NEW WORLD ORDER OF THE ROSE
Still feeling drugged from the programming session instilled in me by Bill Bennett at the nearby Goddard Space Flight Center, I attended a White House cocktail party later that night as instructed.
Dressed "to Order," I wore a slinky, black dress that gathered at one hip decorated in rubies, with a red rose barrette in my hair. "The Chief called for her," my Secret Service escort told the butler as he left me at the door. The lights were dim and the air was formal as the butler led me through the unusually large crowd of people. He released my elbow, aiming me in the direction of then President Ronald Reagan,
As I walked through the crowd toward Reagan, I saw familiar faces associated with the "Order of the Rose". Across the room, Bill and Bob Bennett were laughing with Dick Cheney. Then-Governor of Pennsylvania Dick Thornburgh was engaged in conversation with Senator Arlen Spector. Within the farthest reaches of my expanded peripheral vision, I saw George Bush talking with his U.N. confidant Madeleine Albright, Knowing I could see him as though I had eyes in the back of my head, Bush subtly signaled me to join them.
"You know Madeleine Albright," Bush began, Expertly using terminology from previously instilled Catholic Jesuit beliefs, he continued, "She's the reverend mother of all sisters (slaves). She's so close to God that an order from her is an order from Him." Albright snickered, apparently impressed with Bush's «witty» manipulation of program verbiage. "She rose in the U.N. through me to implement the New World peace process."
Albright said to me, "I hear you're a world (whirled?) piece".
"Who told you that?" Bush demanded.
"Larry Flynt, for her stint in Jamaica", she quickly explained.
Bush threw up his hand in apparent disgust at the idea of sex relating to someone with two digits in their age. "Spare me," he said.
"That's my job," Albright said matter-of-factly with a smile of pride. She shooed me away while condescendingly saying, I'll see you tomorrow at the OAS (Organization of American States) office. Now, you run along and go play." Noting that her nonspecific orders left me unable to determine which way to turn, literally, she aimed me back in the direction of Reagan.
Reagan was dressed in a dark, navy blue suit and red silk tie. His red rosebud boutonniere instantly triggered me into a Jesuit "Order of the Rose" sex slave mode. "Well, hello, Kitten," Reagan said, blowing his cognac breath in my face as he bent over to kiss my hand.
"Uncle Ronnie…" I said, sexually responding as conditioned.
Reagan turned to the man beside him and said, "Brian, this is one more of those benefits of the New World Order I was telling you about. Kitten, this is Brian Mulroney, Prime Minister of Canada."
The connotations of my childhood experience with the former Prime Minister" of Canada, Pierre Trudeau, suggested that Mulroney was Jesuit — as did the mode I was operating in. He, too, was wearing a red rose boutonniere signifying his involvement and commitment to the Order of the Rose.
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Sir," I said as I extended my hand.
"The pleasure is mine," Mulroney said as he kissed my hand, "Please, call me Brian."
"Yes, Sir, Brian," I responded, my brain still whirling with the NASA designer drugs.
Chuckling but insisient, Mulroney reiterated, "I am not a Sir".
Reagan jumped in, "He is a Prime Minister, which means he is more important than your average Minister, and certainly more important than any Sir. Brian is my friend."
"Oh, Brian," I said, finally understanding,
"O'Brien is her father's name," Reagan told Mulroney, "She is of Irish descent and hails from Michigan."
Brian turned to me, "I've been in your neck of the woods here recently-in one of my favorite get-aways-on Mackinac Island,"
"Mackinac Island was her launch point into the project," Reagan explained in terms used by those familiar with mind-control operations. Mulroney apparently was aware of my mind-controlled state and leered at me as though I were merchandise, Reagan noticed his interest and proceeded to function in the capacity of a pimp. "I highly recommend you take her along with the rest. She is an excellent game piece for you to use in any position. And there's security. Her head is in the ethers and come tomorrow, she wouldn't knew you from the man in the moon. I'll give you the keys later."
Expertly using Order of the Rose signals and triggers, Mulroney said, "Just give me the key to her heart, and she's mine."
"You are wise in the ways of the world," Reagan commented.
"I have to be on top of things. It's a New World Order," Mulroney said matter-of-factly.
As a guard led me away, I heard Reagan tell Mulroney, "You will be on top of the world soon".
I was searched by uniformed Canadian bodyguards and pointed in the direction of one of the White House's many bedroom suites. When I opened the door, I saw three blonde sex slaves undressing and preparing the bed — one of whom was my close friend and Senator Arlen Spector's slave.
I excitedly called my friend's name. "What are you doing here?" I asked as we hugged each other.
"Small world," she said, as she always did when we were thrust together in various places for prostitution and/or pornography. This universal term was often used among those familiar with the Small, Small World Disney-developed mind-control program.
I hugged my friend again, "Wow, it is a small world. I'm so glad you're here." I had no comprehension of our predicament and could not see beyond the moment
"Hell girls! It is a small world!" Mulroney entered and strode across the room, tossing his coat on a chair and loosening his tie. "Watch it get smaller and smaller as we rocket further and further away." He slipped out of his shoes, suspenders, and pants while he continued his hypnotic metaphors. "Soaring through the sea of black space. As the world gets smaller and smaller and smaller, then sinks into the black sea of space." Removing his boxer shorts, he announced, "I brought you here for a purpose…" and proceeded to access our sex programming.
In retrospect I know it was no coincidence that my friend and I were brought together to satisfy Brian Mulroney's perversion for mind-controlled slaves. Identically mirror programmed, we operated in unison. The delicate red rose tatoo on my friend's left wrist signified her enslavement to the (New World) Order of the Rose to which Mulroney belonged.
My friend and her young daughter reportedly were often transported across the U.S.-Canadian border at Niagara Falls for prostitution to Mulroney. The sexual abuse of her precious child was used as a trauma base to maintain control of her mind just as Kelly's abuse traumatized me, Mulroney had previously accessed sex programming at Niagara Falls in my friend and me-along with our daughters-to satisfy his sanctioned perversions as though it were "business as usual". Had I been capable of connecting events, I would have felt enormous relief that our daughters were not forced to participate in his sexuaJ assault this time.
"Mission" complete, I slipped on my dress and prepared to leave, Mulroney pointed to me and cryptically said, "I'll be seeing you around. Maybe I'll see you in Mackinac. May be. somewhere in time." In three lines, Mulroney expertly tied the immediate moment to childhood cues and current Mexican NAFTA operations, as well as prepared me for my next encounter with him on Mackinac Island,