It was on or around July 16th, 2016 and I was reeling from the attempted murder of me just days before, July 12, 2016. Things for me had been relatively quiet for the previous year, but people were started following me again in the spring after I'd recovered from these scumbags running me off a cliff the year earlier. In addition, the planes were constantly flying over the house from the airstrip 500 yards from the house. Years later, I found out one of the planes was owned by Cloutdcap Technologies, a division of Collins Aerospace, and they have the capability of monitoring EVERYTHING. They are, in fact, a spy plane and have the capability of receiving your cell phone data, and most likely aerial imagery, like we had on the Blackhaw helicopters when I was in the military.
I started dating Joni Phillips, whose dad used to work as an engineer for Boeing in Seattle. He'd passed away recently. Somehow, and I never did find out how, but she knew my dad from years prior. I surmise that she is related to David Phillips, one of the orchestrators of the JFK assassination. If I had to guess, I'd say he probably worked for Skunk Works at Boeing (essentially a CIA cut-out).
We were out on the deck and I was in a bit of a panic after learning that the game to murder me was still on for these psychopaths. I had an appointment set up with my psychologist at the VA on July 12, 2016. I'd been to group therapy with other vets suffering from PTSD, and the lead counselor, Dr. Clark, saw that I was agitated and not acting right and told me that I could meet with him the following day. He informed me that my regular counselor was out that day, but he had a slot available to meet me and could fit me in at 11:00 a.m.
When we were in the hallway, I didn't recognize from the many weeks I'd been going to group that this guy was huge! He reminded me of one of my teammates at SEAL Team One, one of the baddest dudes on the planet. His hand engulfed my hand when we shook hands in the hallway, and while he wasn't huge, he was big. I'd say he was maybe 230 pounds, a bit taller than me, proportionally built, and strong.
The way he was acting was a little off to me and gave me a sense that there was something more to what he was letting on. He was behaving as I would on the way to a critical call or on an operation, agitated and antsy. I couldn't put my finger on it, but it was just weird.
After sleeping on it, I knew that I wasn't going to attend the appointment, it was just too wrong. I had a bad feeling, so I let the clock tick past, and a little after 11:00 a.m., I received a call on my cell from a number that I didn't recognize. Usually, I screen the calls, but this time I answered the call and it was the VA. I did check the number later and it was from a VA facility, however, the guy I spoke with had a Hispanic accent and didn't appear to know what he was talking about. He informed me that the VA was turning my finances over to my estranged wife, and she was going to be my "fiduciary", or managing my money. He told me that the VA dropped the ball and this fell through the cracks and should have been done months ago, and I believe he said back in 2014. However, he couldn't answer the questions I was asking about the VA policy of turning over my disability benefits to an estranged wife. I threw in some other questions that I cannot recall, but the gist of the conversation is that this guy didn't know what he was talking about. What is even scarier, playing Monday morning quarterback, this call was not logged into the VA system.
Additionally, the VA took no action after this call until more than six months later. They sent someone out to interview me and go over my finances and situation, and the VA field officer assigned me a fiduciary to manage my finances, in part due to the fraudulent mental health evaluation I showed him by Dr. Rice. Of course, I wanted to keep my feet straddling the line between a sane person and an insane person, to keep my options open. I'd much rather be deemed insane than be a dead person. This always gave the Clowns the opportunity to paint me as a lunatic, and controversialize me, which they've successfully done up to this point. But, if you've read my blog, hopefully, this dispels that notion.
I knew that there was some sort of set-up downstream from me to murder me. It couldn't have been anything else, whether it be a car accident, or if I was going to get in a fight with Dr. Clark, and he was going to choke me out or shoot me, portraying me as a mentally ill lunatic when I went to the appointment. At least, that is what I would have done. If I were planning it, I would have had Dr. Clark shoot me in the face as soon as I walked into his office and pull out the records from the previous day's appointment and said, "yea, this guy was a crazy vet and he attacked me and I had to put him down like a dog". I don't know what plan they had for me, but surely I was scheduled to die that day.
In addition, they would have pointed to the "voicemail" left on my phone and said that I learned that my benefits were being turned over to my wife, and now she is a grieving widow, and her husband who was this SEAL, PJ, Smokejumper, and Firefighter got screwed by the government, didn't get the care he needed, and Shelane was a victim of the system because the VA let us all down. You can see the headlines now.
What I also didn't know at the time was that the Seattle Times was notified that morning of the closure of the DB Cooper case. The FBI actually closed the case on July 8th, 2016, however, they didn't announce it to the Seattle Times, which appears to be the first paper of record to receive the information that the DB Cooper case was closed.
Now, if you know anything about these satan worshiping Clowns, you look for their symbolism. For instance, look at the date and time of the article. These are coded signals that are known only to them. This recently played out in an article in the Columbian after I sent my book to John Garrett Smith, a guy they framed and stole $150 million from. A couple of days after I sent Garret my book and asked him to edit it, the Columbian put out an article that they were "closing" Larch Mountain Correction Center where he was housed.
Now, you can see that there are three sixes in the timestamp in the Seattle Times article "closing" the DB Cooper case.
Now, look at the article about "closing" the Larch Mountain Correctional facility.
You can see the same numerology in the message that was sent, i.e., June= 6, followed by 2+2+2 = 6 and 6, and 1+5 = 6. Again, this equates to 666. You don't have to take my word for it, just look it up "it's on the internet". These folks send secret messages through the MSM in articles all the time. This is part of the way they covertly communicate. In fact, when you elect me as the Skamania County Sheriff, we'll ask James Comey about it and we can get it on the record. I have a few other questions for Comey as well.
At around 1:00 p.m. that day, I got a call from my buddy, Warren, and he asked if I saw the news, which I hadn't. He told me they just "closed" the DB Cooper case. Notice how the article was sent out just before my appointment at the VA? It was all preplanned, and I was scheduled to be executed that day, although, I don't know how they were going to do it.
Some weird things were happening around this time also. Like I said, I was agitated, and I felt as if I was being drugged. I was extremely paranoid and agitated. Looking back on it, I was acting exactly like someone on meth acts. And as it were, I'd just purchased a month's supply of marijuana, and I'd just opened the container of my favorite type, Heavenly Buds if I recall, and it was tarry and pliable. However, the following day when I went to smoke it, it was dry lock popcorn, and it had crystals all over it. I smoked it anyway, and it obviously really got me high.
My iPhone had gotten wet, and it stopped working, so I knew it was dead. I was trying to make the argument to my mother and my new girlfriend, Joni, that these fuckers were trying to kill me, but the more I talked about it, the more they said I needed treatment. I was telling them about my time in the military and how they didn't understand that I did the job they were orchestrating upon me, and they just didn't understand. For emphasis, I threw my iPhone on the deck and was ranting and raving making a show of it. They thought I'd lost it and just broke a $600 iPhone, which I had to replace anyway.
I don't know who, how, or why, but 911 got called. I don't think it was Joni, so it must have been my mom who called, but Dave Brown was at the house within a couple of minutes of me throwing the iPhone down. As I said, the airport they were monitoring me from was about 500 yards away, and often times I would leave the house, and when I was going down the hill, I would either see Dave pulling out of the neighborhood where this airport was, or he would pull out right behind me. I'm sure he'd make the argument that I'm paranoid and delusional, and that it was just a coincidence, but how many coincidences need to align up until it is mathematically impossible to be anything but a plot to murder me?
Within a couple of minutes, I saw Brown pulling up the drive in his patrol pick-up with the lights on and I immediately knew this was it, he was going to murder me. I didn't want to give him the opportunity to play the game that I was a threat and had a weapon, as these dirty cops always do, so I stripped down to my shorts and went out the front door of the house. You couldn't see the front door of the house, as it was blocked by the garage.
I was at the bottom of the steps on the concrete sidewalk when Dave rounded the garage, and he was drawing his weapon. I'd gotten down on my hands and knees, spreading my arms out wide, just enough to keep my torso a few inches off of the ground, giving him my face as the only target to shoot. If he was going to shoot me, he'd have to shoot me in the face, then use his throw-down weapon to say that I was a threat to him. Obviously, Dave reholstered his weapon and walked up to me and asked what was going on, which I pled that I thought that I was having a hard time, mentally and just needed to get fixed, i.e., some mental health help. This would scenario would play itself out a couple of days later, when I went absolutely crazy from smoking whatever it was they laced my weed with and wrecked my dad's Caddy into a rock in the driveway.
There are a couple of things that I believe happened, and there is no doubt in my mind (1) someone switched out my marijuana with something laced with some sort of drug, and (2) Dave Brown was sent that day to murder me, and that is why he was drawing his weapon as he rounded the corner of the garage. He had no probable cause to be drawing his weapon, as I was not a threat to him. Furthermore, Dave is such a dipshit, if we actually got in a gunfight, who do you think wins that? A cop, who shoots about 25 rounds a year versus a Navy SEAL and PJ that's shot more rounds than 99.999 percent of the population in his life. Think about it next time, Dipshit Dave! If I were truly armed....you'd be a dead man!
I've given up my ways of whiskey and wickedness now, and there is no reason for me to carry a firearm. I will use my pen as my sword.
As an aside, you'll also note that there is a 9 and a 3 in the headline of the DB Cooper article. Again, I'll reiterate the complete "coincidences" of Nixon signing the executive memorandum on 09.11.70 in response to the Dawson Field hijackings, Pan Am flight 93 included. Then, you have 9.11.01, and United Airlines flight 93. It just so happens that United Airlines bought out Pan Am Airlines. Wow, what a bunch of coincidences.
Here's my latest love letter (email) to him: