BBD – Miss Me?

Author’s Note: There might be a few editorials in the account below. As always in the rare instances when I am forced to do this, there are reasons for doing so and they don’t affect the point being made.

At work this past Sunday, I was starting my shift and in the middle of relieving a co-worker when a customer came up to the counter and asked if we had called Phoenix PD. We had not. I inquired as to why he asked.

It was because there were at least three patrol SUV’s blocking the parking lot, at least six officers in the parking lot and at the entrance, and some were armed with “rifles” {which I think were actually combat shotguns}.

My co-worker went out to inquire what was happening and was told to go back inside and to keep the customers in there as well. This continued for some 25-35 minutes at which point my co-worker called the non-emergency number and asked what was going on. Some customers were desirous to leave and we asked them not to.

The reply was that there was a report of someone with a rifle. It turned out that this was not the case, and I assume the person on the other end of the phone got the calls mixed up, but I’m not sure.

What had happened was there was a stolen car in the parking lot. The alleged car thief was in the store, though police apparently did not know that when they arrived.

And yet they behaved very much as if they did. Probably this is standard procedure. But there was something about how sure they seemed that he was that makes me wonder.

We eventually came out and asked them what was up. They questioned another man first, then the one who it seems was the one who stole the car. They wound up letting him go. He hung around the store for a while and then left.

Mere moments before the witness, the car salesman arrived, the thief walked away. Because at the time of questioning police could not confirm he was the one who stole the car, they had let him go.

The salesman identified him via a picture. A tow truck was arranged and everyone left.

Some hours later, now manning the store solo, I received a call from the salesman. He explained the method that the thief had used.

The thief had come to the lot with a car fob of the make that the lot sold. Pretending to be interested in buying a car, he got the fob for a match from the salesman, and when he started it up, backed it out a few feet and then pulled back into the spot, he switched the fobs.

He handed the bad fob to the salesman and then inquired about another vehicle, stating that he might go for lunch and then come back.

As soon as the salesman stepped toward the other vehicle, the thief hopped in the car and drove off.

What is not clear to me, much like the armed response, was how PPD knew where the car was, that is in our lot.

Then it occurred to me…while the method of theft was not on the genius level, it was somewhat sophisticated. It took some thought and guile.

And yet the thief just went to our store and parked it? Something was missing.

Some time after the call from the salesman, who had been concerned about the thief returning because they still had not found the key fob, a customer brought me the jacket that the thief had been wearing when I arrived to work but–and I had noticed–was not wearing when he departed.

In it, he said, was a .38. It turned out, I think, that it was actually a 380. When police finally came to get it, the officer removed the magazine and found one loaded in the chamber. He showed me the cartridge. It was similar to a hollow point but had some material filled in where the hollow portion was. I have forgotten what these are called,but I believe they were Hydra-Shok bullets; the purpose is that the rounds do similar damage to hollow points but stay in the body instead of passing through. Depending on how they are used, I am told that they can actually cause worse health complications than hollow points.

So there were the clues. Why steal a car, have a gun, and then just sit at my store?

I spoke to the manager this afternoon. The first time the manager had seen this guy, about a year ago, he had been talking to someone else in the parking lot about robbing the owner, who had stopped by to deliver what he thought was big money. It had actually just been a bunch of $1 bills, but he hadn’t noticed the denomination.

That was when it all fell together. He planned to rob the store and use the car for his getaway.

And yet, before I could really even start my shift, police were there blockading the building.

Now, lest you think PPD likes me or something, I really don’t think that’s it, just the day prior, Saturday, I had a retired NYPD officer, who said he had a brother or brother-in-law or similar in PPD, who on 24 November had placed a special order with a co-worker, play some silly PSYOP or mind games with me. He had promised me and my co-workers some PBA cards, which he stated–too jovially for someone in my position to take seriously–were “get out of jail free” cards.

I had heard of various stickers, decals, “deputy” badges, etc., that could reduce one’s odds of getting a speeding ticket. But a get out jail free card? I thought you had to be elected, have the last name Corp or Inc, or be a member of the terminally corrupt US intelligence community to carry one of those.

Anyway, he looked at his order, stated it was wrong, stated that one of the items was not something enough–even though it was the something-est thing on the market–and told me he’d be right back after grabbing a picture in his car of what he actually wanted.

He immediately started his vehicle and drove away. Precisely what the message of this nonsensical PSYOP–which began at the time he placed his order well before I gave that small donation to The Intercept last week–I just don’t know. It was very, very muddled.

Maybe it would have made more sense if they had, as they did in NYC, dope me with LSD first. Don’t know.

In any case, I’m laughing. But only so hard. There’s always a price to pay for that. And making a blog post like this one.

Still. “Curses! Foiled again!” is somehow on my brain. #lulz

And lastly, the fact that in this case, and several others, some of which I’ve blogged, some I have not, involved a POC was not lost on me. The post-WWII social program that lifted white families out of poverty but entrenched minority families in it, is something every American should be aware of.

Of course, even armed with that knowledge, one is not bulletproof. And that’s the rub.



Too Good to Not Be Memorex

Imagine something close to your ideal lover in the physical sense. Then that sometimes they’re even pretty compatible personality-wise. Now imagine this person, much younger than you, has fallen for you.


You–if you’re me or someone like me–run through the possible scenarios. You analyze the odds, and once it becomes clear that this is highly unlikely–even given the person’s other shortcomings, hang ups, and problems–that this occurred naturally. You wonder what the endgame is.

Hell at some point you get bored with waiting for the rug to be pulled and you call it quits. Too much hassle, too much using, too many empty promises. You stop answering the calls and texts. Then quiet.

A few days later, after some quiet, you answer. You figure it’s best to me mature and spell it out simply and directly.

You get something you weren’t expecting. You get that they were in jail the past few days and they say it was the thought of you that kept them sane in there. They go clean for a few days. You know that probably won’t last, but it’s a pleasant few days.

Then, of course, fear of being dominated inside the slammer gets overtaken by hungry receptors in his brain. Excuses are made, he compromises with his getting clean and goes on a bender.

Then he indicates that if only you’d quit your job and do drugs…

Really not surprising, in fact was among the first probable scenarios you imagined. Except it took so damn long for them to get around to the point.

After all it was sort of implied last relationship, which for reasons I cannot yet write about, I have not written about. Besides, you wouldn’t believe that story anyway.

One also wonders, though I will pay for writing this, if PSYOP specialists aren’t among the most gullible people, if only because they think they’re the only ones playing. Lol.

In any case, you can see it’s gotten a lot more private and personal. Such is life in a corporafascist spook state.


BBD – GHBary Federal

{Just a little joke and nod to Barrett Brown in the title there. HBGary Federal is/was an intelligence contractor, now a subsidiary of Mantech. Say that over and over again…Mannnnteck. Rolls of the tongue, doesn’t it?}

You probably don’t recall the incident in early January 2010 {I think, or just before} where I thought I had lung cancer due to a near constant salt taste in my mouth. When it turned out that I didn’t, I chalked it up to so much salt on the streets and sidewalks there to melt ice.

Now I have another hypothesis.

GHB {gamma Hydroxybutyl acid}, when used as a daterape drug, is most often delivered in the form of a salt in drinks:

Wayback Machine of DEA’s GHB page

Victims may not be aware that they ingested a drug at all. GHB and its analogues are invisible when dissolved in water, and are odorless. They are somewhat salty tasting, but are indiscernible when dissolved in beverages such as sodas, liquor, or beer.

Not sure that that was all that I was given, but consider going from couch potato to casual runner and dropping several pounds in a month, month-and-a-half’s time, and GHB is also sometimes used as an athletic enhancement. Not to mention the loopiness.


BBD – Local Update {Updated x2}

Details are going to be sparse on this one. There are reasons. Sorry.

Last weekend had two occurrences that require documenting. This is because they have the earmarks of being something that may or may not continue or become something else.

First, a female co-worker received a phone call while at work. The person identified himself using my first name. She filled in the blanks by confirming the man meant me and he confirmed it. He then proceeded to discuss how he wanted to take her in the back and have sex.

Second, possibly related or maybe not given that this man entered my place of work after this other event occurred, a man picked up a customer of mine {a transgender female}, offered her a drink–which she accepted–and was clearly drugged. While she has full memory of what occurred–she was not raped–she lost control of her arms and legs. He moved her around like a rag doll, explaining that he could have been Jeffery Dahmer or Ted Bundy.

If he was the same man I saw while working, he is over six feet tall, of Mexican descent, tattooed enough to suggest time in prison as well as affiliation with one of the cartels, and was wearing a long-sleeve “safety orange” work shirt. She described his vehicle as a large truck, probably a 4WD, with side steps.

8 November 2016 UPDATE:

Not the guy described above. In fact it seems that there are two people doing this and neither matches the description of the man described in the previous paragraph. One, I have identified. The other, I have not.

10 November 2016 UPDATE:

Turns out it is likely one guy using multiple vehicles.

That’s most of it. For the rest, I expect to be posting a new short story {8 November 2016 update: link here} later on this evening.

BBD – Cleaning House

This post is a bit spur of the moment and something of a stream of consciousness. Think of it as a sudden urge to clean the toilet without having properly prepared; not having gone to the store with a list of what you need.

It involves a strange thing many of us experience. Call it intuition. Call it just knowing someone really well to the point when you know somehow in your gut or your bones what they’re feeling. Call it ESP. Call it something unexplained if you’re so inclined. Whatever it is, we, most of us, have experienced it.

Whatever it is under normal circumstances–most likely the brain emphasizing the times it happens to be correct when daydreaming or thought-wandering while simultaneously downplaying those times it was very wrong–we come to accept it even if we try to ignore it because it doesn’t seem to have any logical explanation.

For example, last week I planned several days in advance with a friend to hit a bar or two. An hour or two before I was to head out, I had a quick image of what I imagine Orlando must have been like. Less than half an hour later, I got a call from someone who had the bare bones details about this story.

That wasn’t the first time something like that had happened. But it got me thinking…

What if instead of some kind of coincidence or other unexplained phenomena–even if those do happen and exist–it was instead surveillance followed by the kinds of things I’ve talked about here, V2K, acoustic psycho-correction or some as yet unknown-to-the-public technology? What are the possible uses for these kinds of ops? What can be done with these methods and means? How do we, as civilians, humans, respond and how can toilet scum covertards use it to cause harm?

Simple really. We would first become dependent on it or at least come to be used to it happening. We would expect it. We would, all being the centers of our respective Universes, assume whatever it is passes for a god, is smiling upon us and protecting us by making sure we know when someone we care about is in trouble, having a good/bad day, etc. It would, over time, become a new normal.

Then, once that new normal has been established, they could “feed” one or the both of you whatever they wanted. Like Le Pooch d’Pavlov, we would tend to continue to rely on that gut feeling even though the gut feeling has now been completely replaced by the instructions of that which should instead be wiped away whilst wearing rubber gloves and replaced with that blue tidy bowl liquid…so to speak.

And of course one wonders, because we don’t live in each others’ pockets, if that isn’t at least one part of the story where destroying my LTR was concerned though of course there was the surreptitious drugging and a ton of PSYOP to go along with it to make it all more effective.

Anything they can do, they eventually will. And that’s why we really need to clean up that toilet bowl over in Virginia.

WARNING: May leave a stain.

WARNING: May leave a stain.

BBD – Crazy Train

We have attempted to group the activities covered by the 149 [MKULTRA] subprojects into categories under descriptive headings…. These activities are placed in the following 15 categories: …

14. One or two subprojects on each of the following: “Blood Grouping” research, controlling the activity of animals, energy storage and transfer in organic systems; and stimulus and response in biological systems.

—Testimony of Admiral Stanfield Turner, Joint Senate Hearings on MK/Ultra: CIA’s Program of Research Into Behavioral Modification.

This is probably another one of those that, unless you really, really grep how the behavioral modification stuff works and believe that it really does to an extent, and that despite a plethora of movies and TV stating the contrary, that the intelligence community really does not have the average human being’s best interests in mind when it does what it does but rather the goals of multinational corporations, it just is going to read as Crazy Central. I am writing it anyway, in part out of boredom and in part just to get it down before too many details fade from memory.

It happened in January and/or February of 2012. I think why I haven’t written it up should be obvious: It makes me appear insane to have seen and experienced it.

I left Minneapolis and headed back to Tennessee in November of 2011. Of that, I have written some. I even wrote about some of this dog’s other actions here.

What I left out, because it without a doubt will seem to unlikely to anyone who reads it, is what else transpired.

One night the dog, whom I named Canis Doofus, barked at me and moved off as if to communicate, “Hey, c’mere, wanna show you something.” I followed. The dog went up to one of the vehicles and looked at me, waiting for me to open the door. I did so and the dog got in and put his paws on the dashboard, implying a trip was in order.

After that, he went back to normal canine behavior, in so far as canine behavior can be categorized as normal.

Of course, I had already been considering a trip to Toronto for Ad Astra. Curious as to what the covertards who trained the dog to do this intended only helped push me into going a little.

Mostly, I think their intent was just to ensure I blew the money I had finally gotten from my retirement fund from my previous job in NYC {the company itself had folded, the partners were splitting up, and so they had to divest the fund}. That said, I did want to apologize to Watts in person, which I forgot to do but assume he got the letter I sent via the bookstore.

There had also been that strange voice-to-skull event where I “heard” what was supposed to be a recording in someone’s voice I didn’t recognize stating only what was clearly the second part of a sentence, “…kill Peter Watts.”

Perhaps something of a Rorschach test, I don’t know. But surely the covertards knew at this point that I was wise to them, knew they intended to turn me into a “lone wolf shooter” or similar right from the start, and that denying them the one thing they really wanted was just about the only power I had, and still have, in this situation.

But then there was also the possibility that ‘Janus’ was not a professional spy at all but rather another ‘zombie.’ And what if he was going to show up and kill Watts at Ad Astra?

But then there was another v2k of Watts speaking with someone on the phone {one may want to review what voice synthesis devices–which the Center for Army Lessons Learned has pulled down along with all of its other definitions, having pulled V2K years ago–are}, suggesting they come to the convention. Pretty much a shotgun strategy to ensure my attendance.

Of course it was even crazier once I got to Toronto. I hit it off with a man I met at Ad Astra who reminded me a bit of my longterm ex, but whom I later discovered was married to a woman. He invited me to an event at which two friends of Watts were also in attendance. After we had checked Facebook to see who was going.

Hey, gay marriage was legal there before it was here and that was yet another way to get a visa. So sue me for trying.

there is a dog

there is a dog

BBD – Why So Slow?

…the most heinous and evil force of the [21st] century.

Since moving to Maricopa county things have been a little different than the past. Now, narrative plots perpetrated by the US intelligence community and the two primary fraudulent political parties have no resolution. They are specifically designed so that I am offered the bad and worse choices of ether guessing how they will resolve {and then they will resolve differently which would serve to undermine my credibility} or to force me to reveal personal information of others and myself which will then make that information fair game for further intrigues.

This is another reason why the blog has been slower than in the past. I’m currently in the middle of a glacially-paced plot involving the murder of a HIV-positive white supremacist who was having rufie parties involving young {sometimes reportedly under aged} men and boys of color. He is also apparently connected to the Arizona GOP and, given the cameras and Internet setup at his home, probably international criminals {I’ve heard German, Russian or both} which means likely also a CIA asset and/or FBI informant.

Imagine profiting from sex videos feeds on the dark web while infecting the poor Mexican and black communities with AIDS. While HIV is not the death sentence it once was, that is for people who can afford the medicine and many poor people cannot because we got Obamacare instead of single payer.

Additionally, he sold heroin and other drugs, so he was probably a DEA CI as well.

That’s all I care to write about it for now. Except his name and these details have been thrown in my path for two months. Two months prior to his murder. Imagine if I’d investigated any of it. I’d be a suspect.

And so another Langley ploy to try to frame me for something I had nothing to do with unfolds.

Jen Wahl, “Phoenix Police Investigate Deadly Shooting Overnight,” KPNX News 15, 11 August 2016:

You can find further ruminations on my Twitter feed. @kanyslupin