Author Topic: A Most Dangerous Game  (Read 393 times)

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Offline Anonymous

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A Most Dangerous Game
« on: October 07, 2005, 08:58:00 PM »
Conpiracy buffs [don't mean that in a negative way :wink:] will love this one.

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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 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 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."

http://www.the7thfire.com/Politics%20an ... s_game.htm


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Okay, sounds pretty crazy, right? Well look at this specifically highlighted section:

Quote
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?"


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Now check this story out:

http://milwaukeemagazine.com/122004/pressroom.html

Overexposed
A Journal Sentinel photo of Dick Cheney is unexpectedly revealing. by peter robertson

Joining Vice President Dick Cheney?s motorcade in Green Bay, Milwaukee Journal Sentinel photographer Dale Guldan hoped to capture a unique image during an otherwise scripted campaign visit in September.

Did he ever.

Jumping on and off the press bus, Guldan says he took dozens of pictures at well-orchestrated photo opportunities.

On the way to Milwaukee, however, former Green Bay Packers quarterback Bart Starr convinced Cheney to make an unscheduled stop in Glendale to visit local favorite Kopp?s Frozen Custard, according to New York Times reporter Rick Lyman.

When Cheney ordered a decaf coffee and sat on a concrete ledge outside, Kopp?s manager Scott Borkin graciously brought him a sample of frozen custard. ?The guy came all the way from the White House,? Borkin says. ?He?s got to try our custard.?

The normally serious Cheney flashed a winning smile for Borkin, and Guldan snapped an attention-grabbing photo that would later be chosen for the front page of the paper?s September 11 Metro section.

Guldan got a call from a reader the next day. ?Did you notice anything unusual about that picture?? the reader asked.

Upon closer inspection, it seems the vice president?s smile was not his biggest, ahem, asset. Is that what we think it is?

?You?re not imagining it,? Guldan says of the unintentionally revealing photo.

Let?s just say the snugness of Cheney?s pants left little to the imagination, and we?re not talking about his waistline.

One Journal Sentinel reader pointed out the blooper in an e-mail to WKLH-FM radio hosts Dave Luczak, Carole Caine and Kevin Brandt, who had a hoot talking about it during their popular morning show.

?It?s nice to have someone of that magnitude in the White House,? Brandt joked.

?He?s got a porn career right there,? Caine snickered.

?Now we know where his unmitigated confidence comes from,? Luczak quipped.

We?ve seen the photo, and it?s hard not to notice something so, well, unmistakable.

Guldan explains that he took between 100 and 200 photographs that day with a digital camera, chose six to eight images for possible publication and didn?t notice anything odd in the Kopp?s image because Cheney sat in the shadows. Incredibly, a ?dozen or so? editors saw the photo before publication and nobody raised a red flag, he says.

?I got a chuckle out of it when I noticed it, too. If I had noticed it sooner, I would have cropped it,? Guldan says, referring, of course, to the standard practice of trimming a photo without altering its accuracy. ?I wasn?t out to put him in a negative light.?

While such a portrait of the VP is clearly inappropriate, it?s also a harmless mistake and could be seen as rather ? dare we say ? flattering. Just ask WKLH?s Caine, who dug through her recycling to find the photo.

?It?s like a scud missile, for crying out loud,? Caine said.

Want to see the picture for yourself? Catch it while you can at your public library?s periodical desk because chagrined Journal Sentinel officials are not in a sharing mood.

The paper denied our request to reprint the copyrighted photo, saying it had decided not to release the image to the public.

You won?t find it on jsonline.com, though there are photos of every other Cheney campaign trip to Wisconsin since April. Matt Stanton, jsonline design editor, promised to look into this curious omission, and that was the last we heard from him.

Meanwhile, Mark Hoffman, deputy photo editor, suggested we try the paper?s Photo Sales Service. Don?t bother. To check its availability, we ordered and paid for a color copy of the Cheney photo, only to get a call the next day voiding the deal.

Journal Sentinel: ?That photograph is not for sale.?



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Mind trip! Could the rest of the first story be true? You decide! :eek: :eek: :eek:

http://www.the7thfire.com/child_sexual_ ... merica.htm

http://www.mindcontrolforums.com/monarch.htm
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