order. In the center of the high security compound, was another well-guarded military-fenced area that was regarded as a “Camp David” of sorts for those running our country. George Bush and Dick Cheney shared an office there, and claimed the outer perimeter woods as their own hunting ground where they played “A Most Dangerous Game.” Predicated on conversations I overheard between the two, it was this world police military background that earned Dick Cheney his cabinet appointment as Secretary of Defense with the Bush Administration.
Houston stayed at Haggard’s Lake Shasta resort while Kelly and I were helicoptered to Mount Shasta for our scheduled meeting with Bush and Cheney. The helicopter pilot directed our attention to the military fencing surrounding the outer perimeter of the compound. Rarely did pilots ever speak to either of us, but this one smiled wickedly as he told us we would need to know the outer limits for A Most Dangerous Game.
As soon as we arrived at Bush and Cheney’s inner sanctum, noticed George Bush, Jr. was with them. It was my experience that Jr. stood by his father and covered his backside whenever Bush would become incapacitated from drugs or required criminal back up. It appeared that Jr. was there to serve both purposes, while his father and Cheney enjoyed their work-vacation.
Hyper from drugs, Cheney and Bush were eager to hunt their human prey in “A Most Dangerous Game.” They greeted me with the rules of the game, ordered me to strip naked despite the cold December winds, and told me in Oz cryptic to “beware of the lions and tigers and bears.” Kelly’s life became the stakes, as usual, which resurrected my natural and exaggerated programmed maternal instincts. Tears silently ran down my cheeks as Bush told me, “If we catch you, Kelly’s mine. So run, run as fast as you can. I’ll get you and your little girl, too, because I can, I can, I can. And I will.” Cheney, daring me to respond, asked, “Any questions?”
I said, “There’s no place to run because there’s a fence — the kind I can’t get over. I saw it.”
Rather than physically assault me, Cheney laughed at my sense of “no where to run, no where to hide” and explained that a bear had torn a hole in the fence somewhere, and all I had to do is find it. He lowered his rifle to my head and said, “Let the games begin. Go.”
Wearing only my tennis shoes, I ran through the trees as fast and as far as I could, which wasn’t very far at all. Bush was using his bird dog to track me, the same one that had recently been used with me in bestiality filming as a “Byrd-dog” joke on my owner, Robert C. Byrd. When caught, Cheney held his gun to my head again as he stood over me, looking warm in his sheep skin coat. Bush ordered me to take his dog sexually while they watched, then he and Cheney ushered me back to their cabin.
I pulled on my clothes and sat in the office part of the cabin awaiting instructions. I had no idea where Kelly was, nor do I in retrospect. Bush and Cheney were still in their hunting clothes when the programming session began. Bush said, “You and I are about to embark on a most dangerous game of diplomatic relations. This is my game. You will follow my rules. I will have the distinct advantage of hunting you with my Eye in the Sky (satellite). I’ll watch every move you make. As long as you play the game by my rules and make no mistakes, you live. One mistake and I’ll get you, my pretty, and your little girl, too. You die, and Kelly will have to play with me. I prefer it that way. Then it will be her most dangerous game. The cards are stacked in my favor because, well, it is my game! Are you game?”
There was no choice. I responded as conditioned, “Yes, Sir! I’m game.” The parallels to the Most Dangerous game that had just occurred in the woods were deliberate and intended to make retrieval of memory “impossible” due to crypto-amnesia scrambling.
“Good. Then let the games begin. Listen carefully to your instructions. You have no room for error.” Cheney flipped his “game timer” — an hourglass. Bush continued, “This game is called the King and Eye, and here’s the deal. You will be establishing stronger diplomatic relations according to order between Mexico, the U.S., and the Middle East. Your role will require a change of face at each new place. I’ll chart your course, define your role, and pull your strings. You’ll speak my words when I pull your strings. There is no room for error.”
Cheney was half lying across the plain military issue style desk in an apparent drug stupor as Bush talked. Still wearing his hunting coat and hat, Cheney aimed his rifle at me from the desk and threatened, “Or a-hunting we will go.” Bush finished Cheney’s threat by singing, “We’ll catch a fox and put her in a box and lower her in a hole.”
Bush looked at Cheney and burst out laughing. The sight of him dressed in his hunting clothes with a huge bore double-barreled shotgun to his shoulder inspired Bush to tell him he “looked like Elmer Fudd.” Cheney, imitating the cartoon character, said, “Where is that waskily wabbit?”
Operation The King and Eye would involve Reagan’s #1 envoy Philip Habib (who cryptically played the Alice in Wonderland role of the White Rabbit with slaves such as myself) and Saudi Arabian King Fahd. So when Bush referred to the two as “Elmer Fahd and the Waskily Wabbit,” he and Cheney laughed until they cried. Since both were already high from drugs anyway, they had a great deal of difficulty maintaining composure long enough to complete my programming.
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