Senator Robert C Byrd was an owner and programmer of Monarch mind control sex slaves, as Cathy O’Brien makes clear in her book TranceFormation of America. Cathy O’Briens Transformation of America download 
He also liked violent sadistic sex and had a small penis.
Cathy also was forced to sleep with Hillary Clinton who liked her vagina which had been mutilated into a Baphomet figure.
Listed here are most of the snippets about Byrd.
These snippets also reveal some of the crimes that sex slaves were used for and the crimes of the Clintons.
Cathy says Hillary knew she was a mind controlled sex slave, and she must have known Byrd owned her.
Tranceformation of America Cathy O’Brien
I was prostituted by my father to, among others,.
pedophiles Jerry Ford, Guy VanderJagt, and later U.S. Senator Robert C. Byrd
When my father brought me to Mackinac
Island for routine prostitution at the Political Retreat, VanderJagt introduced me
to a new friend he had made now that he was in Washington, D.C. as a U.S.
Congressman-U.S. Senator Robert C. Byrd, Democrat from West Virginia.
Byrd had been a U.S. Senator as long as I had been alive, serving as Senate
Whip and later as President Pro Tempore of the Senate and as the all powerful
Senate Appropriations leader. Byrd commanded attention and respect from all
who came in contact with him, particularly from my father. When we were left
alone in his room, he loomed over me in a threatening stance. His cold, blue
slitty eyes locked onto mine. I undressed and climbed into his bed as ordered.
I was momentarily relieved to find that his penis was abnormally tiny—so small
it didn’t even hurt! And I could breathe with it in my mouth! Then he began to
indulge himself in his brutal perversions, talking on and on about how I was
“made just for him” due to the vast amounts of pain I could withstand. The
spankings and police handcuffs I had previously endured were child’s play
compared to Senator Byrd’s near death tortures. The hundreds of scars on my
body still show today. With VanderJagt, sex was a matter of “how much I
could give,” whereas with Byrd it was “how much I could take”. And I was
forced to take mote pain than any human could logically withstand. I was
dedicated to Byrd at age thirteen which meant he would be directing my future
in Project Monarch, and my father would raise me according to his
The pornography I was forced to
anticipate in became much more violent immediately after Byrd, switching me
from predominantly pedophile and bestiality themes to torturous versions of
“Birds (Byrds) fly over
the Rainbow…” was a theme that became a part of my life.
My father also instructed me to watch Alfred Hitchcock’s horrifying movie
The Birds with him. This reinforced in my mind the movie’s theme that there is
“no place to hide from the birds/Byrd”.
Of course, Senator Byrd remained my “favorite” fiddler as ordered. He
played train songs like “Orange Blossom Special” while making train sounds on
his fiddle. Sometimes I was his captive audience, bound and gagged, while he
played his fiddle. Other times he instructed me to spin round and round like a
music box dancer in order to add “new dimensions to our sex”.. These new
dimensions included more and more physical pain through “kinky” torture
Senator Byrd’s plan for building my physical endurance
through Catholic Central’s coaching methods proved successful for allowing me
to survive his intensely torturous sexual perversions.
At the Opry, my friend and I sat in the audience watching as Jack Greene
introduced his “special guest,” U.S. Senator Robert C. Byrd. At the sight of
Byrd, I went into a pre-conditioned deep trance and robotically went through the
motions of following Greene’s instructions. Once backstage, Greene pointed
out his dressing room, which he was sharing with Senator Byrd, and ordered me
in. The personality that had been sitting in the audience had perceived Byrd as
an entertainer and could not, or would not, think further. But as I walked into
the dressing room and saw Byrd perched on the edge of the mirrored vanity in
his boxer shorts, I switched into the child personality that had known him as a
U.S. Senator on Mackinac Island since age 13, and responded sexually.
Afterward, Byrd was claiming me as “his,” excitedly telling me that he had
“always wanted his own little witch”. I soon learned the enormity of this
I had been programmed at the ritual to move
to Nashville and marry Cox, as ordered by Senator Byrd.
Back in Michigan, I made the announcement to my parents that I was
moving to Nashville to marry Cox, as it was “predestination”. What they
would not tell me was that my father had just literally SOLD me to Senator
Byrd in exchange for lucrative military contracts that made him a millionaire
overnight—a millionaire on a sixth grade education—a perverse, child exploiting
criminal, immune from prosecution, working as a CIA operative for the U.S,
government! That mind shattering occult ritual I endured in Nashville marked a
new life of wealth and prestige for my father white thrusting me into a new
phase of my torturous existence-and I had no choice in any of it!
It was 1977. I was a 19-year-old mind-controlled programmed slave in the
CIA/DIA Project Monarch Freedom Train operation, literally owned by U.S.
Senate Majority Leader Robert C. Byrd, who was then a 20-year incumbent and
on the Senate Appropriations Committee, As Byrd’s “own little witch” (sex
slave), I would also become involved in covert government operations. I now
understand that this required more memory compartments/personalities than I
had developed. Hence one more reason for the mind shattering occult ritual,
and my “predestined” marriage to Cox. In typical Project Monarch structure,
Byrd was my “owner” and in control of my life, while Cox became my primary
“handler” and followed Byrd’s orders to ensure that 1 was at key locations and
events at appointed times and to maintain me under mind control. Cox
reportedly was not paid cash for his role like my father was. Instead, he either
followed orders or would be prosecuted for distributing drugs and being the
occult serial killer that he was and is to date. Cox’s primary role was to shatter
my mind further through repealed occult trauma as well as father my daughter,
Kelly, to be raised in the genetic mind-control studies of Project Monarch.
(Peter) Pan knew how to stay
a step ahead of the game and stop the inevitable process of becoming gator bait
himself by offering to give him a hand now and then.”
Cox dismembered his murdered victims and distributed the “Hands of
Glory” to fellow Satanists and occult traumatized/ Peter Pan theme programmed
mercenaries, while feeding “left over” body parts to an alligator that lived in the
Swamp behind his house. This was indicative of Cox’s twisted, murderous
response to Johnston’s traumatic Peter Pan theme programming… a
programming that I was about to experience “first hand”.
Cryptically instructing Cox on Senator Byrd’s orders, Johnston continued,
“I’ve got to hand it to that Pan. His livelihood of creating hookers for the
Captain (Hook) was indeed lucrative. And speaking of creating hookers, a little
Byrd told me that a shift from routine hand-ling to a theme that is alien could
prove lucrative to you.” Revealing his intent to ensure my military mindcontrol
programming, Johnston told him, “I’ll lay a little groundwork and set
the patten for countdown. Then I’ll send her out to launch for you, and it’s
your job to man the craft from there…”
“I got a Tinker-belle and a Peter Pan here to see you, Sir,” the driver called.
“Send ’em in.” Cox and I walked into the suite where then Governor of
Arkansas Bill Clinton was shuffling through a briefcase. Clinton and Johnston
were cohorts in illegal covert operations that emanated from Tinker Air Force
Cox spoke up. “Senator Johnston said a little (Senator) Byrd told him that
you are one of Ours.”‘
“So what does that make you?” Clinton asked impatiently.
“A Chosen One,” Cox nodded his head toward me.
Clinton asked me, “Chosen by whose order?”
I cryptically delivered the proper coded response, which cued Clinton to
proceed. “What brings you here?” he demanded.
Interpreting his question literally as is “natural” for programmed MPD/DID
slaves, I answered, “I rode the light, Sir.”
Clinton rolled his eyes, and looked back over at Cox who was nervously
rocking back and forth as he so often did. “State your business,” Clinton
“Uh,” Cox cleared his throat, habitually picked his nose as he rocked back
and forth and said, “Well, uh…” Clinton looked disgusted.
“Get him the fuck out of here!” he ordered the driver. Cox was immediately
“That’s better,” Clinton said. Using standard Jesuit hand signals and cryptic
language, he triggered/switched me and accessed a previously programmed
“Senator Johnston sent me to give this to you.” I handed Clinton a thin,
large brown envelope, “And I have some fairy dust guaranteed to make you fly
high.” I took the personal stash of cocaine that Johnston was sharing with
Clinton from my pocket.
Clinton snorted two lines of the coke immediately. He smiled. “Tell Ben
I’m impressed.” He showed me to the door.
The severe torture and mind-control programming that I was enduring at
Tinker Air Force Base had prepared me for this simple “mission” and many
others. Although Cox’s out-of-control occult serial killings polyfragmented my
multiple personalities as intended by Byrd, it was Johnston’s alien theme mind
conditioning that locked me into absolute robotic helplessness. After all, had I
been capable of rationalizing, I would nave found that the thought of
interdimensional travel and aliens was no more bizarre to me that Cox’s
murderous actions or having found out pornography king Jerry Ford held the
office of President.
When my daughter, Kelly, was born in February of 1980, Cox’s former
employer. Jack Greene, traveled to Louisiana to meet with me in keeping with
his role as Nashville’s CIA Freedom Train “conductor”. He took me aside and
explained that since Cox had fulfilled his (genetic) role in producing Kelly,
Senator Byrd had ordered me back to Nashville. Greene talked at length,
hypnotically reviving my original programmed “obsession” to move to
Nashville. He told me that Cox had proven too insane to follow orders
anymore as was evidenced by my extremely poor health (much of my hair bad
fallen out) and by the stench of decaying human flesh that permeated the area
surrounding his remote Chatham, Louisiana swamp house.
If I had had a mind of my own, I know in retrospect I would have felt as
though 1 had been released from a prison dungeon. But I could only respond by
telling Cox matter-of-factly that I had received “divine guidance” to move to
Nashville at once to a home that awaited me. Cox had no choice but to comply
with Byrd’s orders.
Soon after moving to Tennessee, I learned that Senator Byrd had simply
exchanged one living hell for another for me. My new mind-control handler,
CIA operative and country music ventriloquist/ stage hypnotist Alex Houston,
seemed only to pick up where Cox had left off. As “destined,” Kelly and I
moved into a run-down old trailer on Houston’s property, which adjoined Jack
Greene’s farm in Goodletsville, Tennessee. I was subjected to further occult
ritual on Greene’s farm, and was ritually impregnated and aborted again, this
time by Houston.
Irby Mandrell, the Mandrells’ father and manager,
reportedly sexually abused all three of his daughters and eagerly thrust them
into their mind-controlled existence much the same way my father had sold me.
His daughters, too, were owned by U.S. Senator Robert C. Byrd.
He quickly dispelled the
Cox influence, and began programming me according to Byrd’s specifications
as his “own little witch” for sadistic sex, covert CIA drug muling, black mail,
and prostitution operations.
During the three months I was back with Cox, a muscle in my upper vaginal
wall was cut and dropped in preparation for Houston to flesh carve a hideous
witch’s face4 for Senator Byrd’s perversion. Aquino provided the ancient
instructions on how to mutilate me, and Houston used silver nitrate and hot
exacto knives to carve the details of the face without any form of anesthesia.
By flexing the muscle downward, the face protruded out of my vagina. Not
only did this surgery give Byrd a vagina suited to his minute, underdeveloped
penis, it also provided an equitable “curiosity” to be displayed over and over
again in both commercial and non-commercial pornography and prostitution.
I was forced to
“marry” Alex Houston for appearance sake. Earlier that month when I had
been taken to Washington, D.C for prostitution purposes, Byrd informed me
that I would actually be “marrying” him when I “pledged my vows” to
“It is a covenant between the two of us,” Byrd had said, “It is me that you
will honor and obey ’til death do us part,” Byrd then instructed me to pick up
my wedding dress from a nearby D.C. store.
Alex Houston’s “best man,” Jimmy Walker, was also a photographer for
Larry Flynt’s sexually graphic commercial pornography magazine, Hustler.
When I met Byrd after the ceremony at Nashville’s Opryland Hotel as ordered,
he presented me with a “wedding gift”—a rose patterned crystal crucifix
deliberately designed to anchor “our wedding” in my Catholic/Vatican instilled
beliefs. The Larry Flynt photos depicting me in my wedding dress with the
crystal crucifix to “commemorate our wedding night,” was standard lock-in
procedure for all mind-controlled slaves I knew who were forced to “marry”
In 1981, Byrd personally joined Aquino in Huntsville, Alabama during one
of our programming sessions. NASA cooperated fully with Byrd on any and
everything, since it was Byrd’s Senate Appropriations Committee that
determined how much and/or whether NASA received government funding. I
lay naked on the cold metal table, tranced and photographically recording every
word and detail of my programming and every word that Byrd and Aquino not
so privately discussed. Byrd was providing Aquino with specific details of
certain perversions he wanted me equipped to fulfill or perform. Additionally,
they talked about scrambling my immediate memory with two private porn films
they were arranging to have produced locally. These were titled How To Divide
a Personality and How To Create a Sex Slave.
The part of my mind containing “knowledge” of the original abuse
by my father learned to “like” painful, sadistic sex. Senator Byrd wanted me
programmed in such a way that he could decide if he wanted me to scream and
cry when he whipped me, or if he wanted me to become sexually aroused and
“beg” for more. After programming, when I met with Byrd, I would “dance”
like a music box dancer, twirling round and round until Byrd’s fiddle music
stopped. My mind precisely calculated how many revolutions I had made
whether I was capable of conscious counting or not (much like a normal person
wakes up at a particular time without an alarm clock), and the desired results
were produced as accessed.
This is but one simplified example of sex programming, and I was
programmed for more than sex. But this particular incident of programming at
the U.S. Army Redstone Arsenal would change my existence entirely and set
the stage for my role in covert government black, budget-type operations as a
Seeing and/or knowing that Kelly was being tortured and programmed
proved to be a detriment to my own mind-control programming, such that the
common “cross-programming” of mother and daughter was rarely viable. In
the fall of 1982, Houston was scheduled to perform at the State Fair in Senator
Byrd’s home state of West Virginia, Byrd arrived at our hotel with LT. COL.
Aquino, who took Kelly with him, supposedly for programming purposes, I
was left alone in the hotel room with Byrd, whose KKK affiliation fueled his
rage over my having been recently prostituted to black entertainer and CIA
operative Charlie Pride. Although I had had no control over the situation to begin
with, Byrd expended his fury on me rather than on Houston who was
ultimately responsible for the incident. He took out his whip and began beating
me as he had so many times before. Only this time it seemed to last forever,
Byrd was still whipping me when Aquino returned with my tranced and
traumatized daughter. I regained consciousness enough to pull myself up off
the floor when 1 heard Kelly’s hysterical cries. Byrd ordered me to the
bathroom for a cold shower to stop the bleeding. My body could not carry out
his orders, and I collapsed again in the bathroom, smearing blood all over the
floor. Kelly’s cries again revived me, and I crawled to the door to find Byrd
sexually assaulting her and Aquino disrobing to join them. One small window
in the bathroom appeared to be a possible means of escape to obtain help, but
Byrd caught me and knocked me to the floor. The whole bathroom was smeared
in blood by the time he threw me into the shower and turned the cold water on
to slow the bleeding.
Later that afternoon, Kelly and I stood hand in hand in the afternoon sun at
the State Fair where Senator Byrd was about to make a speech to his.
constituents. My blouse stuck to my freshly whipped skin as Byrd walked onto
the stage, and the crowd cheered. Although Byrd periodically sexually abused
Kelly throughout her Project Monarch victimization, the horrific incident in-
West Virginia was the last time 1 was able to instinctively think to respond at
all. Aquino’s mind-control programming further insured it, as did Byrd’s
access to high tech mind-control equipment via West Virginia’s Jesuit College,
where he claimed the role of “Head Friar”.6
Kelly has reported enduring much sexual abuse by both Byrd and Aquino.
Aquino apparently incorporated sexual abuse with his mind-control
programming and sex training of her, and shared more such events with Byrd.
It was also my experience that Byrd’s sexual perversions were heightened when
Aquino shared in the assault. Traumatic events such as this one in West
Virginia reinforced my own programming through conditioning, and further
locked me in to Byrd’s seemingly inescapable control.
Charm School was reportedly operated by an identified member of the.
Mellon Banking family (Byrd’s Endowment for the Arts’ largest contributor).
During the course of my training/conditioning, I was routinely prostituted to
Senator Byrd in Washington, D.C., at the West Virginia State Fair, NASA in
Huntsville, Alabama, and at the Opryland Hotel in Nashville, Tennessee. One
such night when 1 was to be prostituted to Byrd at Opryland Hotel, Lt. Colonel
Aquino was scheduled to join him in perversely assaulting me. Much to my
horror, Aquino arrived early, in full army dress uniform, backstage at the
Grand Ol’ Opry. When I saw Aquino talking with the Vatican based Project
Monarch slave runner, Kris Kristopherson,4 whom I had known since 1979, my
personality programmed for Opry events “short circuited”.
circumstances such as this, a multiple without programming would have
switched personalities autogenically, whereas I could only switch upon
command, I backed away, dazed, right into a soft drink machine.
Kristopherson saw me as 1 backed further between the wall and the machine.
“What are you doing in there, little lady?” Kristopherson asked. The
Colonel wants to see you,”
Aquino had walked over and sarcastically asked, “What are you doing in
those machine wires? That could very well be a shocking experience for you.”
All experiences with Aquino or Kristopherson resulted in high voltage electric
shock torture, and apparently neither had any regard for human life.5 Aquino
used the opportunity to reinforce his belief that I “had no where to run, no
where to hide” from his “power”- his stun gun.
While I untangled myself from the wires, Kristopherson and Aquino
continued their banter at my expense, Kristopherson held up his key ring and
jingled it, catching my undivided attention as conditioned, while he told
Aquino, “You’re gonna need the Keys to the Kingdom to work with this one
“Keys to the Kingdom,” of course, referred to my previously instilled
(Enter/Inter)”Inner-dimensional” Catholic programmed personalities. Since
Aquino was my primary mind-control programmer at the time, Kristopherson
was informing Aquino of programs previously instilled in childhood via the
“Rite to Remain Silent”. By jingling the keys, he was demonstrating his control
over me and his momentary edge on Aquino.
“I got ’em,” Kristopherson was saying as he jingled the keys. “She’s mine
unless you wanna play ball. Besides, you have to. The Byrd sent me.”
“I’ve been expecting you,” Aquino said with a smile. Events later that night
proved that Aquino had been supplied the keys to my previously established
Jesuit based programming, which he and Byrd used and altered to suit their own
Byrd monitored all of my programming “progress,” and often tortured me
with his whip and pocketknife. He picked up where my mother left off, to
destroy any self-esteem I might have inadvertently developed. He said, “There
is no place for you to turn because if you could think to talk no one would ever
believe I would have anything to do with the likes of you.” He often threatened
me that I was considered “disposable” because, after all, “The first Presidential
Model, Marilyn Monroe, was killed right in front of the public eye and no one
knew what happened.”
Byrd’s threats and cruelty were unnecessary as I could no longer think to
seek help anyway, but he loved to hear himself talk and would often drone on
and on and on in his infamous long-winded recitations, while I was
photographically recording every word he said. He detailed the inner
operational structure of the world domination effort, including psychological
warfare strategies, and explained how he had and would utilize his “expert”
knowledge of the Constitution to manipulate it and the so-called U.S. Justice
System, and more. His loose lips provided me yet another means of surviving
and staying a step ahead of “the game” once Kelly and I were rescued from our
mind-con trolled existence.
Senator Byrd revealed his “justifications” for criminal activity to me as well.
He used me as a sounding board even though he knew 1 was incapable of input
or response. He rehearsed in keeping with his motto “The only way we can
fail, is to fail to think of an excuse.”
Byrd “justified” mind-control atrocities as a means of thrusting mankind into
accelerated evolution, according to the Neo-Nazi principles to which he
adhered. He “justified” manipulating mankind’s religion to bring about the
prophesied biblical “world peace” through the “only means available”—total
mind control in the New World Order “After all,” he proclaimed, “even the
Pope and Mormon Prophet know this is the only way to peace and they
cooperate fully with The Project.”
Byrd also “justified” my victimization by saying, “You lost your mind
anyway, and at least you have destiny and purpose now that it’s mine.” Our
country’s involvement in drug distribution, pornography, and white slavery was
justified” as a means of “gaining control of all illegal activities world wide” to
fund Black Budget covert activity that would “bring about world peace through
world dominance and total control”. He adhered to the belief that “95% of the
(world’s) people WANT to be led by the 5%”, and claimed this can be proven
because “the 95% DO NOT WANT TO KNOW what really goes on in government”.
Byrd believed that in order for this world to survive, mankind must
take a “giant step in evolution through creating a superior race”. To create this
“superior race,” Byrd believed in the Nazi and KKK principles of “annihilation
of underprivileged races and cultures” through genocide, to alter genetics and
breed “the more gifted-the blondes of this world”.
As Byrd’s captive audience (literally), I absorbed information that the other
so-called masterminds behind the New World Order would never have revealed
for security reasons. But Byrd regarded me as “his” object, a game-piece that
he could strategically move through life as though he were playing a chess
game. He perceived me as totally under his control with no possibility of my
ever being rescued, surviving, and recovering my mind and memory. Byrd
likely would have talked to a post, and I filled the role as his silent sounding
Kristopherson nearly strangled me to death with his penis, which had further sexually
excited him, late in the summer of 1987 during another incident related to Byrd.
I ate “like a bird (Byrd),” following Byrd’s orders of 300 calories per daywith
no sugar or caffeine
In the early 1980s, this included passing messages to and from Senator
Byrd, Baby Doc Duvalier, my Cuban contact, Puerto Rican drug lord Jose
Busto, and others.
In keeping with NCL’s Caribbean operations, Byrd adjusted his use of
programming themes to include the mirror-reversal, interdimensional, Air-
Water mind-control theme used on me by NASA and the Jesuits. I often saw
dolphins playing in the ocean while being transported from port to port via the
Cruise ships, but the popular “whales and dolphins” mind-control theme was
avoided in favor of a theme more suitable to my experience-that of the Sea-
Bird-Robert C. (Sea) Byrd.
Senator Byrd proudly claimed Loretta as his mind-controlled slave and told me, “I
literally made Loretta what she is today, and she is maid to order”. Loretta’s son and secondary mind-control handler, Ernest Ray, told me, “I know what the Byrd did to my mother. I can get away with murder… All I gotta do is call him and I’m free as a bird/Byrd.”
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.
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.
My appearance was not the only “make over” I endured after meeting
Reagan. Aquino and I were called to Washington, D.C. to revise my base core
programming to override Senator Byrd’s control for security reasons. Since
Reagan had been shot, he took extra precautions to ensure his safety which
included directing Aquino as to how he wanted me programmed.
This effective safety measure infuriated Byrd the first time he saw
me instantaneously switch out of his control in Reagan’s presence
Although Hollywood’s Dante rivaled Larry Flynt for the title of “Chief Pornographer”
producing video versions of Hustler’s stills, Flynt was unequivocally the official White House
Pornographer. Dante’s covert filming of political perversion for blackmail purposes failed to
gain him the international notoriety Flynt maintained through his New World Order collogues
such as Presidents Reagan, Bush, and Ford; CIA Director Bill Casey; U.N. Amhossador
Madeleine Albright; Senators Byrd and Specter; Congressmen Trafficant and VanderJagt;
Governors Thornburgh, Blanchard and Alexander; and various World Leaders such as Prime
Minister of Canada Mulroney, President of Mexico de la Madrid, and Saudi Arabian King
Fahd…to name a few…
As he lit his cigarette, I slowly regained focus enough to realize I was in
pain. The back of my head hurt from being thrust into the studs on the chair,
and I slowly lifted my head. My owner, Senator Byrd, had just walked in and
realized Cheney had already completed the “audition”. Referring to
compartmentalizing my memory via stun gun high voltage, Byrd asked, “Did
you fry her?”
Cheney, ‘cocksure’ of himself as always, answered. “She can’t have fucked
all of Washington” (indicating that no one would believe me anyway, even if I
did reach this point and talk). Cheney put out his cigarette and said as he went
out the door, “She’ll work. Tell Ronnie she’ll work.”
When Byrd saw that my lips were bleeding, he called Cheney a “son of a
bitch” under his breath, as this damage would prevent my fulfilling other
assignments that were planned for me. Byrd touched his finger to my swollen
lips and tasted the blood (and Cheney) several times. Then he slapped me hard
across the face, which re-aligned my jaw but caused more blood to flow down
my chin. He took a box of tissues from the desk and threw it at me, the corner
hitting me in the forehead. “Wipe yourself up. You’re just getting started. I’ll
see to it you get what you’ve got coming to you.”
Fortunately for me, Byrd had cause to return to the formal cocktail party
and did not have time to brutalize me further. My face was battered, mouth
torn, and my throat felt torn and stretched. I had difficulty swallowing for
some time, and could not speak. I certainly was in no condition to return to the
cocktail party, and was escorted out by agents/guards.
Before I could leave Washington, Byrd made good on his threat and
arranged for me to meet with Cheney in a blue bedroom in a part of the White
House so remote that “no one could hear my screams and moans”. But Cheney
implemented Oz theme “Silence” conditioning anyway as he proceeded to
brutally sexually assault me.
“Byrd tells me you need a good whipping. But I’m not certain which
instrument you prefer, so I brought them all.” Cheney had a riding crop, a
whip, and a cat-o-nine-tails laid out on the bed. He beat me quick and hard as
though he were releasing his tensions rather than savoring my pain like Byrd
did. I regained consciousness when Cheney slid a pillow under my neck,
steered me by the hair, and bent my head back. Survival instinct kicked in
when he positioned himself above my head, I hoped to satisfy him before he
became deadly brutal again. But he quickly pulled out his liquid cocaine
sprayer, sprayed my throat, then proceeded to get rough.
I was routinely escorted arm-in-arm “Oz style” by two agents to Cheney’s
downstairs office in the Pentagon. Sometimes Byrd took me in. Other times
Cheney walked me through the building, particularly if we were going to his
“Bunkhouse” personal quarters. Cheney’s office was equipped with black
leather furniture, a huge messy brown desk, massive book shelves, and an hour
glass that he always used in keeping with Oz programming, to assure me that
my life was on the line under his command.
(I was aware she had entertained
there as Houston relayed information to Riley pertaining to his recent trip to
Panama to meet with Panamanian Dictator and CIA operative Manuel Noriega
in order that Riley deliver the information to Reagan during the Inauguration
Loretta and I switched personalities spontaneously as we inadvertently
triggered each other with the shared cryptic language to which we were
accustomed. We discussed forbidden subjects including Noriega and Byrd until
J Riley and Houston caught us and separated us as though we were a couple of
The term “Pigeon” is one with which I have been familiar since the early
1980s when I first began delivering messages between my “owner” Senator
Byrd and Puerto Rican drug lord and CIA operative, Jose Busto. Houston had
simply explained to me then, as we fed the flock of pigeons roosting at the Old
San Juan Cathedral, that Pigeons were used as messengers. The DIA’s U.S.
Army Lt. Colonel Michael Aquino often activated my Pigeon programming
during the Hands-On Mind-Control Demonstrations.
I found myself at the White House with Byrd, attending another small
cocktail party of about 20-30 people. After we spoke with Reagan, Byrd
pointed me in the direction of Philip Habib and sent me over to him. My eyes
were locked on Habib’s as he hypnotically said:
Melt into your melted mirror
for an electrifying ride.
Look deep into the black
of my melting mirror eyes,
See you reflecting me, reflecting you,
until we melt together and sink deep
into the other side.
Habib took me to a quieter spot in an adjoining room and held up another
wonderland Wafer as he said in Alice In Wonderland cryptic, “Welcome to
Wonderland, Kitten. This is a very important date. I haven’t time to explain.?
He gave me the wafer and continued, “Eat it, and I’ll take you through the
Habib took me by the hand and led me to the doorway of another room. It
was a dining room of sorts where an informal array of guests was gathered. As
soon as Habib appeared in the doorway, King Fahd of Saudi Arabia quickly
excused himself from the table and approached. He was wearing a multicolored
robe and headwear with a black-brown rope band. I was instantly repulsed by
his “wicked” lecherous gaze, I stepped back into the other room in fear. Habib
introduced him. “This is one of ‘my friends’ I mentioned in my letter.”
I robotically responded, “It’s a pleasure to meet you” and extended my hand
as taught in Charm School. Fahd bent over to kiss my hand. As he did, his
evil black eyes bore into mine as he softly said, “Your beauty warms my
embers. See them glowing deep within the darkness of my eyes-igniting into
flame-black flame.” He laughed wickedly at the effect of his use of NASA
Prince Bandar Bin Sultan’s reputation for sex and drugs was widely known
in Nashville. But much of my information pertaining to his activities came
from one of my closest Project Monarch friends. She is an entertainer’s
daughter who was prostituted regularly to Sultan when he was in town, which
When Cheney was through with me, Byrd escorted me to the White House
to see Reagan, who also cautioned me about the Prince. Reagan was aware of
Habib’s having activated me sexually with King Fahd, and made it clear that my
scheduled rendezvous with Prince Bandar would not include the usual sex.
Reagan joked in Byrd’s presence, “Birds (Byrds) may well be eaten by a
Kitten. (Reagan’s pet name for me), but not Homing Pigeons.
Aquino hit me with a cat-o-ninetails
and I shrieked in pain. Noriega jumped, Aquino hit me with it again, this
time activating me to respond sexually as though pain were pleasure-a mindcontrol
concept that Noriega more readily grasped. Then Aquino pointed out
that the baphomet had disappeared. While Noriega looked, Aquino used Byrd’s
Hypnotic induction as he cut me “between the breasts with a knife saying, “In
like a knife sharp and clean, I’ll carve out what I want.” My trance had been
deepened to the extert that my circulatory system was slowed. Therefore I did
not bleed until Aquino hypnotically changed my trance level. He then told
Noriega that the baphomet carving had “retreated to the depths of my body and
soul, possessing me and inciting the heal of hell.” He commanded me to show
any “face”, the vaginal mutilation carving of the baphomet face. As I did,
Aquino offered Noriega my sex. As predicted, Noriega’s eyes bulged in terror
and revulsion. While Aquino told him his “rejection of me had killed me,” I
ceased breathing and moving as conditioned. Noriega was dumfounded as
Aquino laughed wickedly and threatened, “Even death will not permit her-or
you-escape from the Wizard’s power.” He explained that I was the “Wizard’s
own” and “under his spell” and could therefore “re-energize myself and come
back to life.” He put a vaginal prod in my hand and ordered me to masturbate
myself with it, pushing the button to electrically jolt myself internally upon
command. Noriega’s eyes were enormous. He paled to a sickly grey, his
mouth fell open and he ran out the door while Aquino assured him that he had
“NO where to run, no where to hide from Reagan’s powers.”
“Well, come on in,” Houston invited. “I have enough (cocaine) to put us all
into orbit.” I walked into the dressing room with them as Houston was saying
to Clinton, “I suppose there are no limits for you since you’re across the (stale)
“What line?” Clinton feigned surprise and ignorance. He looked at Hal
Meadows as he continued, “You mean I’ve left that state of mine? In the state
of mind I’m in, there are no boundaries anyway.” He walked over to the table
and snorted a line of cocaine. “I come here to get away from it all. This kind
of business is pleasure.”
“So where’s that young wife of yours?” Houston asked, referring to Hillary.
“She’s with friends.” Clinton sniffed the coke further up his nose. “She’s
minding her own business. I’m just here to unwind, see the show, maybe do a
little hunting (referring to A Most Dangerous Game). I’ve got a bird
(helicopter) ready to fly me back when I’m through. Hey, speaking of ‘Byrd’
(he gestured my way) I hear she’s moved up to the big house (White House).”
Referring to his friend and mentor Senator Byrd he asked, “So what’s his
“The same.” Houston answered. “Probably like this…” Houston
pantomimed a lewd sodomy pose while everyone laughed. “He still runs the
Clinton kept his eyes fixed on Houston’s “caboose” and said, “Why don’t
you show her (referring to me) me way out and show me that again?” If I could
have thought at that moment, I would have realized Bill Clinton was/is
bisexual. My personal sexual experience with Clinton was limited, but I had
witnessed him engaged in homosexual activity during an orgy at Swiss Villa.
Immediately following the Swiss Villa incident, Houston was scheduled as
usual to perform at the county fair in Benyville, Arkansas. There, Houston and
I had been visiting with long time Clinton Mend and supporter, H.B. Gibson,
when we parted company to attend a private meeting at the mansion of Clinton’s
bisexual friend and supporter Bill Hall, Hall had reportedly made his fortune in
the pre-fabricated log home business, and the Clintons were slaying in a guest
villa patterned after those at Swiss Villa. Hillary had taken toddler Chelsea to
the villa while Clinton and his aide/bodyguard attended the meeting. Tommy
Overstreet was also in attendance as this directly coincided with the recent
Lampe meeting. We all sat in Hall’s sunken living room on two couches facing
each other with a black mirror coffee table between us. Hall had cut numerous
lines of cocaine on the table, and everyone present—including Bill Clinton—was
inhaling it through $50 bills rolled into straws.
Clinton responded, “I don’t care. Get her the fuck out of here,”
Hall’s wife led me away and locked me in a back bedroom. After an
indeterminate period of time, I heard her telephone Hillary at the guest villa.
She then drove me up the mountain through the dark to meet with Hillary.
Although I had previously met Hillary we had very little to say to each otherparticulariy
since I was still dazed and tranced from the tortures I had endured
at the CIA Near Death Trauma Center in Lampe. Hillary knew I was a mindcontrolled
slave, and, like Bill Clinton, just took it in stride as a “normal” part
of life in politics,
Hillary was fully clothed and stretched out on the bed sleeping when Hall’s
wife and I arrived. “Hillary, I brought you something you’ll really enjoy.
Kind of an unexpected surprise. Bill ordered her out of the meeting and I look
her to my bedroom and made an interesting discovery. She is literally a twofaced
(referring to my vaginal mutilation carving) bitch,”
“Hmm?” Hillary opened her eyes and sleepily roused herself “Show me.”
Hall’s wife ordered me to take my clothes off while Hillary watched. “Is
she clean?” Hillary asked, meaning disease free.
“Of course, she’s Byrd’s,” she responded, continuing the conversation as
though I were not there, “Plus, I heard Houston say something about her being
a Presidential Model, whatever the hell that’s supposed to mean.”
“It means she’s clean,” Hillary said matter-of-factly as she stood up.
I was not capable of giving thought to such things back then, but I am aware
in retrospect that all Presidential Model slaves I knew seemed to have an
immunity to social diseases. It was a well known fact in the circles I was
sexually passed around in that government level mind-controlled sex slaves were
“clean” to the degree that none of my abusers took precautions such as wearing
Hall’s wife patted the bed and instructed me to display the mutilation.
Hillary exclaimed, “God!” and immediately began performing oral sex on me.
Apparently aroused by the carving in my vagina,2 Hillary stood up and quickly
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.”
“She knows the chain of command, Dick,” Reagan injected, referring to his
perception of who was in charge, and in what order. President, Vice President,
Habib, Cheney, Byrd, etc. may have been the chain of command in Reagan’s
mind, but Cheney’s definition was necessary to my understanding. From my
perspective, the chain of command was clearly Bush, Cheney, Habib, Reagan,
Aquino and lastly, on a par with my handler, Houston, Byrd, all of which was
subject to change at any given moment. Cheney just rolled his eyes at Reagan’s
comment and never slowed down as he continued, “Right now a stage is being
set and you will be directed by the Vice President on just how he wants you to
do your part in setting the stage for Mexico’s role in the New World Order.”
It was my understanding then that the North American Free Trade
Agreement was considered a significant step in implementing the New World
Order through mind manipulation of the masses. According to Byrd,
propaganda disguising the true purpose of NAFTA included the concept of “free
trade” which the U.S. and Mexican governments had long since shared. “Free
trade” of child and adult mind-controlled slaves, cocaine, heroin and businesses
has been not-so-secretly proliferating for years. My own father joined the “run
for the border” via U.S. State Department and Mexican subsidized business
incentives and opened yet another branch of his U.S. Department of Defensegiven-
business in Mexico. This was part of the “free trade” agreement that I
know personally has been operating smoothly from at least 1984. In an effort to
maintain the illusion that the agreement would not create a negative economic
imbalance between Mexico and the U.S., tourist areas of Mexico were
deliberately built up, enhanced and Americanized with U.S. dollars. These
funds were provided through CIA covert Black Budget operations of drug and
slave trading, as well as directly through the Senate Appropriations Committee
of which Senator Robert C. Byrd is chairman as of this writing.
I certainly do not purport to understand international business, nor have I
attempted to “educate” myself through what 1 know to be propaganda slanted
and filtered periodicals. How money interfaces in world markets has been well
documented. For example, who supports whom in which financial endeavors
is apparently far too complex for even BCCI attorneys and investigators to sort
through. My personal perspective on Mexican, U.S., and Saudi Arabian
buildup of Mexico’s economy is limited to my own experiences. My understanding
is further affected by deliberate misinformation from the criminal
perspectives of those who were in control of my mind’s knowledge base and
actions. From time to time, Senator Byrd used me as a robotic sounding board.
He told me what he wanted me to hear, and this was structured more toward
stroking his own enormous, warped ego than it was to educate me in world
Senator Byrd claimed “the money game is simply a game of control,” and
lives by his adopted Golden Rule of “He who holds the gold makes the rules,”
He told me in so many words that “by appropriating funds to all (viable)
projects ushering in the free trade agreement, and allocating lesser amounts to
U.S. social systems such as our ‘criminal’ justice system, I control our country
and our place in world markets. All the world is a stage, and I own the
theater!…you can bank on it!”
Senator Byrd’s twisted reality echoed in my mind when America was bought
(stolen) and sold by Presidents Bush and Clinton in the recent passage of
NAFTA. “I would never run for President—Oh, I’d win if I did,” Byrd
bragged. “But why should I run for an office that is beneath me? I can make a
President look good, or I can make him look bad by strategically appropriating
funds.” Byrd and others I knew boasted that he was one of those (corrupt
power brokers) responsible for Bill Clinton’s being “chosen” and elected to the
office of Presidency. And the last minute bids and dealings with those
Congressmen holding NAFTA’s deciding votes proved “strategic
appropriations” indeed made Clinton “look good” in his NAFTA “victory”.
Immediately upon arrival at Andrews Air Force Base just outside of
Washington, D.C, I was taken to Senator Byrd who then escorted me to Dick
Cheney’s Pentagon office for a meeting with Vice President Bush, 1 was ill and
vomiting from the high voltage administered in Mexico to compartmentalize my
memory. I was allowed to use Byrd’s magnetic pass key card to unlock the
maze of doors that led to the Ladies’ Room. I was still wearing my
inappropriate-for-D.C. cruise clothes and carrying the heroin in my tote bag
when I met with Bush to confirm Mexico’s agreement to his proposal. Bush
took the heroin for himself, obviously pleased with the quality of the product.
Cheney laughed and told Bush he needed to “confiscate the Contra-band”
Soon after Kelly was inducted into George Bush’s “Neighborhood” through
horrific sexual abuse, Bush enforced his controls on me. Our mind-control
handler, Alex Houston, had taken Kelly and me to Washington, D.C. for
separately scheduled meetings with Bush. Kelly had already been escorted by
agents to her rendezvous with him that morning, during which Lime I had been
ordered to one of U.S, Senator Robert C. Byrd’s offices located in the nearby
FBI Hoover Building. There, Byrd reinforced his holds on me by claiming
control of the Justice Department and “proving” once again that I had “no
where to run and no where to hide”. My horror reaction was compounded
when Byrd looked at his pocket watch and notified me in Alice in Wonderland
cryptic language, “You’re late, you’re late for a very important date,” referring
to my meeting with Bush.
could rarely succeed in their bidding for Kelly’s video taped performances
unless directly ordered by Senator Byrd. Dante considered himself her future
owner as well as mine, and maintained control of our porn “business” ventures
through serious U.S. Government and international Mafia methodisms/
On one occasion I was instructed to meet with former
President Gerald Ford in the Underground where Lee Atwater was picking and
singing. As I waited through the smoke-filled room to Ford’s table, Atwater
interrupted his song to cryptically acknowledge my unwelcome presence by
singing choruses of “Over the Rainbow” and Byrd’s song for me “Country
Roads” while emphasizing the lines of “Almost heaven, West Virginia”.
Bennett also had manipulated my mind in accordance with
Vatican “Orders” via Byrd’s Jesuit College programming center in West Virginia.
He used his role as Jesuit programmer for the purposes of carrying out
his efforts as Education Secretary to implement Education 2000.1
When I met Bennett at a White House cocktail party in 1984, I was wearing
the rosy cross necklace that Guy VanderJagt and Father Don had presented to
me during my first communion, to signify the mode of program I was operating
under at the time. Byrd had ordered that I wear it for the occasion.
Byrd was already talking with Bennett when a White House butler led me in
to see Byrd.2 Byrd was saying, “I was just talking about you with my friend,
Secretary of Education3 William Bennett.”
“Bill,” Bennett corrected, sweeping his lecherous gaze over me as though I
were merchandise. “How do you do?”
‘”As I am told, thank you,” I said as I extended my hand as trained.
Bennett clumsily fingered the rosy cross necklace, blowing his alcoholic
breath in my face as he said, “Your necklace is as beautiful as you are, and no
doubt, as significant in purpose. Where did this come from and what does it
mean to you?”
“From my first communion,” I responded. “Guy (Byrd interrupted to
clarify ‘VanderJagt’) gave it to me to consummate my holy communion.”
Byrd corrected me, “Commemorate your holy communion.”
“She doesn’t need a translator, Bobby,” Bennett laughed, “I’m hearing her
loud and clear.”
Byrd left me with Bennett, who went into a long winded recitation on an
interpretation of the Bible deliberately..
with the program.”
In one of many White House bedrooms available for such purposes, Bennett
led me into bed. I told you we were going to beat it out of this dimension, and
that’s exactly what I intend to do. A little Byrd told me you like a whip. Since
I am not the Senate kind, I’ll just represent the majority by giving you what you
Bennett apparently found perverse pleasure in whipping me. With my wrists
bruised and my body slinging with pain, Bennett lit up a cigarette and
cryptically asked, “Was that your first cum-union with an alien?”
He threw me my clothes, and ordered, “Make yourself presentable. Make
sure your wrists are covered. I’m not waiting around for you, I’ll see you in
Bennett left. After awhile I was escorted back to Byrd, with whom I spent
a brutal, short night. On the way to his room, Byrd told me, “You’ve got work
to do come morning with Mr. Bennett. Working for him is like working for
me. We are working in conjunction with the state Governors in an effort to
implement the global 2000 education formula for the future.
Task complete, I went to Byrd’s nearby room as instructed. He was in the
bathroom preparing himself for bed, “Louise had her feathers fuffled over
Barbara’s collision with destiny and 1 had to smooth them down a bit,” Drying
his dough grey hands on a towel, he turned to me and said, “Looks lite you’ve
had your wings spread a bit tonight.”
“I wore a path up and down the stairs,” I stated.
Much to my relief he said, “I’m not going to fiddle with you farther. I just
wanted to give you something to remember me by–Bye.” He
compartmentalized my memory with his stun gun.
3Irby Mandrell openly discussed Senator Byrd’s direct involvement in the Project Monarch
government mind-controlled victimizations of his incestuously abused daughters with Houston.
“Having babies can be a lucrative way to feather your nest-that’s what the Byrd taught me.”
Mandrel! continued, “Louise was a little withdrawn, and she needed to come out of her cocoon
and spread her wings. I ran the idea by Byrd, and he said ‘If she doesn’t have a talent, let’s
make her one. What is a band without a fiddle?’ And viola,
He opened the box in front of me. Inside, laying on a bed of cotton, was an
elaborate dagger with a handle of the same rose crystal from which the crucifix
Byrd had presented me on “our wedding night” was made. My first personal
meeting with Casey promised to be torturous as I recognized Byrd’s
participation in the grisly ordeal.
1 listened, deeply tranced, as Casey said, “Is it a knife or a crucifix? I can’t
tell. Both symbolize martyrdom as far as I’m concerned. Note the rose pattern
cut into the crystal. Now, I wonder who would have sent me this to give to
Even under mind control I knew, as I was supposed to, that Byrd had
provided him with the knife. My worst fears were confirmed when Casey
began using Byrd’s hypnotic induction, “In like a knife, sharp and clean, I’ll
carve out what I want.” Casey sliced through the front of my bra, exposing the
area between my breasts where Byrd routinely cut me with his pocketknife. He
pierced into my breastbone deeply so that I believed I would split, and indeed
did split off a personality fragment compartmentalizing this event. Using
standard Jesuit-based infinity program, Casey instructed me and programmed
me with messages that I would deliver as though my life depended on it.
“You must go to the Citadel and warn our Dominican brothers of impending
doom to their neighbors in Haiti. From the Dominican side (of the Haitian
island) you will be flown to Port Au Prince where you will meet with Baby Doc
(Duvalier) at his Palace. He is already receptive to your word, and knows that
my words are your words and your word is Silence. You must tell General
Cedras his Order is from The Rose.” Casey touched the white rose in his lapel,
signaling me to photographically record his words verbatim.
When he was through programming me with his message, Casey told me,
“As quickly as you complete this mission, you must depart Haiti, never to
6Byrd had told me that Cedras was “a strategically placed chess piece that the CIA, Jesuits
and U.N. moved around” to usher in their New World Order,
Bush was using his bird dog to track me,
the same one that had recently been used with me in bestiality filming as a
“Byrd-dog” joke on my owner, Robert C. Byrd. When caught, Cheney held his
gun to my head again as he stood over me, looking warm in his sheepskin coat.
Bush ordered me to take his dog sexually while they watched, then he and
Cheney ushered me back to their cabin.
Soon thereafter, Senator Byrd came to Nashville to fiddle at the Grand Ole
Opry and, as my handler. Houston, remarked, “fiddle around with me” at the
Opryland Hotel. Byrd explained that close association with me had become
volatile due to my roles in Iran-Contra and NAFTA, and therefore he would be
distancing himself from me. He spent most of “our last night together” working
on his memoirs for a voluminous book on the U.S. Constitution he was writing
(now published at taxpayers’ expense), which focuses on his long-winded Senate
Byrd attempted to strengthen my programmed “loyalty bond” to him to keep
me quiet “until death do us part”. He told me, “If it was up to me, I would let
you live”. He talked at length about how our time together had been infringed
upon by both de la Madrid and Reagan, Bitterness over their stronger controls
on me was evident as he mocked their self appointed roles as the Wizard and
Lizard of Oz. De la Madrid’s fascination with U.S. mind-controlled slaves
Byrd had not distanced himself too far from me, though, where government
operations were concerned. When I was “over the rainbow” in D.C. during the
summer of ’87, it was business as usual with Byrd. I was escorted to Goddard
Space Flight Center where Byrd was waiting for me in a sterile hallway near the
brass-trimmed, mirrored elevators. He was loaded down with items, which he
deposited on a small table as he greeted me. He picked up a NASA ID badge
and clipped it on my nipple, the metal teeth biting me with their serrated edges.
When I (softly) cried out, he said, “Oh OK. I l l wear it,” removed it, and
clipped it on his white lab coat. He handed me a NASA lab coat like his and a
white hard bat.
that de la Madrid had
requested a video of the latest advancements in mind-control technique being
used to create his seven slaves. In reality, the camera was filming scientific
methodisms salted with “comic” misinformation as a humorous “no” to his
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