CIA Pie Bandits

Last week, Hoodoo Lynn invited Carol and I for a Thanksgiving feast. She and her husband, Neil, had done their first orgonite-flinging campaign in Utah recently and she’ll get around to posting about it but they live not far from us, on Hoodoo Mountain, which was my very first aerial gifting target after I learned to fly.

Since Harold and Carmen in Los Angeles had planned to visit us after taking care of some business in South Dakota we brought them along and we all had a wonderful day and evening together.

Carol and I had made a raw, vegan cheesecake after having attended a food preparation class at a local natural grocery store. She’d also bought a relatively wholesome apple pie from another natural food store that has a good bakery and deli. A couple of days later I took note of the pie leftovers in our refrigerator because i had designs on them for supper but when supper time came there wasn’t any pie and we’d had no visitors since Lynn’s feast and Harold and Carmen had left before breakfast on the following day.

The sewer rats periodically do this sort of thing, I think, just to let us know that they’re still thinking of us.

On the subject of the criminality of the sewer rats, though, I’m less pleased to tell about a more serious incident that evidently involved Carol’s late father, Bob Dillon.

Ten years ago he had a serious stroke that left him debilitated but I moved in with him for a couple of months, made sure he used a zapper a lot, and at the end of that time he was at least able to get around the house on his own. We hired someone to assist him with meals, baths, cleaning, etc. and kept that up for about 7 years, by which time he needed to be in a nursing home.

He’d never lost mental clarity but about a year ago he seemed to have lost track of when he was living. During our visits he was talking about his work underground at a hidden base (which I had earthpiped from the air about five years ago), also about his secret work, many years ago, developing weaponry. We could tell by the way he was talking that he wasn’t making any of this up. Being in an environment like a nursing home warps one’s perceptions a bit.

He had spent a couple of years just behind the front lines in the Korean conflict, repairing tanks and sometimes being attacked when the People’s Army (Chinese) broke through the front lines. Mao was using millions of surrendered Nationalist Chinese troops (from WWII) in human waves during the Korean conflict. If they tried to flee, the commie troops behind them shot them so their chances were slightly better moving forward, into American fire. Bob had experienced those assaults.

I heard a lot of good war stories during the two months I spent with him. His diabetes and high blood pressure were cured in the first week Cool.

He had spent several years as a cargo ship’s engineer in the Merchant Marine, delivering war materiel to England and Russia. When a torpedo hit, the fellows in the engine room were least likely to survive and the odds of getting torpedoed in those years were astronomically high, though it didn’t happen to him. Then he enlisted in the army near the end of the war and was a sergeant when he arrived in Korea but was put in charge of a very big field repair facility because he was an incredibly competent, resourceful, reliable and courageous man. Right after the war, presumably on account of his war record, he was contracted to work on the then-new missile silos and eventually started a commercial and residential construction business during Carol’s childhood. We know that the sewer rat agencies care nothing at all about formal credentials but know how to spot talent and exploit it. An aviation mentor of mine, who has his planes in our hangar, for instance, got a history degree in order to get into the air force’s flight program in the early 1960s, then after Vietnam he was employed by Northrop in a top secret project for which he was nominally in charge of the test pilot program but actually did a lot of the engineering because he has a good mind for that. He helped me wire three of my aircraft Wink.

A few months after he began talking about underground bases and classified weaponry he was being pushed by a staff member in his wheelchair and his foot got caught under one of the wheels. They neglected to take care of the wound and his foot became gangrenous by the next time we saw him. Carol arranged to get him to a hospital and they cut off his foot. When we were visiting him, there, he was frantic and asked me to bring him a gun. At the time, I just assumed that he was extremely distraught but Carol’s wondering whether the FBI or some other gov’t criminals had confronted him about breaking a very old secrecy oath. He died within a day or so after the operation, which was not at all a life-threatening procedure. His health hadn’t particularly declined.

A new friend of ours is a philosophy professor, deciding whether or not to retire, and he told me that the CIA once approached him with a job offer (analysis), which he declined. His health suddenly declined after he politely refused but he’s working on restoring his vitality now.

It’s tricky writing about stuff like this because it’s so far outside the experience of most of our readers. My target audience for this stuff is minute, in fact: the untold thousands of individuals who are under attack by these criminal agencies for one reason or another, many of whom need a bit of convincing that they’re not just imagining the reason their lives turn to $#!t Wink. You see, the ancient parasite still relies almost completely on concealment in order to be able to keep ruling the world so each little first hand, publicized story is another axe blow at the root of this noxious organism. It all counts.

Jack Parsons founded the Jet Propulsion Laboratory in Pasadena. He was a college dropout who had a gift for the chemistry of explosives. He was also Aleister Crowley’s protégé. There’s a CIA black projects (‘off-the-books’ weaponry) institution not far from there that bears his name. I mentioned him as a good example of how the sewer rat agencies don’t care much about formal credentials. I think the only credentials Crowley cared about was the willingness to shed innocent blood in a masonic/theosophy death ritual Cool

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