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Obama Grants Interview to Racist Teen Nude Picture Website
Barack Obama, the President of the United States of America, hosted an "Ask Me Anything" (AMA) thread on free teen n00dz archive Reddit today. It was a historic day: Finally, well-educated white men had the chance to question the President.
Ironicwarcriminal posted:Google?
oh no what hypocrisy truly another nail in the coffin of this once great union
not everything is about Australia IWC
Edited by dipshit420 ()
introduced me to then President Ronald Reagan in the fall of 19821 at a White
House political party. Byrd told me, "When you meet the Chief, imagine him
with his pants down. He's most comfortable knowing you are imagining him
with his pants down. He doesn't want formality." Former president Ford had
conditioned me to dread the Office of President, and I mechanically went
through the motions of meeting Reagan,
Reagan admittedly had seen the How To Divide a Personality and How so
Create a Sex Slave videos made in Huntsville, Alabama. He acted very pleased
with me as though I had participated in them willingly. Within the first few
minutes of meeting Reagan, he was giving me acting tips to utilize in
government operations and pornography!! "When you become your part, your
performance increases, which in turn increases your ability to do your part—for
your country. 'Ask not what your country can do for you. Ask what you can
do for your country'-your part," he instructed. Somehow, Reagan's reminder
of Ford's and VanderJagt's conditioning to Kennedy's quote seemed more
patriotically significant than "simply" sexually entertaining politicians by
waving a flag in my bottom. After gazing deep into his self-professed
"kaleidoscope eyes," each metaphorical phrase he spoke became life and breath
to me.
Reagan explained to me that the illegal CIA covert activities I was forced to
participate in were "justified" as they funded covert activities in Afghanistan
and Nicaragua. He explained, "America's Freedom Train is spanning the globe
and sex is but a sidetrack to the ultimate course of freedom. Our job of
procuring and transporting arms is the most difficult part of all. But it can and
must be done. How can a man with no arms fight? These operations are
necessary as American people raise too much hell about violence already, and it
is better they're not informed of our supporting wars they cannot understand the
significance of."
I realize now that Reagan twisted reality to fit his personal perceptions
rather than to adhere to Byrd's philosophy of providing "excuses" for what he
deemed "the order of things". In typical Reagan fashion, he did not perceive
mind control as slavery, but as "an opportunity for those who otherwise would mind control as slavery, but as "an opportunity for those who otherwise would
have nothing in life". He claimed that multigenerational incestuously abused
children like myself, or "previously impoverished baseball players from third
world countries and slums, are provided an opportunity to 'be all they can be'
through making a 'contra-bution' to society, our nation, and the world, by utilizing
their talents to maximum potential." With this altitude, Reagan displayed
pride in the sick role he played as The Wizard Of Oz, directing Project Monarch
slaves like myself.
That night. Senator Byrd acted in the capacity of a pimp and prostituted me
to Reagan. Referring to me as though I were a machine, Reagan asked Byrd,
"Does she run on chemicals?" meaning specific CIA drugs.
Byrd answered, "She takes it in spurts". 1 noticed that Reagan's eyes lit up
with perversion and understanding of Byrd's statement, which meant that I "shared" whatever drugs were in his system through his urine. Reagan later
told me he preferred sex slaves equipped for this task since he, as President,
should not have to get up in the night to urinate, "Well," Reagan said, holding up his glass, "All I've had to fuel her with is
alcohol. That's not much of a jolt from a "whiz of a Wiz(ard)." Byrd
chuckled at Reagan's Oz cryptic joke and removed his gold cocaine vial from
the inner pocket of his suit. He and Reagan discretely turned their backs to the
party while Byrd "spoon fed" Reagan the drug up his nose.
Before I left with Reagan, Byrd informed me that "Uncle Ronnie doesn't
sleep with his mommy (Nancy)," and that he preferred snuggling into his LL
Bean, light blue flannel sheets in his nightshirt and ridiculous nightcap because
"they're warmer, softer, more comfortable, and don't snore".
Later, in his bedroom, Reagan accessed my sexual programming, and I during sex. After all, that was "my duty". And my duty was to please him,
whatever it took, and it took more time than anything. Reagan never hurt me
(he always made sure someone else did that) and used this as a "bond" to the
little child ("Kitten") personality he always accessed for sex. Reagan's most
apparent personality kink was his love for bestiality pornography.2 According
to my handlers, his passion for pornography escalated its manufacture and
distribution during his Administration. He wholeheartedly approved and
encouraged the porn industry for funding covert activity. Many commercial and instructional (private) pornography films I and others
participated in, referred to as "Uncle Ronnie's Bedtime Stories," were
manufactured solely for his pleasure-oftentimes according to his instruction,
using Freedom Train slaves. After my initial meeting with Reagan, I was used
in numerous films that were produced predominantly at Youngstown Charm
School and/or by his "Chief Pornographer"3 Michael Dante, specifically to
satisfy his perversions. These included a wide range of cryptic themes, but
were mostly bestiality. Reagan often watched the videos while I was prostituted
to him, requiring me to re-enact the porn however possible.
MadMedico posted:My mind-controlled existence became more complicated after Senator Byrd
introduced me to then President Ronald Reagan in the fall of 19821 at a White
House political party. Byrd told me, "When you meet the Chief, imagine him
with his pants down. He's most comfortable knowing you are imagining him
with his pants down. He doesn't want formality." Former president Ford had
conditioned me to dread the Office of President, and I mechanically went
through the motions of meeting Reagan,
Reagan admittedly had seen the How To Divide a Personality and How so
Create a Sex Slave videos made in Huntsville, Alabama. He acted very pleased
with me as though I had participated in them willingly. Within the first few
minutes of meeting Reagan, he was giving me acting tips to utilize in
government operations and pornography!! "When you become your part, your
performance increases, which in turn increases your ability to do your part—for
your country. 'Ask not what your country can do for you. Ask what you can
do for your country'-your part," he instructed. Somehow, Reagan's reminder
of Ford's and VanderJagt's conditioning to Kennedy's quote seemed more
patriotically significant than "simply" sexually entertaining politicians by
waving a flag in my bottom. After gazing deep into his self-professed
"kaleidoscope eyes," each metaphorical phrase he spoke became life and breath
to me.
Reagan explained to me that the illegal CIA covert activities I was forced to
participate in were "justified" as they funded covert activities in Afghanistan
and Nicaragua. He explained, "America's Freedom Train is spanning the globe
and sex is but a sidetrack to the ultimate course of freedom. Our job of
procuring and transporting arms is the most difficult part of all. But it can and
must be done. How can a man with no arms fight? These operations are
necessary as American people raise too much hell about violence already, and it
is better they're not informed of our supporting wars they cannot understand the
significance of."
I realize now that Reagan twisted reality to fit his personal perceptions
rather than to adhere to Byrd's philosophy of providing "excuses" for what he
deemed "the order of things". In typical Reagan fashion, he did not perceive
mind control as slavery, but as "an opportunity for those who otherwise would mind control as slavery, but as "an opportunity for those who otherwise would
have nothing in life". He claimed that multigenerational incestuously abused
children like myself, or "previously impoverished baseball players from third
world countries and slums, are provided an opportunity to 'be all they can be'
through making a 'contra-bution' to society, our nation, and the world, by utilizing
their talents to maximum potential." With this altitude, Reagan displayed
pride in the sick role he played as The Wizard Of Oz, directing Project Monarch
slaves like myself.
That night. Senator Byrd acted in the capacity of a pimp and prostituted me
to Reagan. Referring to me as though I were a machine, Reagan asked Byrd,
"Does she run on chemicals?" meaning specific CIA drugs.
Byrd answered, "She takes it in spurts". 1 noticed that Reagan's eyes lit up
with perversion and understanding of Byrd's statement, which meant that I "shared" whatever drugs were in his system through his urine. Reagan later
told me he preferred sex slaves equipped for this task since he, as President,
should not have to get up in the night to urinate, "Well," Reagan said, holding up his glass, "All I've had to fuel her with is
alcohol. That's not much of a jolt from a "whiz of a Wiz(ard)." Byrd
chuckled at Reagan's Oz cryptic joke and removed his gold cocaine vial from
the inner pocket of his suit. He and Reagan discretely turned their backs to the
party while Byrd "spoon fed" Reagan the drug up his nose.
Before I left with Reagan, Byrd informed me that "Uncle Ronnie doesn't
sleep with his mommy (Nancy)," and that he preferred snuggling into his LL
Bean, light blue flannel sheets in his nightshirt and ridiculous nightcap because
"they're warmer, softer, more comfortable, and don't snore".
Later, in his bedroom, Reagan accessed my sexual programming, and I during sex. After all, that was "my duty". And my duty was to please him,
whatever it took, and it took more time than anything. Reagan never hurt me
(he always made sure someone else did that) and used this as a "bond" to the
little child ("Kitten") personality he always accessed for sex. Reagan's most
apparent personality kink was his love for bestiality pornography.2 According
to my handlers, his passion for pornography escalated its manufacture and
distribution during his Administration. He wholeheartedly approved and
encouraged the porn industry for funding covert activity. Many commercial and instructional (private) pornography films I and others
participated in, referred to as "Uncle Ronnie's Bedtime Stories," were
manufactured solely for his pleasure-oftentimes according to his instruction,
using Freedom Train slaves. After my initial meeting with Reagan, I was used
in numerous films that were produced predominantly at Youngstown Charm
School and/or by his "Chief Pornographer"3 Michael Dante, specifically to
satisfy his perversions. These included a wide range of cryptic themes, but
were mostly bestiality. Reagan often watched the videos while I was prostituted
to him, requiring me to re-enact the porn however possible.
I read this
gyrofry posted:MadMedico posted:My mind-controlled existence became more complicated after Senator Byrd
introduced me to then President Ronald Reagan in the fall of 19821 at a White
House political party. Byrd told me, "When you meet the Chief, imagine him
with his pants down. He's most comfortable knowing you are imagining him
with his pants down. He doesn't want formality." Former president Ford had
conditioned me to dread the Office of President, and I mechanically went
through the motions of meeting Reagan,
Reagan admittedly had seen the How To Divide a Personality and How so
Create a Sex Slave videos made in Huntsville, Alabama. He acted very pleased
with me as though I had participated in them willingly. Within the first few
minutes of meeting Reagan, he was giving me acting tips to utilize in
government operations and pornography!! "When you become your part, your
performance increases, which in turn increases your ability to do your part—for
your country. 'Ask not what your country can do for you. Ask what you can
do for your country'-your part," he instructed. Somehow, Reagan's reminder
of Ford's and VanderJagt's conditioning to Kennedy's quote seemed more
patriotically significant than "simply" sexually entertaining politicians by
waving a flag in my bottom. After gazing deep into his self-professed
"kaleidoscope eyes," each metaphorical phrase he spoke became life and breath
to me.
Reagan explained to me that the illegal CIA covert activities I was forced to
participate in were "justified" as they funded covert activities in Afghanistan
and Nicaragua. He explained, "America's Freedom Train is spanning the globe
and sex is but a sidetrack to the ultimate course of freedom. Our job of
procuring and transporting arms is the most difficult part of all. But it can and
must be done. How can a man with no arms fight? These operations are
necessary as American people raise too much hell about violence already, and it
is better they're not informed of our supporting wars they cannot understand the
significance of."
I realize now that Reagan twisted reality to fit his personal perceptions
rather than to adhere to Byrd's philosophy of providing "excuses" for what he
deemed "the order of things". In typical Reagan fashion, he did not perceive
mind control as slavery, but as "an opportunity for those who otherwise would mind control as slavery, but as "an opportunity for those who otherwise would
have nothing in life". He claimed that multigenerational incestuously abused
children like myself, or "previously impoverished baseball players from third
world countries and slums, are provided an opportunity to 'be all they can be'
through making a 'contra-bution' to society, our nation, and the world, by utilizing
their talents to maximum potential." With this altitude, Reagan displayed
pride in the sick role he played as The Wizard Of Oz, directing Project Monarch
slaves like myself.
That night. Senator Byrd acted in the capacity of a pimp and prostituted me
to Reagan. Referring to me as though I were a machine, Reagan asked Byrd,
"Does she run on chemicals?" meaning specific CIA drugs.
Byrd answered, "She takes it in spurts". 1 noticed that Reagan's eyes lit up
with perversion and understanding of Byrd's statement, which meant that I "shared" whatever drugs were in his system through his urine. Reagan later
told me he preferred sex slaves equipped for this task since he, as President,
should not have to get up in the night to urinate, "Well," Reagan said, holding up his glass, "All I've had to fuel her with is
alcohol. That's not much of a jolt from a "whiz of a Wiz(ard)." Byrd
chuckled at Reagan's Oz cryptic joke and removed his gold cocaine vial from
the inner pocket of his suit. He and Reagan discretely turned their backs to the
party while Byrd "spoon fed" Reagan the drug up his nose.
Before I left with Reagan, Byrd informed me that "Uncle Ronnie doesn't
sleep with his mommy (Nancy)," and that he preferred snuggling into his LL
Bean, light blue flannel sheets in his nightshirt and ridiculous nightcap because
"they're warmer, softer, more comfortable, and don't snore".
Later, in his bedroom, Reagan accessed my sexual programming, and I during sex. After all, that was "my duty". And my duty was to please him,
whatever it took, and it took more time than anything. Reagan never hurt me
(he always made sure someone else did that) and used this as a "bond" to the
little child ("Kitten") personality he always accessed for sex. Reagan's most
apparent personality kink was his love for bestiality pornography.2 According
to my handlers, his passion for pornography escalated its manufacture and
distribution during his Administration. He wholeheartedly approved and
encouraged the porn industry for funding covert activity. Many commercial and instructional (private) pornography films I and others
participated in, referred to as "Uncle Ronnie's Bedtime Stories," were
manufactured solely for his pleasure-oftentimes according to his instruction,
using Freedom Train slaves. After my initial meeting with Reagan, I was used
in numerous films that were produced predominantly at Youngstown Charm
School and/or by his "Chief Pornographer"3 Michael Dante, specifically to
satisfy his perversions. These included a wide range of cryptic themes, but
were mostly bestiality. Reagan often watched the videos while I was prostituted
to him, requiring me to re-enact the porn however possible.I read this
peeled out of her matronly nylon panties and pantyhose. Uninhibited despite a
long day in the hot sun, she gasped, "Eat me, oh, god, eat me now". I had no
choice but to comply with her orders, and Bill Hall's wife made no move to join
me in my distasteful task. Hillary had resumed examining my hideous mutilation
and performing oral sex on me when Bill Clinton walked in. Hillary
lifted her head to ask, "How'd it go?"
Clinton appeared totally unaffected by what he walked into, tossed his jacket
on a chair and said, "It's official. I'm exhausted. I'm going to bed."
I put my clothes on as ordered, and Hall's wife drove me back down to the
mansion where Houston was waiting for me. The meeting apparently had been
a success. I heard discussions throughout the remaining years between
Houston, his agent Reggie MacLaughlin, and Loretta Lynn's handler, Ken Riley
pertaining to Hall's successful branch of the CIA cocaine operation emanating
from Arkansas, No discussions were as poignant and revealing as those
between Alex Houston and CIA operative country music entertainer Boxcar
Willie.
Boxcar Willie burst onto the country music scene after an ad campaign of
high tech hypnotically persuasive produced television commercials that
strategically made him an overnight, sensation and "star". The country music
industry's Freedom Train needed a conductor to lead the industry and fans to
Branson, Missouri, and Boxcar Willie was placed in the driver's seat. Like the
Pied Piper of Hamlin, Boxcar Willie succeeded in his role of trance-ferring the
industry in close proximity to the Lampe CIA cocaine operations.
Boxcar Willie was one of the primary ground level contacts that Bill Hall
made after Clinton convinced him to cash in on the cocaine benefits of the
country music industry transfer. Houston and Boxcar Willie discussed Hall's
lucrative dealings throughout the years in my presence while traveling the
country together, billed on the same shows, including performances at the Swiss
Villa Amphitheatre, I had much contact with Boxcar Willie personally since my
government sponsored cocaine runs often coincided and intermeshed with his.
But 1 never knew Boxcar Willie as well as my daughter, Kelly, knew him.
Kelly has named Boxcar Willie as one of her primary sexual abusers in three
different mental institutions, and has voiced frustration at the lack of justice.
"Why am I the one locked up while my abusers remain free?" she constantly
pleads. I assure her I am doing all I can to blow the whistle on Boxcar Willie
for hex, and expose his role in transferring the country music industry to close
proximity of the Lampe, Missouri CIA cocaine operation as outlined by Bill
Clinton.
"Hell yes!" a man in a casual shirt said, pulling me in the door. "James will need a little at the break. A little pick-me-upper for his pecker. You just sit down here little lady and get yourself HOT. No," he laughed, "cool your wheels or is that heels? Just relax your c--t until it's time for the hunt. James is almost finished with the set." He pretended he was yelling to James in a high voice, "James, she's here, the one you hold near and dear, the c--t from Bob the Boss man." Then he looked over to me and said, "Just a few moments and you'll be on the Highway to Heaven with James ...little Jimmy."
James stumbled off stage all sweaty and took my hand. I was feeling shy and he said, "Follow me on the Highway to Heaven. You are in for the ride of the night, as you ride my jewel to heaven. It will be out of this world, otherworldly, outta' sight!" He took me into a room and laid me on a couch chair and said, "Look into the air, don't beware, your chicken is cookin,' you're good lookin,' but aren't aware." He pushed my head over to the side real hard and continued, "Show me your wares." So I took off my clothes and dropped them to the floor. He told me to sit and spread 'em so I did and he dropped his loose fitting off white cotton trousers on the floor. While he held tightly to the back of my head, he relieved himself in my mouth. "Oh, oh," he screamed, "that was gooooood. Swallow that please and then you can be excused." He swished on by, kind of dancy like and said, "That oughtta' propel me into the second half with gusto!"
He walked out, closed the door and I sat there like a robot until another guy came in and raped me on the couch. He said, "James saved your c--t for me this time." He stood over me and when he orgasmed he screamed, "I feel like a cock-a-doodle-do!" he said crowing like a rooster. When he was through with me he said, "Okay, its clothes time!" then he delivered a hypnotic hand command. I got up and pulled my clothes on and he led me out to the side door where Craig was standing at the door waiting for me. Craig took me by the hand, and I felt like a little girl going back to my seat where I sat robotically until the concert was finished.
Over the years I was programmed to listen repeatedly to James Taylor's songs while some of the word phrases "re-minded" me to, "...leave your mind behind, Mexico..." and "...you can run but you cannot hide, this is widely known ...."
Sly thought the dolphin porn was the greatest new combo and he directed a lot of the porn videos. It was filmed at areas at the North Shore, Poipu or, he had us helicoptered into remote areas for filming. Large cameras were taken out to these remote island areas. I delivered some money from Stallone and from other less prominent men on the island to Ken, the wealthy attorney who had a big beautiful house in Kilauea. I believe it was his job to see that the money was sufficiently laundered.
Sly wore a wet suit but we were always naked in the water. There were trained dolphins that we did water ballet and swam with. When we swam gracefully the male dolphin got excited and started nudging us. We grabbed onto them and went for the ride; if we didn't, they told us, "one wrong move and you could get ripped to shreds." The dolphin actually remembered us over time and the same male would consistently choose the same girl, even when the group size changed from small to large. They got to know us and didn't forget in between. When my sons were on the island they were filmed also. One day after the filming, Sly said to Kelly, "You come back soon, ya here?"
During other visits, where I was supposedly allowed to see my children, Kelly and I were prostituted to Charlton Heston, and I was to Kareem Abdul Jabaar. Taj Mahal, the jazz musician, was on the island to keep other slaves in line through satanic rituals. One time I was programmed to drive to Secret Beach at night to attend a 'gathering' where, unbeknownst to my conscious personality, I was raped in a ritual.
port of call. Key West, Florida. Houston took Kelly and me to a nearby tennis
court under the guise of playing tennis. In reality, I was to meet with CIA
Operative Jimmy Buffett, who devoted more time to the proliferation of CIA
criminal covert activity than he did to his music career cover. Buffett was
playing tennis. Referring to him as though he were to be my tennis instructor,
Houston said, "There's your instructor. As soon as he gathers the balls, he
should be over here to meet you."
Noticing us, Buffett strode over and shook hands with Houston. "Hi,
Jimmy/ Houston said as though they were old buddies.
"Hi, Alex and Elemer," Buffett responded, sarcastically using Houston's
stage name.
"Oh," Houston said. Never one to know an insult when he heard it, he
continued, "What do your friends call you?"
"What does it malter to you?" Buffett asked. "Uncle calls me Jim. I take it
you're not the contact,"
Houston pointed to me, "She is".
"That's more like it," Buffett smiled. "A little Byrd told me I'd be meeting
with a Diamond in the Rough."3
"I prefer a Diamond in the Buff," he said, "I've got a studio across the
street."
As we walked toward his studio, I was oblivious to the meaning behind his
conversation. with Houston and commented, "I understand you're an instructor.
I wish I had brought my racquet."
"I'm not that kind of an instructor," Buffett explained, "I'm a point man for
Uncle. And you've got an appointment with me. I have some instructions to
give you." As we entered his studio, he said, "Welcome to paradise," and
gestured me in. We went into the small living quarters, which may have
appeared even smaller due to the electronic equipment, acoustic guitars, and
furniture that filled the room. A black mirrored coffee table, atypical of
cocaine users I'd known, was the clearest spot in the room, A gold razor blade,
cocaine residue, an ashtray full of marijuana roaches, and a fanned deck of card
with the queen of hearts on top lay on the table. Tropical plants further
cluttered the room. Standing between a perched, stuffed parrot and a banana
tree, Buffett was saying, "Key West is a key place to be. It's the key to the
Caribbean - Cuba, Panama - anyplace that means anything to Uncle these days, I
hold the keys. I'm keeper of the keys and I hold a few of yours." Looking at
his parrot, he continued, "The bird/Byrd says you respond to pair-o-dice, look
deep into the parrot eyes."
I did as instructed, and Buffett popped out the bird's ruby red eyes, which
actually were dice, into his hand. "Roll your eyes high while I roll my pair-odice,"
he ordered as he rolled the dice across the table. Stopping at the deck of
cards, he picked up the jack of diamonds. "I am a jack of all trades," he cryptically continued. "And I trade in whatever Uncle orders. An order has
been placed. You must follow orders and go to that place. Go to the White
House Inn at the pier. Carry your laundry bag (full of cash) with you, and see
the man in black. (My Cuban contact almost always wore a conspicuous black
trench coat.) There is a launderman on the dock itself. They do all my
laundering for me, and will be expecting you. Watch for the sea-man with the
duffel bag. When you see the military green duffel bag, approach the desk.
When he says, "I need this laundered, but I do not have the time," you say,
"Welcome to Paradise. I will make sure it is cleaned and delivered on time."
Then give him your duffel bag of 'laundry' and say, "This has been properly
laundered for you". Take the duffel bag. It will be light as a feather. Return
to the Inn and enjoy the buffet."
Changing modes, Buffett unzipped his shorts as he asked, "Do you like a
buffet? I have a Buffett buffet for you now. And it is Paradise!"
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?
using it. The smorgasbord of drugs laid out supposedly included opium,
cocaine, and Wonderland Wafers (MDMHA-XTC aka ecstasy), which indicated
to me they intended to celebrate their vacation with abandon. 1 had seen
Cheney stumbling drunk before, but this was the only time I saw him use heroin
and give it to me. Kelly, too, was subjected to the drugs.
Bush attempted to sell Cheney on the idea of pedophilia through graphic
descriptions of having sex with Kelly. Both were already sexually aroused from
drugs and anticipation. Cheney demonstrated to Bush why he did not have sex
with kids by exposing himself to Kelly and saying, "Come here". Upon seeing
Cheney's unusually large penis, Kelly reeled back in horror and cried, "No!"
which made them both laugh. Bush asked Cheney for his liquid cocaine
atomizer as he got up to take Kelly to the bedroom. When Cheney remarked
how benevolent it was of Bush to numb her with it before sex, Bush replied,
"The hell it is. It's for me." He described his excited state in typical vulgar
terms and explained that he wanted it to spray cocaine on his penis to last
longer.
Cheney said, "I thought it was for the kid."
Bush explained, "Half the fun is having them squirm." He took Kelly's
hand and led her off to the bedroom.
dipshit420 posted:Double Post rule, post Simpsons clip:
baseball team manager Tommy LaSorda, George Bush, Jr., and star pitcher of
Jr.'s Texas Rangers, Nolan Ryan (who was also a banker) were at Dante's
house working out the details of money laundering and bank transactions for the
imminent opening of the Juarez border cocaine, heroin, and white slavery route.
The common bond of covert criminal activity overrode any professional baseball
conflicts between them. All three were in town to be in attendance at various
gatherings and parties of Reagan's, who would be arriving in a matter of days.
And all three appeared to have an understanding of my function as Reagan's
"Presidential Model" mind-control sex slave.
Dante was gathering the necessary clothes and props for the evening
rendezvous with de la Madrid. LaSorda, Nolan Ryan, and Jr. were standing in
the entrance way of Dante's house attempting to activate my "Baseball Mind
Computer" programmed personality fragment that had inadvertently been
shattered by Bush and Cheney's traumas at Shasta. Dante told them, "She
knows more about baseball than you and Tommy (LaSorda) put together. Go
ahead and ask her something. Anything."
Much to LaSorda's amusement, Nolan Ryan asked, "How many times does
Fernando Valenzuela (Dodger pitcher) touch his hat if he's going to throw a
srewgy (screw ball)?" I could not respond, although I had once known more
statistical data than would ever be in print,
Jr. hollered, "Hey, Dante". What's with your baseball computer here, huh?
Are we supposed to say a magic word?"
"I don't know," Dante responded. "Could be drugs. Her sex is working
fine, though. Give it a whirl."
Jr. declined, saying, "No thanks. The Baseball Computer sucks enough.
Listen, we'll see you later." Jr. had never shown any interest in me sexually.
Like his father, he had only shown sexual interest in Kelly, who had been away
with him most of the day. As he turned to leave, he stroked me under the chin
and cryptically said, "Have a Ball tonight".
LaSorda, who had not been on his Ultra Slim Fast-sponsored diet yet, said,
"Speaking of balls, mine could use a little attention here." He unzipped his
pants.
Dante told me, "We gotta get dressed. Three minutes." Three minutes was
a trigger for me to perform a specific, oral sex act. I knelt on the floor and
pushed up LaSorda's enormous belly, resting it on my head as I groped for his
penis as ordered. Dante's two Great Danes came in as Jr. and Nolan Ryan left
I had been forced to participate in a bestiality film with these sex-trained dogs
earlier that day, and I had to fight them off as I sexually gratified LaSorda
before getting ready for "the Ball".
The whole Las Vegas scene was always an extremely painful nightmare for me. I was subjected to lots of violence there from Frank Sinatra, "to keep all the little secrets quiet," he said. He was brutal to me. He tied me up, down, tied my wrists together, slapped me over and over, used bright lights, raped me and strapped me with a leather belt. Vegas was never fun. Porn was also filmed there and I was prostituted to high government officials and friends of Bob. Uncle Frank took care of the "security" so I didn't ever step out of line. The consequences were disastrous every time I stepped out of line. There was a number system that measured things I did wrong - if I disobeyed in any way, I was marked down a certain number of points. Only I didn't ever know what the number system was or how it worked. So I never knew if I'd reached the point where I had to be "taken care of." It was very scary and I was always confused and couldn't think because I didn't know, couldn't remember, what it was that was bad to do. So I was afraid everything I was doing could cause some point to be added or taken away. They kept score for years and the stakes went up after I had the kids. Then they threatened to hurt them or when the kids were older they put me in front of all three of my children, and got very close to killing me, in order to traumatize all of us, so we wouldn't remember. In later years my little daughter, Kelly was often prostituted to many famous and sexually perverted men, including pedophiles like George Bush, Mickey Rooney and others.
I was prostituted to both Phillip and Charles in Los Angeles on different occasions and was set up with them at other times in Washington, DC, London, and New York. Prince Phillip thought he was God's gift to the world, and was arrogant and egotistical. Charles was much different. He was quieter, more somber, and more controlled. The Council told me it was important for me to form a sexual bond with him.
Charles liked to talk a lot in bed. He would lay on his side with his head cradled in his hand and talk and talk to me. He said that he was very lonely, that Di never talked to him about anything of substance and that they just didn't seem to be matched that way. He told me that they had good sex but that was it, and that he had trouble getting her to act like a member of the royal family was suppose to act so they could lead their country in the way it needed to be run. He said that she didn't have much depth and was more interested in how she looked than anything else and he said, "Frankly, that bores me."
While I listened to him, his sharp nose, dark hair on his chest and the little crop of dark hair right at the small of his back grooved indelible memory in my mind files. After the first time we were together, he liked to be on top when we had sex. I don't think he knew I was a programmed slave. He just treated me like a trusted confidant, a friend, a lover, but sex was never paramount to him.
Charles explained to me that it was important for the royal family to have a good public image in order to wield the power they have, to lead the masses. He said that if the royal family was seen as weak and unstable, it could lead to a level of chaos within the English society. He said if a royal family could maintain stability, through whatever means necessary, then it was for the good of the whole country. So said Charles.
More About Elvis ...He Was Also A Robot
The Mob and others had hold of Elvis Presley. Uncle Frank sent me in on Elvis to perform "favors." I was instructed to have sex with him and tell him things that they wanted him to know or say in a show or a song, or to do. If he didn't do as they said, they threatened or tortured him or "his ole lady," as he called her. I didn't know who she was, couldn't think to. They ruled Elvis and sent me in before his shows to instruct him what to say or do during his next performance. He was usually so out of it on drugs that he couldn't "do the sex thing," he'd say, so I would tell him what to say or whatever the message was to deliver to the audience. After that, Elvis would pass out on the bed, perspiring. He was handsome, even when he was like that, until he started gaining all the weight. Then he looked very pathetic.
I was used with Elvis until he died. The last time they sent me in to be with him he was nearly unconscious. I don't know what they did to him but they used him up and then felt afraid he would "crack" and spill what he knew so they kept him drugged until they couldn't safely use him anymore and then he "died." Of course it wasn't an accident or a natural death, he had a lot of help from his controllers.
Elvis was targeted heavily by these men. When I was given messages to deliver to Elvis or others, they would inject my arm with some drug and then unless I had been pre-programmed, they quickly whispered the message into my mind files and sent me off to deliver them to Elvis. Then Elvis would use the phrases he was told as he introduced his songs or in the early days they might have become a part of new song lyrics. Just a single key phrase was enough to keep the programmed individuals, who later heard the introduction or song, under control. Then, many slaves were "drawn to him," or they did things as a result of the effects of the harmonics in his voice, in his music, and in the orchestration. But at concerts the messages were often delivered directly through words he would use to introduce his songs. He was no different than Michael Jackson, who replaced him in many ways. In my opinion, both were controlled.
My controllers often gave me the key to his suite and sent me there late at night with a message to deliver after sex with 'The King.' In the beginning, when I was 18, 19, and 20, he was more receptive and we had sex, usually with me on top most of the time and then I would whisper the message in his ear. Sometimes the messages to him were in the form of words from his own songs, but all the words weren't there and it would take on a different meaning. Like, "Wise men say, only fools rush in," and then there would be words, numbers, or codes that I delivered that I didn't even understand. He was told certain 'lines' to say in between certain songs and I feel he may have been keeping many women 'in line' and programmed by these phrases. When he slipped the messages in between songs, as pre-instructed, the messages went deeply into the subconscious minds of the audience, especially to those individuals who were programmed to react to universal words that are common to virtually all high-level, programmed individuals. They are simple words that when put into a certain sequence have a great impact on people who have been pre-conditioned with programming.
In his later years, when I was in my early twenties, Elvis became more and more 'out of it' when I went into his suite. He was always alone when I got there, which surprised me. He was usually already in bed asleep and I'd be given the key to go in and he wouldn't even sit up or act surprised that I was there. He was totally out of it from his addictions to drugs and alcohol. Elvis had tons of pill bottles on the nightstand, and groggily said he needed them all. Sometimes he was even listless and couldn't have an erection; any attempt at sex was futile. So I couldn't always do my job as instructed, but would give him the verbal messages and then slipped out, always "leaving the key behind with the memories," as my programming dictated.
From my experience I believe Elvis was a puppet, a pawn, and in the end, totally directed and, finally, used up by these men in control of him.
MadMedico posted:The next day, hours before I was to meet with de la Madrid, L.A, Dodgers
baseball team manager Tommy LaSorda, George Bush, Jr., and star pitcher of
Jr.'s Texas Rangers, Nolan Ryan (who was also a banker) were at Dante's
house working out the details of money laundering and bank transactions for the
imminent opening of the Juarez border cocaine, heroin, and white slavery route.
The common bond of covert criminal activity overrode any professional baseball
conflicts between them. All three were in town to be in attendance at various
gatherings and parties of Reagan's, who would be arriving in a matter of days.
And all three appeared to have an understanding of my function as Reagan's
"Presidential Model" mind-control sex slave.
Dante was gathering the necessary clothes and props for the evening
rendezvous with de la Madrid. LaSorda, Nolan Ryan, and Jr. were standing in
the entrance way of Dante's house attempting to activate my "Baseball Mind
Computer" programmed personality fragment that had inadvertently been
shattered by Bush and Cheney's traumas at Shasta. Dante told them, "She
knows more about baseball than you and Tommy (LaSorda) put together. Go
ahead and ask her something. Anything."
Much to LaSorda's amusement, Nolan Ryan asked, "How many times does
Fernando Valenzuela (Dodger pitcher) touch his hat if he's going to throw a
srewgy (screw ball)?" I could not respond, although I had once known more
statistical data than would ever be in print,
Jr. hollered, "Hey, Dante". What's with your baseball computer here, huh?
Are we supposed to say a magic word?"
"I don't know," Dante responded. "Could be drugs. Her sex is working
fine, though. Give it a whirl."
Jr. declined, saying, "No thanks. The Baseball Computer sucks enough.
Listen, we'll see you later." Jr. had never shown any interest in me sexually.
Like his father, he had only shown sexual interest in Kelly, who had been away
with him most of the day. As he turned to leave, he stroked me under the chin
and cryptically said, "Have a Ball tonight".
LaSorda, who had not been on his Ultra Slim Fast-sponsored diet yet, said,
"Speaking of balls, mine could use a little attention here." He unzipped his
pants.
Dante told me, "We gotta get dressed. Three minutes." Three minutes was
a trigger for me to perform a specific, oral sex act. I knelt on the floor and
pushed up LaSorda's enormous belly, resting it on my head as I groped for his
penis as ordered. Dante's two Great Danes came in as Jr. and Nolan Ryan left
I had been forced to participate in a bestiality film with these sex-trained dogs
earlier that day, and I had to fight them off as I sexually gratified LaSorda
before getting ready for "the Ball".
lol
As he closed the closet door on me, Bob said, "You'll be okay."
When Bing opened the closet to get a change of clothes, there I was, totally naked, clad in a red ribbon and holding a greeting card. Bing started laughing and read a portion of the card out loud, "a f--k me doll??!" And he laughed and laughed. He laughed so hard he bent over and held his stomach.
Bing took off his tux and put his jacket over the back of the chair, laid the rest of his clothes on the seat and stood there wearing only his black top hat, shoes and socks. He had on the kind of socks that had black elastic holding them up. He kept watching me, never taking his eyes off me while he was changing his clothes. He seemed excited about this gift, but he also seemed apprehensive.
There were instructions on the card; I know, because he laid it down and I read and retained it in my photographic memory. It said, "This lovely young lady is yours for the evening. You can't wear her down. She will please you in every way imaginable. You have only to reach out, take her left hand, squeeze it and say, 'Come on honey, we're going home.' Oh, by the way, put a raincoat on her while you're in transport, she didn't come with clothes."
So Bing took my hand and led me out of the closet. He acted like I would break or wake up or something. He treated me like I wasn't real. He was very cautious at first.
Bing and I got into a waiting limo and went to a penthouse apartment, "to unwind," Bing said. It was his home away from home, a safe place, he said, like in the song "up on the roof." He sang and danced a little and I sat on the bed and watched him. He sang some old song that I had never heard of and he looked ancient but always had a smile on his face. It seemed like he danced out of nervousness, of not knowing quite what to do.
He never looked away from me for a minute. Then he came over, undid the tie on my raincoat and slowly undid the buttons. I was barefoot and my feet were purple and cold. He pulled down the bed covers and I climbed in, and he began touching me, still with his own clothes on, when the phone rang. He put the receiver aside while the person was talking on the other end. He laughed kind of awkwardly and whispered to me, "Just last minute instructions from Bob!"
Bing hung up and said, as if I could not hear or comprehend, "Bob said to rub here in circular motions to turn you on to HOT!" He began rubbing circular motions around my belly button, activating my sexual passion touch programs, and I began to do the programmed "ohhhhhh" moans and he got an erection after hearing that and pulled off his pants while he was still rubbing. It was as if he perceived me as a robot and was afraid of not knowing how to work me ...afraid something might go wrong.
I went into my dancing mode on the bed and took off the rest of his clothes. I did like Bob had instructed me, "Tell him you're dreaming of a White Christmas and then wink." Once I had delivered that, I performed oral sex and rubbed him all over. Then I climbed on top of him and satisfied him sexually. He'd had a drink in the limo that mixed with his cologne, and he smelled like alcohol. After we were through, he went right to sleep. I curled up beside him and fell asleep, too. Maybe all this was to make sure he had that White Christmas he was dreaming of.
Gene Kelly liked to do the ole' soft-shoe for me. He always smelled of a different sort of weird cologne like Au de Bamboo. It was spicy and he'd wear a silk robe and dance around like he was in some musical play, before he sat down on the edge of the bed for me to attend to him. I took off his robe, kneeled down and gave him oral sex while he was sitting up. Half way through I gently pushed him back on the bed with the instructions to, "lay back so you can totally relax and enjoy. That's what my command is for you." And as he came in my mouth, I ate it like it was frosting, as my programming dictated, "good to the last drop," and finally I looked deeply in his eyes and said, "You were delicious."
Nearly asleep he said, "Thank you, please let yourself out." So I did. But I didn't know where to go so I just sat down on the top of the large staircase leading downstairs.
My mom came to get me. She walked up the stairs dressed in a light brown fur jacket and a beige brown knit dress with sandled high heels and took me by the hand and led me downstairs. When I was really out of it she led me almost like I was blind. I can remember hearing her charm bracelet jingling. She often put my left arm under hers and "walked me places." One night Frank Sinatra intercepted her in an elevator while she was walking me back to the room, and roughed her up in front of me, to show us both who was in charge. Due to mind control, my mother still doesn't remember this or any other of the traumatic experiences that were done to her in order to keep us all under control.
I was just a teenager and Bob said that he wanted me to be present so I could learn the ropes to being a "starlet." He wanted me to see how it was done and feel comfortable around the stage. I think he just said that as a cover to other people to hide the real reason I was with him - for his and others sexual pleasure.
Bob explained to me how important clothes are to one with a public image to uphold. I had on a short, small, tight-fitting, low-cut, yellow, sheath dress. I did as I was told and wore it along with the gold high heels I was provided.
Bob was often the connection for new entertainment. The Council used his connections for their own interest and got 'key' entertainers in place for future use. Many were robots like me. I saw many of them get hurt. I never saw Bob get hurt though. The Jacksons were hurt; I was witness to their abuse. That first time when they performed, Bob got them onto the show and then we left in the limo and watched from the television inside. He told the driver to drive around until the show was over. Then Bob told me, "See how easy it is to be a star?" And he laughed and pushed my head into his lap for oral sex.
I think most would agree that the inherent love that is part of Michael Jackson's soul essence shines through for the world to see. In spite of the programming themes in some of the songs he sings, as I was recovering I often held onto the words he sang, the lyrics reminding me, "You are not alone," when I felt so very alone. To Michael, I extend a hand and say you also are not alone. Now there is a way out of this insanity.
In 1992, before he was inaugurated, Kelly and I were prostituted to Bill Clinton in Klamath Falls, Oregon. On the ride to meet him, we were told, "Remember Chappaquiddick - that same type of accident could befall you."
When we met Clinton, he said, "Did you know that I am now your boss, and you will do exactly as I say. You are under my command." With a robotical tone of voice he told me to give him oral sex and to get down on the floor where I belonged. Then Kelly robotically sexually serviced him after which I gave him a message before we were let out of his room.
Later on, I delivered messages to Clinton from the Council, from Kauai, before he was President. I was delivered aboard a very large ship, put into a stateroom and told to stay on the bed and wait for him. I did. He slipped into the room without knocking and locked the door behind him. He said, smiling coyly, "I believe you have something for me?" He had sex with me, with my dress and his pants still on. It was a quickie and then I gave him the message. It required a simple answer that I was to deliver back to the Council. His answer was agreeable.
Bill liked to be sung to and have his forehead rubbed. He liked to play mommy and baby Bill. He was often very strange.
When it came to Bill Clinton, Henry would stoop low. He even sent up bags of cocaine with me to use when I was with Bill or Hillary in order to get them off guard. Bill and Hillary both did the cocaine. I placed it on a small mirror for them and they had glass nose straws they snorted it through. Bill could do the whole little white pile with one snort. Hillary took two or three sniffs to get all of hers. Then we usually had sex.
