The Council targeted and used areas like Las Vegas and Tahoe that drew large crowds. They also were aware that when people were drinking alcohol and watching a show, their subconscious minds were even more open to taking in deeply what they were viewing. They knew all about harmonics and they used people who were big stars to deliver their messages. There were times when they didn't have their programmed entertainers in place at shows, so they didn't have an inside connection to the show talent in order to direct them to deliver their messages to the crowd. If this occurred they would send someone to attend the show. Preferably before the show or at intermission, this person would request of the master of ceremonies to ask this entertainer to say some specific words in a certain order, explaining that it would mean so much to a certain special person in the audience, and then they would slip the M.C. a large sum of money. Later on, the celebrity performing the show would deliver the preplanned words that were meant to have an "intended programmed effect" on certain programmed mind-controlled slaves in the audience. If the performer was under mind control he or she would have been preprogrammed to deliver the activating messages during the performance.
Metro Goldwyn Meyer (MGM) Grand was synonymous with the Mob and the Hollywood celebrity connection in Vegas. The hotels were small complex microcosms of an otherwise corrupt group of mobsters owning their share of 'the strip. The hotels were a way of sorting their interests.
Bob Hope had ties to the MGM Grand and directly to the Mob that owned and ran it. I was used there with many mobsters; wealthy men who were sometimes ruthless but many times seemed to have large emotions and loyalties to certain causes.
Vegas held a lot of memories for me in the late 60's and early 70's, during the peak of my use with Hope, Nixon, Reagan, Kissinger and others. To insure their secrecy, I was taken to Vegas for «reconditioning» every so often. These times included trauma to keep the experiences sequestered from my conscious mind. After my children were born, they tied the memory of the trauma to threats used to remind me of the safety or lack of it for my children in order to keep their secrets really safe. These mob guys (Sicilian mostly) had lots of money and power in their own respective territory. That was as far as their power went, so they created a network amongst each other to insure their power in many places. They formed links to government 'political' figures in an effort to insure that they didn't lose their precious 'holdings' in areas that counted. Drugs, porn, baby sales, prostitution-they made their money wherever they could in order to keep their holdings.
After I sexually serviced Bob Hope in Vegas, I would often be visited by one of his mob buddies who would "give me the treatment." That meant drug me, isolate me, and rape me whatever trauma it took to keep my programming intact for use with Bob, the «Prez» and others. They were brutal, and knew just how to terrorize me but not physically damage me too much just inflict a lot of pain. The Mob was very connected to Bob and various government operations, and had their own pecking order that needed to be followed to insure that a person stayed alive. The Council was above the Mob, above the government, and literally coordinated how things went down with the Mob; and ultimately was instrumental in taking away much of their power and then redistributing it as needed.
During the trauma the mobsters sometimes called me "deafling," and told me the walls in Vegas had eyes and ears and could watch and hear me at all times, and that there were powerful men there who could see me all the time.
Bob gave me to "Uncle Frankie" one night after Frank Sinatra did a show in Vegas. Frank liked to use whips and chains and those very scary leather straps with me. He liked to orgasm while I was lying there on my back with him on top, while he continually tightened the leather strap around my neck until I was nearly dead — at that point he could orgasm. I had sex with him often and did the things he told me to do. One time he told me to go over to the man wearing the diamond stickpin and give him a message, "I love you…" I wasn't able to retrieve all of this memory because it turned into carousel rides, whirling, spinning, like a top, so I couldn't think to remember. This programming is called spin programming and is intended to disorient and confuse. The whirling feeling I felt in my brain was often combined with hearing a popular song playing in my head, as the lyrics reminded me, "I'm so dizzy my head is spinning."
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.
Uncle Frank was younger than Bob, and Bob said Frank could run faster to catch me if the need ever arose. Uncle Frank was the single worst heavy with me — except for Ted Kennedy, Francois Mitterand, and my own father. Frank was very scary and I reported to him directly in Vegas. I met with him upstairs and listened and followed his every direction. I went into a hypnotic trance and listened carefully, and then he would snap his fingers to switch me into another personality, and later on I would do everything as he commanded.
"Uncle Frank" told me who to sit by at the baccarat, black jack or crap tables. He told me what to say to certain men, where and how to have sex with them and gave me a key to the rooms to take them to. These men had two hours of sheer luxury and sex, and sometimes it ended with me soaping them down and redressing them. Sex, whipped cream, chocolate sauce, whatever they wanted for added pleasure. Whips and chains and leather straps, that Uncle Frank often used to nearly strangle me, were provided to these men.
Frank was very private about his private life — to the point of violence if anyone ever asked him anything. Bob had to remind Frank that I was of small stature and told him he didn't want him to "break anything" on me. Frank could get very carried away. Once, he grabbed my hair and kept pushing my head into a full tub of water until I couldn't breathe and was gagging, choking and grasping for air. Uncle Frank was the one who made me really sick in Vegas. He nearly killed me and knew all kinds of ways to torture a person. I saw him break a guy's arm on the corner of a desk, very easily, like it was a pretzel. The guy fainted. He loved to do stuff like that to people. But I did the men Uncle Frank told me to, and did the best job I possibly could, or there would be retaliation. If I didn't perform to their standards I got hurt very badly. Uncle Frank would throw me up against walls and when my body hit, I felt like I was broken. "Body slams," he called them, and I got a lot of those. He nearly killed me after I was with some darkskinned, foreign leader dressed in a white robe with a white turban on. This man was brutal also. Frank shaved my pubic hair for this man. That was also scary. Frank told Bob he wanted to do it himself, so he took me into the bathroom in the hotel and took one of those big electric shavers and made me lie down on the floor and spread my legs so he could shave me. He pinched and nicked me with that razor, and just laughed when I jumped from the pain. Tears were running uncontrollably down my face, I wasn't allowed to cry but somehow, sometimes I just couldn't help it. One of the personalities that dealt with Uncle Frank was tied directly into a system of reporting personalities, led by 'Sandy, my main reporting personality. These personalities reported everything that happened, out of trauma-conditioning, training and terror, with no ability to lie or protect themselves.
Often I was given instruction by a group of men in a darkened, smoke-filled room in Vegas. The man in charge of the security area I entered, knew me, and always waved me through. These men seemed to operate above the law, above the rules, and had connections inside lots of casinos. The messages I delivered were gambling tips, information about drug and guns deals, and other illegal and hidden agendas. "Number 9 on the line," was a code I was given and was sent in on many different men with a pre-programmed agenda. I was told a man's physical description and where he would be at a precise time. I met him and delivered the messages I was told to relay. If the man wanted more, I was instructed to "follow through," if they wanted sex. At times, though, I was told to "give them the slip," if my controllers didn't want me to have sex with them.
These top men all knew to watch out for me and someone was always "keeping an eye" on what I was doing. My father or mother just disappeared, as usual; I don't know where they went or what they were doing while I was working for my controllers in Vegas. My father had connections to these men, but they tried not to be seen together. They exhibited secret hand signals to each other from a distance. I watched as my father performed these signals, and in Vegas he always wore his diamond pinky ring. He raised his hands, crossed his arms and displayed his first two fingers. Then he shook his arms down once. A man watching him mirrored the same motion back to him then scratched his nose, after which they immediately turned away from each other. My father took me up to our hotel room where he escorted me around the room and «cued» me to certain things in the room. I was given suggestions that whenever I touched the gold fixtures in the bathroom I would forever forget what I'd been involved in. While holding my right shoulder with his hand, my father gave me the suggestion, "you will open the door, normally, and naturally, wide awake and ready for work, whenever I knock twice." He knocked twice on the door to demonstrate. He cued me to the telephone, either instructing me to answer it or later on when I was married to let Craig answer. At times my father would bring clothing, jewelry, or props for assignments. In a total trance state, I listened intently while he filled my head with instructions — times to report to different room numbers, who to look for and the message to deliver. My father would "snap me out of it," by snapping his fingers. There were times he slapped me to access different personalities.
Sometimes they had me so booked with men for sex that they had to program me to go to the bathroom in between men; I was so robotical I wouldn't remember to go to the bathroom or even be able to feel that I had to. I was just one big act, as I went from room to room with sometimes as many as four men a night. Each man had to have at least two hours. Bob said that was minimum time to have to wind up and then have to wind down (he pretended he was screwing something tightly and then he changed directions and started humping). I looped all around the hotels, from room to room, having sex with men. I was instructed to start at 8 p.m. and then did another man at 10, and one at 12, and the last at 2. At 4 a.m. I was finished. It was a nightmarish swirl of endless men. I performed the sex acts, was electroshocked in between and then switched personalities and went on. They were Bob's friends, Uncle Frank's friends, mob connections, entertainers and politicians. They had lots of friends between the two of them. They nearly owned Congress.
Uncle Frank reminded me I'd be meeting St. Peter if I didn't cooperate and toe the line. He told me about St. Peter at the Pearly Gates and explained why I would be there — which was because he needed to kill me because I stepped out of line. This was in the late 60's and early 70's, before my kids were born. Once they were born these men used threats related to my kids to terrorize me. Bob would throw his arm around Uncle Frank's neck, wink at him and say, "Take care of her Frank." That's when I knew I had gotten out of line again and was terrified, waiting in anxious anticipation for my punishment. Frank slapped me over and over, sometimes until my cheeks were stinging and burning like they were on fire. Then he would throw his head back and laugh. He was obviously very sadistic.
Sometimes Bob would fly in just to have a quick meeting with Frank. Sometimes I flew with him for a quickie.
Brutal pornography was filmed at the Landmark Hotel in Vegas during my late teens and early 20's (196874). They used costumes and sex toys, and had themes for the porn that was often violent. At times people were killed in the porn. They didn't kill me because I was a programmed asset and they had far-reaching plans for me.
Uncle Frank could have had me killed if he wanted to. He had friends who killed people quickly and neatly. He showed me what his friends could do and I was forced to watch as they tortured and killed people. Then I knew I could be snuffed at any moment and that everyone, including Bob, knew what I was doing. I couldn't comprehend that there wasn't any mysterious, miraculous reason why they knew exactly where I was; in essence, they knew because they had sent me there! In my programmed reality I believed that my controllers magically knew everything I did.
Uncle Frank played the following song for me to listen to, the words of which I will write as well as my memory serves me:
While I listened, strapped to a chair, Uncle Frank sat and tapped his foot and when the song was finished he asked me, "You got that?" Then he slapped me over and over. He said the Kennedy brothers got what they deserved for being stupid and stepping out of line. He said, "At anytime you could be next if you get stupid on me." I still feel like crying when I hear that song.
Tahoe was connected to the Mob also and many entertainers performing in Vegas and Tahoe/Reno were used by the Mob. I believe Helen Reddy and Karen Carpenter may have been manipulated also. I was programmed to some of Karen Carpenter's songs and felt very sad when she died, like I knew her. I believe she was also under mind control. Bob supplied the Mob with illegal business and access to his political connections, and they supplied him with protection and connections all over the world. They were networked up, and inter-linked all over the place. There were certain favorites in Vegas that Bob shared me with.
Jimmy the Greek was a very scary mobster to me. He would threaten to kill me if I even looked the wrong way. He constantly changed his mind about what he wanted and it was hard to please him or to get what he instructed right. He would tell me to do something and then he would change his mind, but forget to tell me. He slapped me to the ground for not doing what I was told. He set up connections in Las Vegas and was in charge of sending me out to targeted individuals, but he always "wanted a little," before he sent me to have sex with someone else. I remember his visual image in my mind as a dark-complexioned mobster, and he spoke in that 'kind of mob accent' — broken and slangish English. He spoke in different sing-songy «lines» and I didn't always know what they meant. He gave me a message for Bob and included some phrase about a "donkey's tail" or "elephant's ears" and, at that time, I didn't know what the message meant. Now that I am free of mind control, of course I can tell what the nature of the messages were that were being sent through me, and this one obviously was referring to the political parties. He wore a diamond pinky ring on his left hand. I think wearing diamond pinky rings on their left had meant something, because my father also wore his diamond pinky ring whenever he took me to Vegas.
Jimmy the Greek directed me often in Vegas and set me up with people I was to be prostituted to. Of course, the Council had previously pre-programmed me for use with the people Jimmy the Greek put me with. I don't know how they all knew whom I was going to be with, but Bob Hope, Henry Kissinger and the Council always decided ahead of time. Maybe Jimmy was working for them in Vegas.
During the late 60's and 70's, lots of big names were in Vegas and I was prostituted to them at night. Elvis, Sammy Davis, Jr., Ed McMahon, Johnny Carson, Jimmy Dean, and others. My father took me to Vegas until I was over twenty-one years old, after that, my husband and I went without my parents. Craig would take me up to the room after a dinner show and tell me he would be back later, that he was going down to gamble. I often begged my husband not to leave me, but he acted like I was overreacting and would leave me anyway. Soon after he left, the men in suits would come and get me, and I would be taken to perform for our controllers.
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.
It was my experience that the images he portrayed on stage were nothing like how he was in private. To demonstrate this, I'll share what I remembered; but, before I do, I will tell you that retrieving these memories was very sensorially uncomfortable, due to the completeness of the olfactory portion of the memory. You'll understand as you read further.
It was late at night when I entered Elvis's room. He was lying in bed, still adorned with the gold jewelry and white suit he wore in concert. I watched as he finished his room service dinner and then I waited while he threw up in the bathroom. He was very mad at himself because he was so fat and he said he had to lose weight for the shows. I guess he made himself throw up. All I really know is that I overheard him throwing up in the bathroom and when he came back to the bed, he smelled like vomit. It wasn't long before he jumped up again and I followed him as he went back into the bathroom. He cried as he stood in front of the mirror, and hitting the counter with both hands he screamed, "I hate my life! Everything's out of control and now you want me to f-k you and I can't! I'm ruined! I'm a failure!"
I put my hand on his back in support and then on the back of his neck. As he felt my touch, his head hung down even further over the sink and he cried, "God, I'm a mess. I don't know what happened, just all of a sudden, I'm destroyed." Then he screamed, "What is wrong? What is wrong with me!" and he started pulling his hair. I pulled him up. When he turned around I hugged him and he just kept crying and crying and almost collapsed in my arms. I guided him back to bed and helped him lay down. He was sideways on the bed but I couldn't get him straightened out so as programmed, I lay next to him and rubbed his chest. His shirt was opened and his very hairy chest turned me on, but he was passed out. His mouth was open and he was breathing but he was totally out of it. I covered him with the bedspread and tiptoed out of the room.
My father was standing outside, just down the hallway. He was wearing a beige suit and when he snapped his fingers, with the hand wearing the diamond pinky ring, I listened intently to all the directions he commanded and he told me to follow him. He guided me downstairs to my room with Craig, unlocked and opened the door and waited for me to get inside before he hit me high in my back with a stun gun. I collapsed to the floor and he pulled the door shut. He almost slammed me in the door. I just lay there awhile and then when, "I came around" (that's what they called it), I crawled to the bathroom and managed to get into the bathtub. The soothing water revived me but I felt very sick, drugged and out of it. I had trouble keeping my eyes open but managed to get out of the tub, dry and put on a white nightie to wear to bed. Slowly and wobbly, I shakily made my way to the bed and got in next to Craig. I felt very sick for the next two days and had trouble eating. I felt exhausted and very nauseated, but had no way to access my own brain in order to know why.
After awhile Elvis couldn't function any longer. Henry and his buddies laughed and said that Elvis was like the tin man, all rusted up and ready for the junkyard. They waited for him to become seriously dysfunctional from the increasing amount of drugs prescribed by his doctors. Then they "stopped his ticker for him so he didn't have to suffer no more." I think Frank and his friends were in on the "do in."
Bob called it "Playing Goldilocks and the Three Bears." And he had me play that game with him and his friends in Vegas and other places. Some nights in Vegas, I'd play Goldilocks looking for a good bed with Dean Martin, Gene Kelly, Mickey Rooney (until Kelly was born). Mickey Rooney is, among other things, a pedophile and was afraid of publicly being caught with a child but he felt safe having a slave child. He thought he wouldn't be caught.
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.
Some of the same factions of the Mob that were connected to the Kennedy’s were also connected to President Nixon, Reagan and other presidents. Obviously this faction had become connected to national politics long before I came onto the scene and was already in tight, running a lot of business through the government and taking full advantage of political knowledge, insight, and position. I know because I ran messages from the Mob to U. S. presidents and back again for years.
Key Biscayne was another location where I was connected to the Mob and was told that there was no getting out — or so they said. There was some guy they called «Freddie» and other mobsters who were politically connected. BeBe Rebozo was connected to the Mob and to Nixon and he was public but not as mob-connected as the inner Mob. It was almost like BeBe was an ambassador to the Mob.
The mob guys scared me because for the most part they got what they wanted, any way they wanted and, often, that meant hurting me for information. One time they pinched my fingers to the point of almost smashing them. I didn't nor couldn't respond and so they kept increasing the torture. There were times when they nearly killed me trying to gain information I carried. Usually they lacked the technical knowledge of my codes, keys and triggers and didn't possess the technological sophistication to understand my programming. So, they couldn't get as much out of me as others who knew that I was a robot and could access me in that way.
One time when the Mob was interrogating me they tied me to a chair and one guy slapped me while another guy in a leather jacket asked me questions. I overheard him say, "These bastards are selling their own women. How low can you stoop?" It was incidents like these which told me that at least someone, even if it was the Mob, had some sort of humanity left within its membership.
One time, mob guys put a needle into my eye to try to get me to talk, but it didn't help. The needle must have hit a nerve and my whole body jolted back. They couldn't understand how a woman could endure so much torture and they began to 'respect' me. They just didn't understand that I wasn't really brave, I just couldn't respond due to years of conditioning and sophisticated programming that rendered me completely dissociative and not in control of myself. By the time they figured this out they had already tortured me half to death. I was a total robot, programmed not to respond to pain or torture, and there were many mob-connected meetings in which I was involved in Vegas, Tahoe, Reno, Key Biscayne and other places. By the time they understood more about how to get information from me, my access routes or codes ended up getting passed around. My husband just stepped aside and let them have me, as he was programmed to do. There was never anyone to protect me. The Mob involvement began in my early teens and continued for years.
Sometimes when they would get me into a room in Vegas they would accuse me of "carrying a wire" but I wasn't. They would strip me to check and some goon would end up raping me. They didn't understand yet the level of sophisticated programming that allowed me to record everything I was hearing, via mind files and photographic memory. Later, my programmers would instill messages that were to "kick in" when I was accessed by the Mob. Then, upon my return, I was activated to deliver a message to them and they acted shocked when I would deliver the message. The Mob often thought I was trying to get to some of the rich tycoons that sat at the Baccarat tables. I was usually sent to target someone there but they didn't know who or why. They never seemed to know that I wasn't ever operating from my own agenda. What they had to offer the group I was working for was minimal. The Council was going for higher stakes and most of the time, they saw these mobsters as worker-bees. But they all had their places in the pecking order. Over the years I was known in Vegas by the Mob there. Some mobsters were connected to Bob Hope in Palm Springs and others to Dean Martin and Frank Sinatra.
I used to be afraid that they would kill my children or me, but it will never stop me from doing what I know is right, now that I'm no longer under mind control. Somehow or other they knew everybody and controlled factions of business, politics, and people. Mickey Levinson, said I was «family» now, after my brother Rick and his first wife Leslie (Mickey's niece) were married.
"To be afraid is to have more faith in evil than in God."