“Justice For Our Girls”


November 6, 2017.  About Me.  Yesterday when I walked outside, on my way to Stop&Shop supermarket, I asked the owner or driver of a blue Mitsubishi car if I could take a picture of the license plate; he was sitting in the car.  (That picture didn’t show the word “dope” on the window, I didn’t want him to think I was taking a picture of him, so, I took another picture after he left, the following picture.)   When he told me the license plate is from the Philippines, I of course thought about my dearly loved Filipino brothers who were abducted and decapitated while CIA Mormon Danite Dallin Oaks was on an extended stay business trip in the Philippines.  (I’m not going to forget about that, Dallin!  cc all Mormon barristers)  The driver of the Mitsubishi car is now a plaintiff in a legal case against Berkshire Hathaway, Verizon and other corporations including the Mormon Church of Satan.  cc all Mormon barristers

MITSUBISHI MR PAUL [window:] dope, parked in front of YWCA Brooklyn main entrance, Marathon Day, November 5, 2017

Mitsubshi GReddy, parked in front of YWCA Brooklyn main entrance, Marathon Day, November 5, 2017

Thousands of cyclists hit the road for the annual MS Sydney to Gong ride on Sunday, …
(Illawarra Mercury, Australia, November 6, 2017, http://www.newseum.org/todaysfrontpages/?tfp_page=12&tfp_id=AUS_IM)

(The West Australian, November 6, 2017, http://www.newseum.org/todaysfrontpages/?tfp_page=12&tfp_id=AUS_WA)

SMART Creative SWEET Amazing 
For adventure-seeking prints & graphics. 

Pastor’s 14-year-old daughter reportedly among the dead in Texas church shooting
(Business Insider, November 5, 2017, http://www.businessinsider.com/texas-church-shooting-pastor-daughter-victims-2017-11

By The Associated Press  |  Posted Nov 6th, 2017 @ 12:19am
18 photos
SUTHERLAND SPRINGS, Texas (AP) — The Latest on a shooting at a church in Texas (all times local):
(Mormon Church of Satan KSL, November 5, 2017, https://www.ksl.com/?nid=1016&sid=46192948&title=the-latest-pastors-daughter-among-dead-in-church-attack, as an aside: stares at Utah jazz player’s face, hair, neck and shoulders, cc all Mormon barristers!)

(Australia Stock Exchange, November 6, 2017, http://www.asx.com.au)

[Jennifer Government by CIA-M15-ASIS agent Max Barry of Australia, https://maxbarry.com/jennifergovernment/:]



The alarm clock said: “—and rumors of strong profits. Microsoft tumbled to twenty-two after the company announced shipping delays would …”

Buy couldn’t breathe. His chest ached. He thought: I’m having a heart attack!  Then he remembered. No. Not a heart attack.

He staggered into the bathroom and looked in the mirror. His face stared back at him. It didn’t look impressed. He said, “I am a great person. Today is a great day.”

Taped to a corner of the mirror was a piece of paper. It said:


It was Monday, October 27, and therefore the fifth-last working day of Mitsui Corporation’s financial year. Buy was an Account Manager, competitive Accounts Group, Southern Region, which meant he was a stockbroker, which meant he was a salesman. He had a $4.2 million quota. That hadn’t looked like a problem after an outstanding first quarter and a solid Q2, but in Q3 they’d reorganized some accounts away from him and Q4 had been terrible, a catastrophe. Buy had five days to find half a million dollars.

He showered and padded out to the living room. His apartment looked over the ExxonMobil Botanical Gardens and beyond that the city of Melbourne, USA (Australia). It was a little after six, and the office towers were flaring orange in the dawn sun. The sky was a solid blue expanse. Buy had stopped seeing it in Q3.

He ate toast and washed it down with juice. He dressed and caught the elevator to the parking lot, where his Jeep was waiting for him. Jeeps were one of the safest vehicles on the road, Buy had read; safe for people in the jeep, anyway. He roared out onto the street.

The cheap roads were clogged, even at six-thirty, but he was only four blocks from a premium Bechtel freeway and that was eight lanes, two dollars a mile ad no speed limit. He sped past office buildings and factories with the needle on 95 mph.

He pulled into the Mitsui parking lot and caught the elevator to the six-floor cube farm. Brokers didn’t get proper offices, or even walls above shoulder height, at least not in Competitive Accounts. In his first year here, Buy had the been grateful for that, because it was so easy to turn to a coworker for help. Now it annoyed him, for that same reason.

Hamish, who ran the night shift from Buy’s desk, was pulling off his headphones. “Hey, Buy.”

“Hey.” Hamish looked relaxed and happy. Buy felt a dash of jealousy. “How’s the market?”

“Even jumpier than you. Take it easy, buddy. You’ll get there.”

“Yeah, I know.”  He tried to sound sincere.  Hamish patted him to the back and left for what was no doubt a day of lying on the sofa watching football, or activities equally casual and stress-free.  Hamish had made quota six weeks ago, and Buy was finding it harder and harder to not hate him.

Buy slid into the seat, plugged in his telephone headset, and dialed. Taped to his cubicle wall was a note he’d written in Q1.


He stared at it while his client’s phone rang. Buy was starting to think that success was a big crap shoot.

In France, he wouldn’t be in a position like this. Of course, in France he wouldn’t have received last year’s paycheck of $347,000 either.  That was why he’d left: the EU was a socialist morass, with taxes and unemployment and public everything. Until recently, Buy had thought that moving to a USA country was the best move he’d ever made, with the possible exception of changing his name from Jean-Paul.

(Jennifer Government, CIA-M15-ASIS agent Max Barry, pages 13-14)



She was wearing a long coat, to hide what was underneath.  Her hair was tucked into a shawl.  She wore dark sunglasses, although they couldn’t conceal the barcode tattoo beneath her left eye.  But she didn’t mind that.  It made it harder for people to tell what she was.

The Chadstone Wal-mart mall was six stories in places, and mezzanine-style all the way down.  The Nike Town was on the fourth level.  She glanced down as she stepped off the escalator.  On the ground floor, shoppers flowed around two gleaming Mercedes automobiles.

There was already a crush around the Nike Town, made up of maybe four dozen teenagers, most in school uniforms.  The store had its shutter down, but a bald man in a suit was talking through it.  He waved his arms excitedly.  The kids rattled the shutter in response. The doors to the Nike Town had long, metal swooshes as handles, she saw, tapering to a point: they looked pretty dangerous.  She hoped none of these teenagers were going to impale themselves.

There was a Barnes & Noble a few stores down with a nice reflective window, so she stood in front of it.  For twenty minutes, she saw no one likely to be her target.  At one point she caught herself reading the jackets of the books in the window, and jerked her eyes away. Possibly the book of the year, the jacket had said, which she found unlikely. This was Barnes & Noble’s Non-Best-Selling Authors floor.

After thirty-five minutes, she saw a young man in camouflage pants. He was on the side opposite to the Nike Town, across the gap, leaning on the guardrail.  He lit a cigarette. From the bulge in his jacket, he was carrying a gun in a shoulder holster. There was thirty feet of air between him and the Nike Town, which would protect him from the crowd, and an emergency exit directly behind him. There was no doubt.  This was her target.

The kids had been chanting for five minutes—O-PEN, O-PEN, O-PEN—but now they started shrieking, almost screaming.  Girls waved rolls of money, jumping in excitement.  Then the Nike Town shutter clattered upward and the noise turned into a cacophony.  The teenagers stampeded: she saw a boy go down, crying out.  She turned and began walking quietly toward the store, glancing at the target.  He was straightening, tossing aside his cigarette.

‘Sold!’ a man shouted. In the Nike Town, four girls wearing McDonald’s school uniforms, were screaming with delight, holding a box of Mercurys—no, four boxes.  And there were more: the shelves were lined with them.  Her information had been wrong.  This store had more than five pairs. It had dozens.

The girls forced their way out of the store, talking excitedly.  The target slipped a hand in his jacket.

“I can’t believe it!  I can’t believe we each got a pair!”

“We should get more—we could go back in—”

The girls squeezed past her. She kept still, unable to move until the target did.  The last girl, the one with dark hair, moved directly in front of her.  She could smell the girl’s perfume.

A man in the crowd pressed a gun to the back of the girl’s neck.

Her instinctive reaction—the emotion that burst across her brain first—was disappointment. Wrong one, I targeted the wrong one. Then the gun fired, sharp and loud. The girl went down. The crowd screamed and flinched like a single animal. The assassin was a muscular young man in a black T-shirt. He was five feet away from her, and their eyes met.

“They’re killing people for their Mercurys!” someone shouted, and the crowd surged.  The assassin broke for the Barnes & Noble.

She threw off her coat and hefted the machine gun concealed inside it.  It was a Vektor SS77: heavy and awkward, but capable of nine hundred rounds a minute. Four steps to her right took her out of the crowd. She dropped to her knee and squeezed the trigger.

He zagged as if he’d known it was coming and she blew out the Barnes & Noble window, disintegrating novels.  She tracked him as quickly as she was able to with the Vektor shuddering against her shoulder, and tore up the floor in thick plaster chunks.  The assassin dived through the Toys “R” Us window.

She dropped the Vektor and broke out her two .45s. He was scrambling for his footing among the display of life-sized Barbie dolls; she wasn’t fortunate enough for him to have cut his throat on the plate glass, it seemed.  She squeezed the triggers, letting the pistols go fully automatic.  The arm of a Doctor Barbie exploded; she tore a Prom Queen Barbie in half.  The assassin rolled and vanished into the store. 

She pulled off her glasses and shawl and ran. This was not good: she was not going to be able to chase down muscular young men in T-shirts, not with the amount of body armor she was wearing. She ran anyway.

The assassin had reached the in-store escalators.  There were shoppers everywhere, staring at her.  “Out of the way!” she shouted.  “Get down!”

They scattered. And she dived for the escalator, landing on her stomach and sliding, leading with her .45’s. There was a man at the bottom, looking up, and she almost put him down before recognizing he wasn’t the target.  She regained her feet and looked around. Toy’s “R” Us was like a bowling alley, nothing but endless aisles. “Which way?  Where’d he go?”

He pointed at the nearest aisle.  She ran, but it was empty.  Fluorescent-lit racks of Star Wars characters stood mutely.  She moved to the next aisle, then the next.

It was quiet.  No panting, no running, no shrieking shoppers.  This meant the assassin had gone native, trying to blend in with the crowd.  She ran to the exit.

A checkout boy saw her guns and hollered. She jumped the turnstile and kept running.  A crowd had gathered at the railing to stare up at the Nike Town on level four.  And a man was walking briskly toward the central escalators, a well-built young man in a black T-shirt.

She pushed though the crowd to the edge of the mezzanine and clambered up onto the railing.  When she could see him clearly, she balanced herself with her legs and shouted: “Freeze!”  Her voice echoed: “This is the Government!”

He turned.  It was the assassin.  Less than two feet in front of him, the escalator churned. He looked at it, then at her.

“Don’t move!”

He raised his hands.

Thank Christ, she thought.  She gestured with a pistol, and he stepped away from the escalator.  She glanced down to see if it was clear for her to jump down from the railing.

The thing was: She should have seen it coming.  She had identified him from the beginning, when she saw his reflection in the window of Barnes & Noble.  She should have realized there were two of them.

He was maybe twenty feet away. He had a pistol pointed at her.  There was nothing she could do.

He fired, and it was like being hit by a car. Her feet went out from under her. As she fell, the fluorescent lights twisted and swirled above her. She had time to think: The lights look like angels.  Then she landed on the roof of a Mercedes, catching the car with her spine. Its windshield blew out. The car rocked wildly.  She blinked.  She could still blink.

After a while, some faces appeared above her. “Get her down,” someone said, and someone else said, “No, don’t move her.”

“Honey?” a woman said. “I’ll call help for you.  What’s our name?”

“Government.”  Her tongue felt like a bloated, broken sausage. All she could taste was blood.  “Jennifer Government.”

(Jennifer Government, CIA-M15-ASIS agent Max Barry, pages 13-14)



American Express

Buy hadn’t meant to hang around.  He was happy with himself; now he was going to go home and sleep.  But he hesitated at one of the Mercedes, attracting the attention of the dealer and becoming ensnared in a sales pitch, and so was still there to hear the shots.

He dropped to a crouch, aware that everyone around him was doing the same, and craned his neck upward.  Gunfire broke out again: an automatic weapon.  He heard screaming, glass breaking.

Buy and the dealer crawled toward the cars, seeking cover.  The mall fell silent. It was eerie, so many people being so quiet.  Then after a minute they started to emerge.  Buy got to his feet.

The dealer wrung his hand. “Excitement.”

“I think I’m going to take a look,” Buy said.

“You should leave it to mall security,” the dealer said.

“I know first aid.”  Not many people did; there was too much risk of being sued. Buy caught the escalator up. On the fourth floor, there were a lot of teenagers standing around, dazed; some were cowering inside shops.  Glass sparkled outside the Barnes & Noble and a line of jagged holes in the floor marked a path toward Toys “R” Us.  On the ground outside the Nike Town, a girl was bleeding to death. He said, “Hayley?”

Her neck was exposed. He ran to her, tore off his jacket, and tried to staunch the flow of blood. Her eyes rolled. “Someone call an ambulance!” he roared. “Does someone have—”

“I have a cell phone,” a kid said, handing it to him.  Buy dialed 911 and tucked it under his ear. Hayley was looking at him, he realized she wanted him to take her hand. He squeezed it tightly.

“Nine-eleven Emergency, how can I help you?”

“I need an ambulance. Quickly, a girl has been shot at the Chadstone Wal-Mart mall.”

“Certainly, sir. Can you tell me the girl’s name?”

“Hayley.  Hayley something.  Please, come straightaway.”

“Sir, I need to know if the victim is  part of our register,” the operator said. “If she’s one of our clients, we’ll be there within a few minutes.  Otherwise I’m happy to recommend—”

“I need an ambulance!” he shouted, and it was only when water splashed on his hand that he realized he had started to cry.  “I’ll pay for it, I don’t care, just come!”

“Do you have a credit card, sir?”

“Yes! Send someone now!”

“As soon as I confirm your ability to pay, sir.  This will only take a few seconds.”

He looked at the faces around him.  “Someone help her.  Help her!”  The kid who had loaned Buy his celluar phone knelt down and held the jacket over the wound.  A girl began stroking Hayley’s hair.  Buy dragged his wallet out from his back pocket and retrieved his credit card. Haley’s eyes were fixed on him.  I promise, he told her. I promise.  “I have American Express-”

“That’s fine, sir.  Could you read your card number to me please?”

“Nine seven one four, oh three-”

Two shots rang out from somewhere below them, close.  The people around him shrieked and fled; only the kid stayed, crouching lower.

“—six six—”

People were screaming.  Something hit the ground—or one of the Mercedes?—with a deafening boom.

“Sir? Are you there?  I didn’t catch the number, sir.”

“Nine seven-“

The kid put his hand over Buy’s.  “Mister … I don’t think it matters.”

Hayley was no longer looking at him. Her eyes were turned upward, at the Nike Town sign, at the fluorescent lights.  Her face was white.

“Oh, no,” Buy said.  “No, please.”

“Sir?” the operator said. “Can you please repeat your credit card number for me, sir? Sir? Are you there? Sir? Sir?”

(Jennifer Government, CIA-M15-ASIS agent Max Barry, pages 32-34)

1. Nike

Hack first heard about Jennifer Government at the water cooler. He was only there because the one on his floor was out; Legal was going to come down on Nature’s Springs like a ton of shit, you could bet on that. Hack was a Merchandise Distribution Officer. This meant when Nike made up a bunch of posters, or caps, or beach towels, Hack had to send them to the right place. Also, if someone called up complaining about missing posters, or caps, or beach towels, Hack had to take the call. It wasn’t as exciting as it used to be.

“It’s a calamity,” a man at the water cooler said. “Four days away from launch and Jennifer Government’s all over my ass.”

“Jee-sus,” his companion said. “That’s gotta suck.”

“It means we have to move fast.” He looked at Hack, who was filling his cup. “Hi there.”

Hack looked up. They were smiling at him as if he was an equal—but of course, Hack was on the wrong floor. They didn’t know he was just a Merc Officer. “Hi.”

“Haven’t seen you around before,” the calamity guy said. “You new?”

“No, I work in Merc.”

“Oh.” His nose wrinkled.

“Our cooler’s out,” Hack said. He turned away quickly.

“Hey, wait up,” the suit said. “You ever do any marketing work?”

“Uh,” he said, not sure if this was a joke. “No.”

The suits looked at each other. The calamity guy shrugged. Then they stuck out their hands. “I’m John Nike, Guerrilla Marketing Operative, New Products.”

“And I’m John Nike, Guerrilla Marketing Vice-President, New Products,” the other suit said.

“Hack Nike,” Hack said, shaking.

“Hack, I’m empowered to make mid-range labor-contracting decisions,” Vice-President John said. “You interested in some work?”

“Some…” He felt his throat thicken. “Marketing work?”

“On a case-by-case basis, of course,” the other John said.

Hack started to cry.

“There,” a John said, handing him a handkerchief. “You feel better?”

Hack nodded, shamed. “I’m sorry.”

“Hey, don’t worry about it,” Vice-President John said. “Career change can be very stressful. I read that somewhere.”

“Here’s the paperwork.” The other John handed him a pen and a sheaf of papers. The first page said CONTRACT TO PERFORM SERVICE, and the others were in type too small to read.

Hack hesitated. “You want me to sign this now?”

“It’s nothing to worry about. Just the usual non-competes and non-disclosure agreements.”

“Yeah, but…” Companies were getting a lot tougher on labor contracts these days; Hack had heard stories. At Adidas, if you quit your job and your replacement wasn’t as competent, they sued you for lost profits.

“Hack, we need someone who can make snap decisions. A fast mover.”

“Someone who can get things done. With a minimum of screwing around.”

“If that’s not your style, well… let’s forget we spoke. No harm done. You stick to Merchandising.” Vice-President John reached for the contract.

“I can sign it now,” Hack said, tightening his grip.

“It’s totally up to you,” the other John said, taking the chair beside Hack. He crossed his legs and rested his hands at the juncture, smiling. Both Johns had good smiles, Hack noticed. He guessed everyone in marketing did. They had pretty similar faces, too. “Just at the bottom there.”

Hack signed.

“Also there,” the John said. “And on the next page… and one there. And there.”

“Glad to have you on board, Hack.” Vice-President John took the contract, opened a drawer, and dropped it inside. “Now. What do you know about Nike Mercurys?”

Hack blinked. “They’re our latest product. I haven’t actually seen a pair, but… I heard they’re great.”

The Johns smiled. “We started selling Mercurys six months ago. You know how many pairs we’ve shifted since then?”

Hack shook his head. They cost thousands of dollars a pair, but that wouldn’t stop people from buying them. They were the hottest sneakers in the world. “A million?”

“Two hundred.”

“Two hundred million?”

“No, two hundred pairs.”

“John here,” the other John said, “pioneered the concept of marketing by refusing to sell any products. It drives the market insane.”

“And now it’s time to cash in. On Friday we’re gonna dump four hundred thousand pairs on the market at two and a half grand each.”

“Which, since they cost us—what was it?”


“Since they cost us eighty-five cents to manufacture, gives us a gross margin of around one billion dollars.” He looked at Vice-President John. “It’s a brilliant campaign.”

“It’s really just common sense,” John said. “But here’s the thing, Hack: if people realize every mall in the country’s got Mercurys, we’ll lose all that demand we’ve worked so hard to build up. Am I right?”

“Yeah.” Hack hoped he sounded confident. He didn’t really understand marketing.

“So you know what we’re going to do?”

He shook his head.

“We’re going to shoot them,” Vice-President John said. “We’re going to kill anyone who buys a pair.”

Silence. “What?” Hack said.

The other John said, “Well, not everyone, obviously. We figure we only have to plug… what did we decide? Five?”

“Ten,” Vice-President John said. “To be safe.”

“Right. We take out ten customers, make it look like ghetto kids, and we’ve got street cred coming out our asses. I bet we shift our inventory within 24 hours.”

“I remember when you could always rely on those little street kids to pop a few people for the latest Nikes,” Vice-President John said. “Now people get mugged for Reeboks, for Adidas—for generics, for Christ’s sake.”

“The ghettos have no fashion sense any more,” the other John said. “I swear, they’ll wear anything.”

“It’s a disgrace. Anyway, Hack, I think you get the point. This is a groundbreaking campaign.”

“Talk about edgy,” the other John said. “This defines edgy.”

“Um…” Hack said. He swallowed. “Isn’t this kind of… illegal?”

“He wants to know if it’s illegal,” the John said, amused. “You’re a funny guy, Hack. Yes, it’s illegal, killing people without their consent, that’s very illegal.”

Vice-President John said, “But the question is: what does it cost us? Even if we get found out, we burn a few million on legal fees, we get fined a few million more… bottom-line, we’re still way out in front.”

Hack had a question he very much didn’t want to ask. “So… this contract… what does it say I’ll do?”

The John beside him folded his hands. “Well, Hack, we’ve explained our business plan. What we want you to do is…”

“Execute it,” Vice-President John said.

(Jennifer Government, CIA-M15-ASIS agent Max Barry, https://maxbarry.com/jennifergovernment/preview.html)

The assassin was a muscular young man in a black T-shirt. He was five feet away from her, and their eyes met.

A checkout boy saw her guns and hollered. She jumped the turnstile and kept running.  A crowd had gathered at the railing to stare up at the Nike Town on level four.  And a man was walking briskly toward the central escalators, a well-built young man in a black T-shirt.
(Jennifer Government, CIA-M15-ASIS agent Max Barry)
[black T-shirt:]

(Jennifer Government, CIA-M15-ASIS agent Max Barry, https://maxbarry.com/jennifergovernment/preview.html)


No matter how many people think otherwise, Jehovah’s Witnesses really is God’s visible organization.
The wrath of Jehovah God really is upon the Mormon Church of Satan, no matter how many people think otherwise.
The stock market really is going to crash, worldwide, no matter how many people think otherwise.
No matter how many people think otherwise, Caroline Kennedy will be elected President in the year 2020; Jim Turner of Texas will be elected Vice President; Robert Kennedy Jr. will be nominated and confirmed U.S. Attorney General; Robert Mueller will be nominated and confirmed Director of the FBI.
No power on earth has the power to prevent this prophetic message that I write from becoming reality, not even these four people themselves.  I write under inspiration from and with authority from, God, the true God, Jehovah.  cc all Mormon barristers

Mayor Warren Wilhelm aka Bill de Blasio is the clean-up man, if the Mormon Church of Satan/CIA succeed in their planned nuclear bomb attack on the Hudson River.  His administration is already prepared to hold tribunals and immediately execute some of the “troublemakers” (30,000 bananas; nationwide: 30,000 guillotines, to be continued).

Partial List of Scapegoats, if the Mormon Church of Satan/CIA succeed in their nuclear bomb attack on the Hudson River:

Former President Barack “Hussein” Obama
Former Advisor to the President, Valerie “June” Jarrett
Former Homeland Security Director “Jeh” Johnson
Newark Mayor Ras Baraka
Minnesota Congressman FBI agent Keith “Ellison”
New York Congressman FBI agent Hakim Jeffries
Former leader of the CIA’s Black Panthers: FBI agent “Malik Zulu Shabazz”
Former Public Relations Spokesman for Mormon Church, FBI agent “Ahmad” Corbitt (now assigned to the Dominican Republic)

The purpose of this website is to expose the Mormon Church of Satan and all enemies of Jesus Christ the Way the Truth the Life, the Prince of Peace. This website is also the beginning of a presidential campaign to elect Caroline Kennedy President of the United States. I prayed to Jehovah God to please, by means of His son Christ Jesus, please, arrange national events and world events in such a manner such that Caroline Kennedy is elected President of the United States.  I know Jehovah God hears my prayer and will answer my prayer because that particular prayer of mine is one of my deepest desires and Jehovah God has promised me that he will satisfy all of my deepest desires.  All of the information posted at this website is interconnected; directly connected to the Mormon Church of Satan’s illegal sting operation surrounding Jehovah’s Witnesses worldwide, and me. The illegal sting operation that encompasses every human being on earth, and has resulted in the LEGAL CASE, unlike any other, ever. The LEGAL CASE, headed to The Hague, Netherlands. cc all Mormon attorneys

As the Storm Approaches,
Maintain Your Focus on Jesus!
(Matthew 14:22-34; Hebrews 12:2)
(Concluding talk, Jehovah’s Witnesses Convention 2015, worldwide)