#Car Detailing Service Thousand Oaks

[nappwerks]

Napp Werks | Car detailing service | Paint protection film in Westlake Village CA

We have a well-earned reputation for providing safe and effective Car Detailing Service in Thousand Oaks CA, designed to give your vehicle a superior look. Our team of experienced professionals uses only the best products and techniques to ensure that your car looks its best. Whether it’s hand washing the exterior or vacuuming the interior, we give your car the attention it deserves and keep it looking like new. Moreover, we are also renowned for applying top-quality Paint Protection Film in Westlake Village CA, on vehicles of all makes and models. Our transparent film provides a protective barrier that shields your vehicle’s paint from scratches, rock chips, and other types of damage. So, if you need our expert assistance, call us today.

[passionateautodetail]

Professional auto detailing service in California | Passionate Auto Detail

Passionate Auto Detail is a Professional Auto Detailing Company that provides Services along with paint restoration/correction, car detailing, Ceramic coating, Car washing services, and Best Interior Cleaning for Cars in the Calabasas, CA area. We offer a wide range of detailing services to fit our client’s budgets and expectations. Every vehicle is treated as if it was our own with nothing but professionalism and upmost quality. We custom tailor each detail/paint correction service to ensure each client's needs are met/exceeded. We also provide information on how to properly care for your vehicle after we have performed our services.

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[amazinggrace22]

What do you consider a good quality service?

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[palomeramobiledetails]

Palomeras Mobile Auto Car Detailing & Ceramic Coating's

Address:

4685 Runway St G

Simi Valley, CA 93063

Phone: (805) 921-5676

Email: info@palomerasrestyling.com

Website: https://palomeramobiledetails.com/

Palomeras Mobile Auto Car Detailing & Ceramic Coating's provides premier auto detailing, car detailing, and mobile detailing services. Our team comes to you for convenient mobile car washes, boat detailing, and RV detailing. Serving Simi Valley, Thousand Oaks, Woodland Hills, Newbury Park, Westlake Village, Camarillo, and Moorpark, we ensure your vehicle looks its best inside and out. Experience exceptional detailing with Palomeras Mobile Auto Car Detailing & Ceramic Coating's.

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Hour: Mon-Sat: 9AM-6PM

Year of Est.: January 15, 2020

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[hakesbros]

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[oneoakmotors-blog]

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[fortheloveoffanfic]

Protective Service

John Wick x Reader (A/n-Why must I always make things complicated?)

Warnings- Language (I don’t usually use language warnings, but its a lot this time), Violence, Bloodshed, Murder, brief mentions of SMUT (it’s not what you’re thinking.)

Masterlist  Chapter 1

Chapter 2 Crime and Punishment 

It was Saturday, and at all costs, Y/n usually preferred to keep her weekends to herself and leave her business, whatever it was, for Monday. Because of this, John was usually off on weekends too, though, he did still stay at her penthouse just in case, he never said of what, but Y/n knew. She’d always known, that was why she’d hired him. Nonetheless, while hitmen and mercenaries didn’t take weekends off, Y/n did, unless, of course, pressing matters arose. 

“What?” Y/n’s jaw clenched as she tried to keep her rage at bay, though, Donavan knew her well enough to be able to tell that she was a bit more than pissed off. Someone was going to die that day, it was just a question of who. With the book laid out before her, Y/n scanned the page, one, two and then three times, just to make sure she hadn’t read anything wrong, though, she rarely made mistakes. She was hardly perfect though, calculated was more like it. “Who the hell let this slip?” Standing abruptly, Y/n slammed the leather bound book shut with a thud.

“My guess is someone in accounting,” He stood before the sleek, white desk in her white walled, airy home office, his hands clasped in front of him, not in the slightest phased by her behavior, "But, it could be one of the guys you’ve got working in stock. What do you want to do about it?”

Moving out from behind the desk, Y/n slipped her hands coolly into the pockets of her grey, soft, paper bag pants, sauntering over to the window that overlooked the rest of Hudson Yards, the glass constituting the other towering complexes reflecting the afternoon sun beautifully and way down below, the people bustling were reduced to specs on the paved roads and sidewalks. “I want to find this person, and have them dealt with, today,” she emphasized the final word, before turning back to Donavan, finding his dark, steely grey eyes fixed on her, his sharp jaw set stiffly. When she got closer, close enough to see the hints of grey showing up near his sideburns and in his five o’clock shadow, he stood a little straighter and Y/n could feel the muscles in his biceps rippling beneath his black sweater when her delicate fingers trailed up to his shoulder, “Will that be a problem, Donny?” 

Y/n was the only person that ever called him that and Donavan was the only person privy to some semblance of non-familial affection from her. It was a consequence of being reared so closely; from the minute she was brought home in the arms of her mother, Donavan, at just ten, was taught that she was his to look over, that it would be her before him at all costs. Not looking down at her, he simply eyed her movements through his peripheral, quirking a rare smirk, “No ma’am. The car’s downstairs, ready when you are.”

Her tongue darted out quickly, moistening her lips as she tried to suppress her own mirth, “Good, I’ll go tell John and we should be off within the hour.”

“Forgive my…..boldness, Vila,” Donavan interrupted  nonchalantly just as Y/n neared the door, her hand just about to close in over the ornate knob, only continuing when she spared him a lingering backwards glance, “I’ve been meaning to ask; are the services of Mr. Wick really necessary? You know I would lay my life down for you, at any time, no question.”

Nodding slowly, Y/n’s brows knitted, of course, she could tell from the moment they’d met that Donavan had is own reservations about John as her security detail, he wasn’t the trusting type, and the older man had only served to put him on edge, though, for the life of her, Y/n couldn’t readily see why. She liked John as much as her jagged edged personality would afford, and even if she wouldn’t call him a friend, she hardly called anyone that, Y/n had started to see him as indispensable. “Mhm,” she hummed, not quite sure of why he’d chosen that moment to voice his concerns, “But that’s not your job,” she turned to leave again.

“I know that,” he insisted and she paused again, the first inkling of irritation seeping upwards, “But I would. And I just don’t think we need an unnecessary expense on our payroll, especially one…...that expensive.”

“Are you doubting my judgement, Donavan?” There was a sternness in her tone, one she rarely took with him though, it was enough to urge him to back off, and if he didn’t know her so well, he might have.

“I’m not,” he reassured, folding his muscled arms across his broad chest, “I would never, it’s just……”

“Don’t,” briskly, Y/n stopped him before he could find the words, “Never, ever, question my decisions, you know I don’t like it,” she warned firmly, “And as for John, he’s needed, and he stays, and if you think of questioning his employment here again, then I suggest you keep it to yourself? Got it?”

And then, before Y/n could hear Donavan’s response, she’d stalked out of the room, walking with purpose, down the hall, stopping at John’s room; the bedroom nearest to hers before heading there. As usual, it only took two knocks before John was pulling the tall door open. He’d been like that since moving in, always there when she called, never letting her wait a moment more than necessary. It wasn’t really obedience though, John had proven to be capable of following only his own rules, never needing her permission before acting and for what it was worth, she didn’t even think that ‘obedient’ was in his dictionary anyway. Instead, he was, as the legend had preached, a man of focus and commitment, and after only knowing him for just over a month, Y/n was beginning to think that there was very little that could successfully stand in the man’s way, if anything at all.

Another thing about John was that he was always impeccably dressed, persistently attired in a selection from his armory of Italian tailored, bulletproof suits. Never with a hair out of place and most definitely never looking as if she’d caught him off guard. Well, almost never. Except for that very Saturday, when they were both expected to be off and she’d broken habit and knocked on his door instead. “John,” Y/n didn’t think she could help if she tried when her eyes landed on his chest instead of his stoic expression. His torso, though very faintly defined, boasted how much an excellent shape he was in; the slight definition coming from years in the field as opposed to hours put in at the gym while scars of varying ages littered his skin. Hints of dark ink peeked out from his back while the bold cross on his shoulder was far more visible. Y/n had never seen his tattoos, but in that moment, she wanted to.

“See something interesting?” John broke her unconscious trance, folding his bulky arms and skewing her view.

Clearing her throat, Y/n shook her head, dismissing the feeling that had plumed in her chest at the sight of him so  sparsely dressed in nothing but a pair of worn blue jeans, “Wouldn’t you like to know?” She rolled her eyes dismissively, “There’s a situation at the club house, we’re leaving within the hour.”

John never asked questions, and he didn't even protest that she'd been interrupting whatever he was doing, instead, he just held his head up, not even nodding as he offered a firm, "Okay," before shutting the door, leaving Y/n staring at the heavy white oak before swallowing her annoyance and turning to stalk off.

When the car pulled up in front of the warehouse, John and Donavan, who’d sat on either side of Y/n, got out before her, and by the time he'd had jogged around to the other side to help her out, John had already offered his hand. “I was coming to get you,” he grumbled, straightening the blazer he’d shrugged on over his sweater, moving to open the building’s front door for her.

“I don’t need anyone to get me,” Y/n scolded quietly, rolling her eyes at his ridiculous behavior as she stepped in front of John, who hung back for a couple minutes just to confirm that no other cars had lingered at the front gate. By then, he’d devised a working idea of the vehicles that usually moved in and out of the compound and who they were driven by, how he’d committed that and everything else to memory was still a mystery to Y/n. Satisfied, he followed Y/n into the building, eyeing everyone closely as they ascended the spiral steps, stopping only when they were raised over everyone else.

Y/n gripped the cool metal railing, her eyes scanning the floor as a chatter ran through the workers. The place wasn’t ordinarily quiet, but that mummer wasn’t friendly banter, it was fright; they weren’t used to seeing her there on a weekend, and if Y/n was there on a Saturday afternoon, it meant that something was sorely wrong. For a moment more, she spectated, trying to see who seemed the most nervous, inconsistencies like the one Donavan had brought to her couldn’t possibly be accidental, no, someone was stealing from her, and Y/n wasn’t going to stand for it. 

Ready to address them, she cleared her throat loudly, rousing attention and straightening her back to seem more intimidating when her underlings looked up at her, flanked by John on her left and Donavan, both eerily silent while her enforcers stood a couple feet behind, lurking in the shadows “It has been brought to my attention that there are some…..discrepancies in our books,” and when some gasped, others just looked on with awe, Y/n continued, “Twenty five thousand dollars is missing. And I know that twenty five fucking thousand doesn’t just vanish; this was not a mistake. Which means that it's gone on purpose, taken on purpose.” The gathered workers mumbled amongst themselves, looking around to see if someone would be brave enough to fess up, “And I understand that it's money,” she chuckled dryly, “And it's probably long, long gone. But whoever took it, isn’t, and if you think that I’m just gonna let this go, then you don’t really know me. So why don’t you, whoever the fuck you are, come forward and make both our lives easier? If you don’t, I will find you, and it will hurt when I do.”

Again, the workers chattered softly, probably nudging each other to say who’d done it if they knew. Though, minutes ticked by and nothing happened, and all the noise did was serve to irritate Y/n’s already sour mood, causing her to squeeze the railing tightly and hissing an exhale before, “Alight!” She snapped, “You want to make this hard? That’s fine,” Y/n reached behind her, snapping manicured fingers, “Boys,” she purred menacingly, “Get down there and find this fucker, and you do, bring ‘em to our playroom.”

From the minute the hasty order left her deep red lips, and her bulky henchmen started filtering out towards the steps, a man pushed through the crowd, making a break for the door. Though, his luck was as good as any common criminal, and fearing her to the point of faultless loyalty, some of her workers blocked him, a few others grabbing him before he could fight through, handing him over to Y/n’s men when they got through the thick of it. Even as they dragged him, the man screamed bloody murder, which in all fairness, was more than likely what he would be facing in just a bit. “Donny,” Y/n spoke without looking in his direction, and he simply hummed in response, “Why don’t you get our toys ready?”

“It would be my pleasure,” he nodded, sparing her one last glance before leaving her alone with John, still looking on at everyone below.

“What do you think?” She tilted her head, leaning in discreetly, “Anyone we should be looking out for, besides our little rat over there,” Y/n nudged to the young man being dragged up the steps. He was young, one of her newer hires. She hadn’t trusted him completely when he sought her out, seeking employment, but he was no more than twenty three and before, she was sure that she could mold him to suit, maybe make something of the kid. But betrayal wasn’t something Y/n fared well with, and second chances were rare in their line of work.

Slowly, John scanned the crowd, which had just started to disperse, though she was sure that by then, he’d already done the same thing well over three times. John was exceptionally thorough, “No,” he kept his gaze trained forward, “If it makes you feel better, I can get down there, shake up a few people, make sure.”

“It doesn’t make me feel anything,” she huffed, turning to walk away, gesturing for John to come with her. Y/n hated the mere thought that John had started to see her as vulnerable, someone who was afraid of the people that worked at her feet, even if the thought of a betrayal that could cost far more than currency scared her, she wasn’t going to show it. And she certainly wasn’t going to tell anyone.

“You know I can’t protect you if you don’t tell me what’s scaring you,” John quipped, his words, as usual, were few, but effective, making Y/n come to an abrupt halt just as they were about to turn the corner and head down a dim hallway.

“I never said I was scared,” she turned to face him, her phlegmatic expression matching his. Y/n hadn’t expected John to be that close when she spun, and his proximity almost had her façade faltering, but she persisted, and for a moment, it seemed to be a war of stares, who ever looked away would be deemed a loser. Except, neither of them looked away and the longer their eyes locked, the more exposed she felt, like he was seeing her for who she really was, the person behind the hardened shell, who was scared that she was digging her own grave and destroying the empire her linage had afforded her. Y/n wasn’t sure if being seen, by at least one person, was comforting or frightening. On one hand, she sometimes tired of keeping up appearances, while on the other, it worried her that the tough, uncrackable disposition was all she had. If she softened, who was going to listen to a pretty girl half their age? 

“Not today you didn't,” his low baritone finally broke the silence, and unconsciously, John stepped forward, almost feeling as if she’d been reeling him in with those siren eyes. Those four little words were all he needed to put a chip in her exterior, to remind them both of the girl she’d been when they met at the Continental. The one whose perfume hung in the air even after she left and had left him with mixed feelings since they’d met. When he’d first started working there, he’d heard what they called her; Vila, and it was easy to see why too. Y/n had this kind of beauty, it almost didn’t seem real, though, her physical appearance was merely a mask, for anyone in her presence could tell that like him, she emanated danger. She wasn’t afraid to get her hands bloody when crossed.

Y/n’s gaze flickered away from his eyes, trying to shake off the trance his chocolate gaze had put her in, summoning up a dismissive smirk, “You’re smart huh?” She moistened her lips, preferring to be done with the subject rather than delve further into it, “Come on, I’ve got work to do,” she began walking again, “On a fucking Saturday too,” Y/n grumbled under her breath, and John didn’t let her see it, but he smiled faintly.

They walked for a while, all the way down the corridor, turning at its end and trekking up another set of stairs, those narrow and illuminated by an old bulb, leading to a lone metal door, rust gathered on the outer bolt and the creaking noise blood curling as she pulled it open, “Wait,” John grabbed her arms, “I go in first,” he reminded, not waiting for Y/n’s go ahead before stepping in front of her, his hand already reaching for his gun as he toed in. He’d stepped inside completely, sweeping the area for anything remotely out of place before letting her in.

When Y/n stepped inside, a tense silence befell the low lit room and the clicking of her stilettos on the worn, stained concrete floor was the only thing echoing. Without needing to be asked, Donavan approached her, helping Y/n out of her long camel coat, draping it over his arm as he stood back, near John against the wall. “Christopher,” she addressed, undoing the buttons at the cuffed sleeves of her silk, champagne colored shirt, rolling them up to just below her elbows and then putting her hair up in a loose ponytail, “You know, when I hired you, I took a chance. You were a kid and I thought that I could turn you into something great, teach you. I wanted to help you, Christopher.” There was a table, a wooden one, near the front of the large room, and on the surface, were all sorts of tools. A pair of pliers, a couple blades, bone saws of varying types, a thumbscrew, a pinwheel, an icepick, and of course, to end it all, a gun. Of course, killing and making an example of him would have been ideal, but Y/n didn’t want to risk missing his reasoning. “I really wanted to help you,” she carried on, swiping up the thumbscrew, sauntering over to the center of the room where Christopher sat, bound to the chair by a series of leather straps; two holding his wrists to the handles, his calves to the legs and his midsection to the wooden back. 

Though he fought against it, whimpering in fear as she drew closer, the chair, bolted to the ground, wouldn’t budge. There was no escaping, and he knew it. “Please Miss Romanov,” he pleaded pathetically, “I swear, I can pay it back, the twenty five grand, I can pay it back.”

“Pay it back?” She chuckled humorlessly, slipping his right index into the device, “Where’re you gonna get twenty five grand, huh? Besides, you know it's not the money, it's the principal. If we don’t have trust in this business, we have nothing. And I can’t trust you anymore Christopher,” slowly, Y/n started turning the pin at the top, her eyes fixed on how his features screwed up in pain as his finger was crushed, the sickening sound drowned out by his screams. The room was hardly soundproof, and even from the ground floor, anyone could tell what was happening, “Why do you think I can’t trust you?"

“Because of…...Arghh!” He howled, straining his neck as he shifted his head, his skin going red with the heat of pain and tears already streaming down his face. “The money!” He writhed, “Because of the money!”

“The money?” Hastily, Y/n grabbed his hand, situating another finger into the contraption, her anger flaring, “Have you heard nothing that I’ve said?” Her voice rose and she began turning again, up to her rope’s end with his ignorance, “Have I taught you nothing?” Y/n yelled.

“The principal!” Christopher sobbed, his breaths heavy and ragged and his eyes shut tight, as if not seeing the blood creating new stains on the grey floor might lessen the pain. Still though, Y/n continued, “But I had to,” he blubbered, “They would have killed me.”

“What?” snarling, Y/n paused, “Who, who would have killed you. Why’d you need the money?” Grabbing his wet face, her long nails digging into his blotchy, beat red cheeks, “Why’d you need my fucking money!”

“I-I….” hiccupping, there was a new wave of fear washing over him, and by then, the sweat had started to soak through his ratty plaid shirt, “The Irish...they-” the truth, like water behind a broken dam, came rushing out, “They have a….a gambling house up in Brooklyn.”

“You were fucking with the goddamed Irish!” Y/n released his face, only to grant him a backhanded slap, making sure the expensive stone on her ring broke his skin, “I’ve got you working here for me, I’m putting bread on your table and you go behind my back with the Irish? Motherfucker!” She slapped him again.

“Miss Romanov,” he begged messily as Y/n went back over to the table, that time to snatch up the brass knuckles, fitting them onto her right hand before returning to where Christopher, “You gotta understand, it was just supposed to be one card game and I-” Interrupting his hurried explanation, Y/n punched him, as hard as she could, hitting him square in the jaw and splitting his lip. She supposed that one of her men could have been far more effective, but following her father’s footsteps, she usually dealt out punishments on her own. “Please-” She reared back, socking him again, that tie hard enough to crack his jaw and dislodge a tooth. “Please,” he repeated, blood dribbling out as he spoke, “Money was tight, my girl hasn’t been working and we were in debt. I won one-” She hit him higher up, nearer to his eye, but he continued anyway, determined to beg for mercy with his last breaths, “I thought I could win more, but I started losing, so fast.” Another punch broke something else and bruises were already starting to favor the left side of his face while Y/n’s sleeves, which had fallen with the repeated movements, were more than spotted with blood.

“You needed money then you should’ve come to me. But you gave the Irish an in!” By then, Y/n had hit him so many times, that she’d lost count and Christopher was almost unrecognizable. She hadn’t realized how angry she was. From his on guard stance near the door, John kept his eyes trained on her; he’d never seen a more ruthless woman, or perhaps, person in general. Not even when he worked for the Tasarov mob, years before he single-handedly dismantled them in mere days. John had heard the stories though, of Y/n’s unforgiving father, how alarmingly frightening he could be given the right circumstances, no doubt he’d passed that on to his only heir. For someone else, watching Y/n might have been blood turning, despite her flawlessness, her ruthlessness might have easily made her ugly, the way she could ignore pleas and prayers for mercy, but for John, it was almost mesmerizing. She did the dirty work on her own, unafraid of bloodying her hands, and unashamed of who she was. Her bravery, boldness and ability to temporarily dispose of her apathetic demeanor was surprisingly attractive. Maybe he’d finally met his match.

When she was finally satisfied with the string of sloppy, bloody apologies and explanations, Y/n huffed, walking away, only to pick up the gun, checking to see if it was loaded before taking her aim, “I tried to help you Christopher, but you went behind my back, and now you have to pay for that.” He was already slipping in and out of consciousness, and when Y/n finally pulled the trigger with her bloodied finger, the only thing that sounded was the bang of the shot, the smoke dissipating as she lingered, staring blankly at the body for a minute.

“Vila,” It was Donavan that broke her trance, and ignoring him, Y/n tossed the gun back to the table snatching up the towel that he offered, wiping the warm red off her hands, barely registering how the color stuck to her skin before discarding it to the table.

 “Make a dinner reservation, leave the money out for ‘em, and meet us in the car after you call,” barely, she took note of Donavan’s acknowledgement as she stalked out of the room, John once again a couple paces behind as they moved.

“You okay?” His attempt at small talk surprised them both as they returned to the main floor, his words under his breath.

They broke out into the late afternoon, and moving ahead, John leaned forward, opening the door for her to get in, “Why wouldn’t I be?” Y/n got in, immediately reaching for the crystal carafe of whiskey, and two glasses, “Have a drink with me,” without awaiting his response, she poured two, handing over one.

“Must be hard, your job,” he mused gruffly, taking a tentative sip of his drink, enjoying the way the alcohol burned his throat. Y/n had good taste, and John could tell from just one sip.

Shrugging, Y/n downed her entire drink in one swing, barely hissing or wincing as she knocked it back, “Pay’s good.” Reaching for the bottle again, Y/n poured another, not understanding why she felt the turmoil that she did and ready to do away with it, “Thanks for uh…..coming with us today.”

“From what I can see, you didn’t need me,” at that, Y/n’s gaze snapped towards him, her plump lips agape and her eyes unusually wide and doe-y, “I’m just saying,” he cleared his throat, realizing how the air between them had changed once again, “You can hold your own out there Y/n.”

“You’re one of the only people that calls me that,” she wondered out loud, licking her lips as she looked at him, “It’s kind of strange to hear someone say my name.”

“Is that a problem?” John leaned in, catching a whiff of how the whiskey interacted with her perfume. 

“No,” Y/n breathed. It was the truth, and it seemed almost fitting, considering that John had proven to see right through her defenses, twice and had even been brave enough to call her out on it. He had seen just the tiniest glimmers of the real her, and it was only suiting that he be the one to call Y/n by her real name. “I do need you, by the way. So don’t go thinking I don’t.”

“Admitting defeat?” John smirked, and Y/n realized that that was the closest she’d ever got to seeing him smile. She bet he had a nice smile. Unconsciously, she leaned in too, something in the back of her head hoping he’d read the room and kiss her. 

“I’m just-” With a startle, her words were cut off, and surprised as Donavan entered, Y/n sprang back, averting her gaze as he settled next her, not even looking in John’s direction as he resumed his usual demeanor, pretending as if the moment had never even happened.

The ride back to the penthouse had been filled with silence, the tension so thick it could be cut with a knife, and when it was time to get out of the car, instead of offering his hand that time, John had left, heading towards the elevator to do his usual checks before Y/n could even step foot near it. That time, it was Donavan that had hung back with her, still holding her coat, and that time her handbag, as they walked. 

Even the elevator ride up was quiet and when the metal box opened up to her foyer, they all went in and wordlessly, John stalked off in the direction of his room. She tried not to be, but Y/n was offended that he’d be willing to just bypass what they’d shared in the car and choose to pretend that he was nothing more than an employee. It was infuriating, though, knowing she could do nothing about it, Y/n decided that she’d deal with her frustrations with a more willing companion.

“Stay for a while,” she led Donavan down the hall, the sounds of their steps echoing off the soft white marble walls, “I’d like some company.”

“Of course,” he nodded, following Y/n into her room, shutting the door behind him as they entered. Y/n turned the lights on, the chandelier overhead casting a glow on the spacious master bedroom, and as she went over to a small sofa near the window to slip off her heels, Donavan set her bag down on an accent chair near the door, draping her coat over the arm. “I’m going to take a shower,” she explained nonchalantly, undoing and untucking her ruined shirt before pulling out her stylish leather belt and unbuttoning her pants. “Care to join me?” 

Huffing a quiet chuckle, Donavan started stripping on his way over to her, losing his blazer and sweater by the time he reached Y/n, “When have I ever turned you down?” He smirked confidently, “You had such a rough day,” his calloused hands slid up her arms, massaging her shoulders, “Why don’t we get in there,” he lifted one hand, only to pull out her hairband and free her tresses, “And blow off some steam?”

“Well I didn’t invite you here for nothing,” Y/n’s lithe fingers trailed down Donavan’s toned torso, pushing the memory of a shirtless John out of her mind as she did. At the top of his pants, her hands lingered, and standing on her toes, she planted a searing kiss on a pair of familiar lips, expertly popping the button on his back slacks, letting him unclasp her bra in turn.

By the time they stumbled to the shower, managing to get the hot water on in their steamy haste, Y/n was already hoisted up in Donavan’s arms. He pressed his back against the glass wall, and as he nestled his throbbing manhood between her slick folds, Y/n moaned loudly, combating the sound of the falling water as she felt him fill her up. Her hand was braced beside his head on the glass, the rivulets staining red with the remaining blood on her hand as it raced down the wall. As he moved, helping her forget the day, with John’s image still on replay in her mind, steam built up around them while hot water from the rain shower washed their bodies. That evening, it was hard to lose herself in the rough sensation and  Y/n could only hope that at some point, her mind would go right again so that she could return to the person that wasn’t affected by death, or worse yet, got flutters in her stomach because of John Wick.

*****

 Tagging-@harrisongslimited @magnificentclodpiebanana  @keandrews @greenmanalishi  @rdjloverxxx @danceoftwowolves  @planetkt @wheretheriversrunintothesea

[this-song-thats-only-for-you]

Truth

Summary:  You’d taken Jackson to a creepy house before, but this time he had a surprise for you.

Characters: Jackson Wang x reader

Genre: fluff / haunted au

A/N: Welcome to my first story for Frightful October, this week's theme: Haunted! This is somewhat of a sequel to last years Frightful October story which can be found here.

Word count: 1,624

  “So where exactly are you taking me?” You asked, not looking towards him as you continued to pack your belongings into your suitcase. It had been a week since Jackson told you he was taking you away for the weekend in celebration for your anniversary. You liked to be in control, and know all the details, where Jackson usually went with the flow, so to be told you only needed to pack clothing was a new experience.

“It’s a surprise Y/N. Trust me, you’re going to love it. I got a good deal and it has everything we need for a relaxing weekend away!” He reassured you, although now you turned to look at him skeptically. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, moving his body around animatedly as he described the getaway. “It’s a beautiful old Hotel and it has a lot of history on the property, so I was told.”

 “Ahh, you know the way to my heart.” You feigned dramatically, your hand pausing on top of your chest for extra effect.

Jackson chuckled “Now what kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn’t?”

 A couple of hours later and you had finally arrived at your destination. Jackson wasn’t lying when he said the hotel was historic. The property expanded as far as your eyes could see, the main building was of white stone and looked more like a huge plantation house, and perhaps it had been in previous years. Now though it was bustling with people, all of which were arriving just as you were.

After parking the car you both headed towards the concierge desk, Jackson refusing to let you carry your belongings. He smiled triumphantly as he placed the suitcases down, catching his breath slightly as he did.

“See no problem.”

“Uh-huh.” You hummed, not quite believing him. You took a moment, soaking in your surroundings. The old oak floorboards and tapestry’s covering the walls were exquisite. The entryway and concierge area had been littered with old family portraits, one, in particular, holding your attention. A woman not much older than you, dressed in a lace dress with her suit-clad partner alongside her and a child in her arms adorned on what looked to be a small library with books scattered among the floor to ceiling shelves. “This place is something else.” You whispered to yourself in awe.

“Good evening, checking in or out?” A monotone voice addressed you both, snapping you out of your reverie. Jackson cleared his throat before replying.

“Ah, we are checking in. Reservation is under Wang.”

“Just one moment.” The concierge replied, not looking at either of you once as he tapped a few keys on his keyboard. Jackson turned to you, pulling a face before returning his attention to the man behind the desk. “There seems to be a problem with your room.”

“What kind of problem?” you moved closer to the desk, leaning over slightly to read the computer screen.

“It looks like the room you reserved has been given to someone else. We do however have another room available for you.”

“But I specifically reserved –that- room.” Jackson pleaded with the man, worry etched on his face. “I had it all planned.”

Seeing his defeated face you placed your hand on top of his gently, squeezing it reassuringly. “I’m sure this room will be just as nice.”

“Actually the room we can put you in is an upgrade from the previous room” the concierge announced.

“Oh?”

“It’s recently been renovated, so you would be the first to stay in it since.” He finally looked up at you both then, impatience showing in his gaze.

“That sounds great. We will take it!”  You said in unison, the concierge handing the room key to you a moment later.

“What was so special about the room you booked?” You asked curiously as you took the elevator up to the fourth floor.

“It just looked like a room you would like, but it's okay. If this is an upgrade it will be perfect.”

“For what?”

“I’m not telling Y/N. You’ll just have to wait and find out.”

You rolled your eyes at his playfulness, even though you loved that side to him. “Not even a hint?” you pleaded, a pout forming on your lips.

“Nope.” He remained tight-lipped as the elevator doors opened.

You had both decided to have a quiet night, taking your time and enjoying the enormous spa bath and room service before settling into bed to rest up for your first day of exploring the property tomorrow.

“Y/N, Wake up.” Jackson whispered, shaking you adamantly.

“Hmm? What’s going on?” answering huskily as your eyes strained to read the time on the alarm clock. The room was pitch black, the numbers on the clock reading three in the morning, you groaned “Jackson, go back to sleep.”

“I can’t, I heard a noise.”

“What?” Shifting in the bed you began to sit up, stopping abruptly when you heard a loud thud.

“That’s the noise. It sounds like it's coming from inside the room, but we’re the only ones in here.”

“It can’t be from inside. It’s probably from the hallway.” Reasoning with him as you leaned sideways to turn on the light. You took in a deep breath to calm yourself, searching the room for any signs of movement as another loud thud occurred.

“Aaah!” Jackson yelled, shifting closer to you in the bed, his arms wrapping around you tightly. “Look. Over there.” He pointed towards the vanity, the mirror shaking slightly with the thud.

You squinted, pulling away from his grasp as you removed the bed covers and headed across the room towards the vanity. You were sure the mirror had something written on it, but without your glasses, you needed to get a closer look.

“Y/N, don’t.” Jackson pleaded.

Waving him off you continued towards the mirror, gasping when you noticed more than words scribbled onto it. A picture also sat against it, a woman not much older than you, with what looked like her partner. The word ‘Mine’ written onto the mirror in red lipstick.

“What’s it say?”

You jumped as Jackson came up behind you, his hand resting on your shoulder gently, and his voice louder in your ear than you thought.

“It says ‘Mine’ and there is a picture, look.” You held the picture closer to him, his brown eyes looking from the mirror to the picture. “What’s hers?” you asked, your confusion clear in your eyes as you searched Jackson’s for answers.

“I don’t-.” he stopped abruptly, his face turning pale.

“What is it?” you asked, shaking him softly. “Jack?”

“Her ring. It looks just like yours.” He admitted, his eyes closing and sighing in defeat.

“But I don’t have a ring?”

Jackson stepped away from you, opening the drawer to the vanity and pulling out a small velvet box that was hidden inside. You gasped loudly, surprise taking you over.

“I was planning on making this special, but it seems like someone has other ideas.” He bent down on one knee, opening the box to reveal a jewel-encrusted ring with one hand, and taking yours within the other. “Y/N, I love the way we push each other out of our comfort zones, how you understand me like no one else. How you can make me go into creepy old houses, even though you know I’m scared.” He chuckled “You let me know its okay, and that I have you. I love you and want to spend the rest of my life with you on our crazy adventures. Will you do the honor of marrying me?”

Your heart stopped, your vision blurred as the tears filled your eyes, your head nodding furiously a second later. “Yes, a thousand times yes!” He leaped up, scooping you in his arms, his lips kissing yours with need. “I love you too.”

Breaking the kiss he slipped the ring on your finger, his smile beaming from ear to ear.

Just then you heard another loud thud, breaking apart you picked up the picture again, turning it over and reading the inscription on the back.

“Stanley Hotel, 1912. Mr & Mrs. Everleigh, Room 444.” You read it out loud. Flipping it back over you searched the picture once again, now noticing the finer details of the hotel in the background.

“Y/N, isn’t that our room number?” Jackson asked shakily.  

You nodded slowly, placing the picture back down on the vanity and stepping back. “It is. This must have been left here.”

“Why do we always find ourselves in creepy situations?” he asked, a chuckle leaving his lips as he wrapped his arm around you.

“Why don’t you tell me? What kind of deal did you get on this hotel?” you enquired, elbowing him gently.

“It was cheap and the rooms looked really nice. Since I spent most of it on your ring, but I still wanted to take you away.” He admitted sheepishly, a pout forming on his lips.

“Did you ever think it was cheap because the hotel is haunted?” You joked, although after tonight’s events you were sure it was true.

“No, that’s not something you google when searching hotels Y/N!” Jackson turned making his way towards the bed, sitting on the edge with a thump, his shoulders low.

“It’s the Stanley Hotel Jack. It’s one of the worlds most haunted hotels!” you admitted with a laugh as you stood in-between his legs, your hands now holding either side of his face.

“But aren’t you lucky you have me to go on these crazy adventures with, hmm?” He nodded as you leaned down kissing him gently. “I mean who else will protect you?”

[diamondautosalon]

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The vehicle's interior and exterior are both cleaned. Auto detailing is more detailed than regular car washing.

An auto detailing service can offer many benefits. These benefits are not for everyone. It is important to know what you can expect. These are the main features of auto detailing.

Image Source: Google

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Engine detailing is the process of cleaning your car's engine in order to remove contaminants and increase its efficiency. It doesn't matter what type of service you select, it is crucial that you only hire a trusted car detailing company. You should also ensure that you are paying a fair price.

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[we-cabs]

Places to visit in Kotdwar, the Gateway to Garhwal

Location- Pauri Garhwal, Uttarakhand

Nearest Railway Station – Kotdwar Railway Station

Nearest Airport – Jolly Grant Airport

Best time to visit- October- February

Recommended duration– 1 day

Kept away from the travel commercialization, one can find several places to explore in Kotdwar. Kotdwar is a small city in Uttarakhand’s Pauri Garhwal district. The town was recently renamed Kanva Nagri Kotdwar after the decorated saint Kanva who resided by the banks of river Malan. While on a yatra or pilgrimage, one should certainly opt for best places to visit in Kotdwar. The city is located in the southwest part of the state and acts as one of the main entrance points of Uttarakhand. It also is an important commercial centre as it acts as a supplier of necessary items to the upper districts of the Himalayas.

Kotdwar is prominently known as an industrial hub as compared to being a tourist place. However, the city houses 8 religious spots which should be explored by the visitors. Kotdwar is known for the Sidhbali temple which is 2km from the city. Handicrafts and souvenirs are a must-buy from Malni market and District Board Shopping Center while visiting.

Travelling by road is a great way to explore several tourist spots and places in Uttarakhand. While coming down from a religious or holy site such as Rishikesh or Haridwar, one shall be crossing Kotdwar on its way.

Since Kotdwar is not a tourist place, one can go on a day excursion from Haridwar, Rishikesh, or any tourist town or city in the state. One can easily avail taxi services in Kotdwar to travel to nearby towns or cities.

Here are 8 hidden places to explore in Kotdwar-

1. Sidhbali temple

Courtesy- Sidhbali Baba

The Sidhbali Temple is devoted to Lord Hanuman and is 3.4km from the main market of Kotdwar. It is a beautiful enchanting temple on top of a hill on the banks of river Khoh and is one of the prime attractions of the area.

It is 50 meters above water level and one needs to climb the temple stairs to reach the temple complex. One can get a good panoramic view of the areas nearby and can enjoy the serene atmosphere at the temple. Thousands of devotees across the country and communities visit the temple throughout the year. The Sidhbali Temple is one of the best places to visit in kotdwar.

2. Kanvashram

Courtesy- Gyananta

Located on the bank of river Malini, Kanvashram or Kanva ashram is one of the beauties of Kotdwar. It is on the outskirts, just 14km away from the town. The ashram holds significant importance in terms of history, culture, and archaeology and its mentions can be found in ancient Indian scriptures such as Puranas and Mahabharat.

It is considered an auspicious site for attaining salvation and yoga. One can also attend the Basant Panchami fair that takes place nearby.

Legend has it that Indra sent a heavenly nymph Menaka down to earth to break Sage Vishwamitra’s meditation. Menaka was successful in breaking the sage’s meditation and with their union gave birth to a girl. Having accomplished her task, she left the baby on the bank of river Malini and left for her heavenly adobe.

Sage Kanva found the child and brought her to his ashram. The ashram was said to be world-renowned and a centre of intellect. The sage named her Shakuntala who later went on to marry King Dushyanta and gave birth to a bay named Bharata. It was he after whom India was named Bharatavarsha.

3. Durga Devi Temple

Courtesy- Trawell

Considered as one of the oldest Siddh Peeths, the Durga Devi temple is also one of the important religious places of Kotdwar. It is 12km from the town on the road towards Dugadda. The temple is located at a hill on the banks of river Khoh. It is dedicated to the Goddess Durga and visitors seek her blessings at this temple.

It is believed that the goddess shall fulfill a devotees’ wish if they tie a red chunri at the temple railings. One can also explore the Shivling housed in a nearby small cave.

4. St. Joseph Church

Courtesy- Kotdwar UK

It is one of Kotdwar’s attractions and has an elevation of 1500ft, making the St. Joseph Cathedral the 2nd largest church in Asia. It does not only have a religious significance but also has an architectural one. A large number of tourists flock to the town to witness this beauty and the visitors are not limited to Christianity.

The church complex is peaceful and is full of greenery. One can relax in this serene environment while exploring the church’s architectural details.

5. Jwalpa Devi Temple

Courtesy- We Garhwali

Situated 72km from Kotdwar, the Jwalpa Devi temple is a popular siddha peeth in the Pauri Gharwal region. The temple is situated on the banks of river Nawalika and is dedicated to Goddess Jwalpa or Deeptimaan-Jwalehwari (a form of Goddess Shakti). Legend has it that in order to marry Devraj Indra, Sachi (daughter of Pulom, a demon king) prayed to Goddess Shakti here with full devotion. Impressed, the supreme mother appeared in the form of Deeptimaan-Jwalehwari shortened to Jwalpa Devi and fulfilled her wish.

The temple holds two Navratri every year- Chitra Navratri and Shardiya Navratri. One can also attend the Basant-Panchami fair organized here while Janmashtami celebrations are also held here. The temple also conducts marriage ceremonies free of cost

6. Takeshwar Temple

Courtesy- We Garhwali

The Tarkeshwar temple is located 68km from Kotdwar and sits at an altitude of 1800m. The temple is dedicated to Lord Shiva and the complex also houses an ashram and dharamshala dedicated to the god. Previously, a shivling was worshipped at the temple; however, recently a lord Shiva’s idol was discovered at the place of temple shivling. Since then, the idol has been worshipped. The temple sits peacefully between the deodar trees.

Legend has it that a demon names Tarkasur meditated and worshipped at this place. He was a devotee of Lord Shiva. Being content with Tarkasur’s devotion, the Lord granted him the boon of immortality as per the former’s request. However, Tarkasur started killing saints and created havoc on earth. Saints and sages prayed to Lord Shiva for help. And that is when the god married Parvati and she gave birth to their son, Kartikeya. The son ended up killing Tarkasur and at the time of his death, he sought forgiveness from the god. Mahadev pardoned him and attached Tarkasur’s name to the temple where he once meditated.

7. Jim Corbett National Park

Courtesy- Pixabay

One of the most iconic attractions of Uttarakhand is the Jim Corbett National Park. It is the oldest national park in the country and is located in the Nainital district of the state. The park was inaugurated in 1936 as Hailey National Park. And since then was renamed twice to Ramganga National Park and finally to Jim Corbett National Park. Corbett is just 40 kms away in Ramnagar.

This park is an ecotourism destination and contains 488 species of plants, 110 species of trees, 50 species of mammals, 25 species of reptiles, and 580 bird species. It spans over an area of 521km2 and has an elevation range of 1300 to 4000ft.

The park had 4 gates for entry located at Dhangadi Gate (Dhikala Zone), Amdanda Gate (Bijrani Zone), Jhirna Gate (Jhirna Zone), and Durga Devi Gate (Lohachur Zone).

While the 3 gates are operational for a certain number of months, the Jhirna Gate is open to visitors all around the year.

Good news for tourists in Kotdwar, in 2017, two more Jim Corbett National Park gates was opened with one being in the Kotdwar region. The Vatanvasa Gate (Sonandi Zone) is just 46km from Kotdwar city. The gate remains open from 15 October to 30 June. And it remains closed to the visitors during the monsoon season. Jim Corbett National Park is a must in best places to visit in Kotdwar.

One can easily travel to the Vatanvasa gate or any preferred with services of taxi in Kotdwar.

8. Lansdowne

Courtesy- Unsplash

The ‘home of Garhwal Rifles’, Lansdowne is a treat for quiet getaways clubbed with a rich history class. Located at an altitude of 1706 meters, the town is just 40kms from Kotdwar. Lansdowne is a cantonment town being a command office to Garhwal Rifles of the Indian Army. The town can be termed as picturesque for the oak and blue pine forest covers. Making it one of the nearby best places to visit in Kotdwar.

The War Memorial is a must for tourists especially the ones wanting to know about the army’s rich history dating pre-independence era. However, prior permission is needed to visit the memorial. Other tourist attractions include Bhullatal Lake, Kaleshwar Mahadev temple, Tip n Top viewpoint, and St. Mary’s Church, with the Kitchner Lines’ old cemetery being a point of mystery and haunting. The town also has the annual ‘Sharadotsava’ (autumn festival). Opting for cabs in Kotdwar is a good way to travel to Lansdowne.

Travelling to and fro Kotdwar can be easily planned by car rentals in Kotdwar, Rishikesh, Haridwar, or Dehradun. One can easily book a half day to full day taxi facilities available nearby. However, in order to have a smooth and comfortable journey book with the best taxi service in Kotdwar of We Cabs.

We Cabs not only provide flexible pricing and timings, but much more! Knowing the importance of safe travelling in time of COVID, we provide sanitized and ultra-hygienic cabs for your travel in the beautiful state of Uttarakhand. We take utmost care of your wellbeing not only in, but of the vehicles. That is why our fleet undergoes a rigorous quality check and control mechanism.

Our variety of vehicles shall suit your pocket and the number of members! From SUVS, MUVS, to Minibus, and Traveller, choose according to your needs.

With payment options and timing as per your needs and easy cab bookings even 1 hour before the trip, We Cabs aspires to be the best in the area of comfortable and flexible service providers.

FAQs about Kotdwar

Why to travel to Kotdwar?

How to reach Kotdwar?

Where to stay in Kotdwar?

When is the best time to visit Kotdwar?

What can I do there?

One of the lesser-known attractions of Uttarakhand, Kotdwar is famous for the Sidhbali temple. It also has several tourist attractions including St. Joseph Church and Kanvashram.

One can reach Kotdwar by road, train, or air. You can reach Kotdwar via NH534. The town has its own railway station- Kotdwar Railway Station and the nearest airport is the Jolly Grant Airport.

People traveling to Kotdwar can book a hotel, resort, or a homestay.

The best time to visit Kotdwar is between the months of October to February.

Kotdwar has several tourist spots and is near Jim Corbett National Park and Lansdowne.

[oneoakmotors-blog]

[stone-man-warrior]

December 26, 2020: 1:32 pm:

Thunderbird’s Episode: 0000000-00000-000

INVALID SYNTAX ERROR

Operation Crash Dive

♦ “What’s the count Ump?”

♣ “I don’t know, they are playing Bad Minton“

♥ “What’s the score Ump?”

♣ “Looks like two down, bases loaded, they brought in a pinch hitter”

♠ “What a racket, it’s only the bottom of the second, and they already cleared the net”

♥ “oohh.... I love cello music!”

♦ “They are serving funnel cakes at the concession stand, free with a $5 beer”

There is a glitch in the Secret Decoder Ring Roster of Decode on Decoder Ring RADAR.

==============================================

Ok, I watched the episode, Operation Crash Dive, I think DB Cooper was watching too, through the back door slider... sneaky bastard.

Today’s presentation was presented in “Subordi-nato-Scope”, in “DownRangOvision”, with “Enhanced High Fidelity Stereo-Sonic Theater” audio.

Produced by: “Pan-Jam-Air-Waves-Broadcasting” and featuring: “Red”

===================================

It looks like the Capitol Records Executives are still held captive in that echo chamber basement beneath the Capitol Records Building, and are revealing a lot of Hollywood secrets to Tommy-Two-Toe’s & Three-Finger’s-Louie, while Guido man‘s the control room in the recording booths at the 12th floor.

Red... lot’s of red... all kinds of red. It turns out that the red comes in all shapes and sizes, and can be applied to other, non-red items, quickly, and easily, over time.

International Rescue is heading for the Los Angeles Times. It appears that they see oportunity there, for harnessing that “Above The Fold Front Page Headline Real-Estate” that exists on newspapers. That’s handy for controlling people with scary headlines.

Meanwhile, in reality, I suspect the take over of LA Times happened shortly prior to the introductory issue of USA Today newspaper, to my recollection, that happened in around 1972-ish. There was a local newspaper in Southern California at that time, when some changes with the paper sparked outrage and scorn from long time loyal subscribers. “The Green Sheet” was a local newspaper, was not a small newspaper, was the Go-To newspaper for knowing what’s going down in the neighborhood. “The Green Sheet” was actually printed on Green Paper for the Front Page, Back Page, and Center Fold. About the time when USA Today showed up on news stands, “The Green Sheet” turned white... no more Green Paper in the Green Sheet happened, the paper was printed with the same title, “The Green Sheet”, but there was no green to be found anywhere in The Green Sheet newspaper after that. The San Fernando Valley, was outraged!

===== 7:38 pm: Extra:

For reasons that have no support other than having been at a hot-spot at a hot-time, I feel there is a direct connection with “Gone Postal” 1970′s Post Office attack news stories presented at time, and, the introduction of USA Today newspaper. I remember, as a 9 year old. that the USA Today was something special for some reason, I recall there was much talk about the USA Today newspaper’s premier issue, I should not have noticed, I was 9 or so, but I did notice, and remember some connection to “Gone Postal”, and that was terror news media saying that they had taken over the US Postal Service at various offices, one at a time, working their way up to USPS Central Federal Office of Operations, at state levels, then the master unit, where ever that is. USA Today played some kind of role with “Gone Postal” news stories.

=====

The Operation Crash Dive episode is showing a ton of Green Jello Terror Cell Easter Eggs within the episode. My first knowledge of Green Jello being some kind of mysterious import thing was in around 1970, in Canoga Park California.

=== 7:47 pm: Green Jello leadership is at 560 Jackpine, Myers family terror cell. They played a big leadership part for the collapse of World Trade Center, when Ron Howard was the man who was in the helicopter that took the only live shot of the so called airplane crash. I was the person who made what was called a “Key Mask Filter” for that, while held captive at my home, forced into making a lot of graphic materials, photo manipulations, designs of guitars and parts of guitars, instrument panel artwork that is currently used on Boeing airplanes, and other airplane signage for Boeing after they were hijacked in Seattle. Myers at 560 worked in close contact with people such as Ron Howard, David Letterman, Jay Leno, others, at the time. The guitar makers were Zakk Wylde, Paul Reed Smith (I designed all of the “Dragons” special “One of a Kind” Dragon art that went on the guitars, my daughter designed one of those, was there for help with the Dragons), Dean Zelinsky Guitars, while Eastwood Guitars were the people in charge of all of the guitar designs I was forced to do, and, Dean Zelinsky was there in the 1970′s at my house, with all of those musicians I was controlled by back then, so Dean Zelinsky must be associated to Harold & Joan Phillips at 507 Jackpine, as those people also have somehow wound up following me, then moving as a neighbor, after encountering them as a child in 1970′s.  The Dean ML is my design from back then, it’s a letter K, flying V. Dean was involved with Eddie Van Halen, and Bill Gates, who are old friends of one another. I did guitar work as a young kid, forced by Dean Zelinsky. Myers is a big part of Green Jello, and the oldest connection I have to Green Jello is from Dean Zelinsky 1970′s, actually in direct association to the British throne. There is Much to say, the information goes in so many directions, with Royalty at my house in the 1970′s who showed up with Tony Iommi, and the members of Pink Floyd before the Dark Side of the Moon was recorded, and took me to a European castle dungeon. Then again with meeting the Queen in Reseda California 10 years later, at about the same time I met Barack Obama, who went by the name “Black Steve” at the time. Much to know if there were only some people interested in doing national security work other than me. ===

I suspect there is some indications of a plan to take over the General Motors Manufacturing Facility that I think was on Van Nuys Blvd at Roscoe, where at the time, the Corvette’s were being built there, see old news stories about a Auto Workers Union Strike at that facility, some time after the take over, as the so-called strike was used to lure “Scab” labor, for “Kill & Replace”, to that facility, people guided there by Los Angeles Media. There is also something similar about a manufacturing facility of some kind that was on Canoga Ave. between Roscoe and Saticoy, along the Freight Rail Road there, that leads to Anheuser Busch in Chatsworth, where I am certain was hijacked along with the Cerwin Vega High Fidelity Audio Manufacturer nearby Anheuser Busch, in the 1970′s, but I don‘t see that in this episode, other than the Corvette Factory, which is subtly presented in the episode.

I noticed that these guys have Hydroplane technology in 1965... that is some whiz-bang high tech... should make a “What can be said about Hydroplane?” list.

Start with: “Slide” and work from there, once you reach “Airplane” and “Hide”, then switch to “Where did all of those thousands of paratroopers come from when they landed in So. Cal.?”, in order to understand that there were a whole bunch of airplanes parked in weird places back then... Palmdale, Thousand Oaks, Sun Valley, Balboa Reservoir,  are places where dozens of airplanes were just parked in places where there was no airport, back then, in 1969-ish. Best guess is they were DC-9 US Postal Service aircraft. John Wayne Airport should show up in Thunderbird’s episodes coded in pretty soon as the viewing continues. Analyze that name... John Wayne. I met him once in a boat in Santa Monica Harbor, called “The Duke”, about a 80 foot sloop. Things did not work out for Mr. Wayne that day, or for the people who brought me there, a 1972 Ford Ranchero wound up in the harbor, under water, as a result of my visit.

The episodes are clearly showing symbolism that a elongated triangle shape is important, some indications are a computer read out on a paper receipt, and on elevators in previous episodes, they are showing up in many places. Generally speaking, this Operation Crash Dive is presenting a notion of what I am going to label as “Natural Progression”, is the gradual increase in small details in the backgrounds of the Thunderbird’s puppet show sound stage sets. I am going suggest that as the “Natural Progression” of small details increases, so does the details associated with over-all progress of take-over, or, with detail in the planning of making progress later. Small increases in what you might call Resolution of the back-ground artifacts within, such as knobs, screens, wall art, controlling surfaces, clothing, props and more, seem as increase knowledge or increase physical gain indicators, like triangles are used on classic car turn-signal indicator on the dash... see how the airplane dash-board catches fire in the episode as the window is being cut with a round hole for the pilots to escape into what looks like an elevator car, the dash fire, is a turn indicator, “turn” means “Turn-Coat”, “Treasonous”... see “Don’t Let it Bring You Down” by Neil Young for more about turning, newspapers, blind people, people who have answers, buses, castles, and not to worry about any of that because the Baby is on Fire, you can just throw her in the water.... and Mr. Young is a Canadian who says he invented a motor that runs on Hydrogen.

=================================

Maybe I’ll add some more later. It’s 3:20 pm.

==================================

3:26 pm:

One more thing before I forget, for you physicists out there, don‘t forget to simplify. Example: You have a three dimensional shape in your hand, one that can be described with an equation, such as a sphere, or cube, and those are Prisms, there are Triangular-Prisms to think about here, the Triangular Prism is the single most simple, and is the absolute strongest of all Three-Dimensional Prisms. Don’t be a Tetrahedronic-Prism in a wold controlled by Triangular Ones, you could wind up in a Trapezoidal-Prism.

====

3:58 pm:

More about Three-Dimensional Prisms:

They can be used to control social conditions.

Simple idea: You know that the very strongest of all shapes, in the universe, is a Triangular Prism, nothing comes even close to the strength of a Triangular Prism. You know that, because you are no fool, you did your home work, you are smart mother fucker, did the math, saw it work, made some models, and you know that the thing is as strong as strong can possibly be. Even a paper one is strong among other paper prisms. Indestructible is the Triangular Prism.

So, smart people who take over the media, have tools available to make sure that other people are not as smart as you and your gang, so, those guys, set out to build a whole bunch of Tetrahydronic Prisms to surround themselves with. Triangular Prisms all with Tetrahydronic ones all around, only select people are allowed to know about the secrets of the Pyramids.

They did it with media, over time.

The terror bastards stay smart, because they are not interested in the garbage that is presented on TV, newspapers, movies, etc. They like music, that is where the brains are at. So, millions of people, all wondering what Al Bundy is going to do next, makes all those people dumber than a box of rocks at a quarry. Add Luke & Laura’s wedding, stretch that out over, say, five months, and everyone is waiting to get fucked, as they show us Al Bundy go into the restroom every episode with his newspaper, just to make sure we all remember to wash our hands before the Tonight Show is over, because that, is when everyone gets laid.

Too Much Information is the thing that builds a society of Tetrahydronic Prisms all in a Trapezoidal Prism, with no way out, because the whole USA is built with walls made of Triangular Prisms.

Stay smart, keep it simple.

The mystery of the Pyramids makes that task daunting when trying to explain why everything is so complicated.

They made it so you have to be a Tetrahydronic Prism in order to explain or teach the secrets of the Pyramids, a Triangular Prism where Amp Guru lives.

=========

4:27 pm:

Make an experimental comparison, see reality in a power circuit:

You need: One, one-hundred watt guitar amplifier w/speaker, TUBE DRIVEN.

One digital powered amplifier, one-hundred watt. Such as a powered speaker.

They each consume one-hundred watts of electricity.

You can use other wattage. Use what you have. Base your experiment on the wattage of the Tube Amp.

Play something through the tube amp.

Play something through the digital amp.

Compare.

The power consumption is the same for each, but the Tube Driven amp will prove to you that it is far superior to the digital amp power.

The two are not even close.

You might need 50 digitally powered amps to match the output of one single Tube Driven amp.

Try it and see for yourself. There are a lot of questions about why are we using sub-efficient tech, when there is superior tech that has been available for nearly a century? Far superior.

This is important for learning about who Amp Guru is, and how they think, how they control people, and communicate with one-another.

Is the rate of power consumption equal between the two amps? I don‘t have the answer, I watched Married With Children too much, and.... Luke & Laura’s Wedding, so, it’s hopeless for me, maybe not too late for you though.

This URL... https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6IxCMNx4znY

(But the Browser version of the same URL leads to what I want to see, hear, share with you:)

{12-27-2020: 1:10 pm: Yesterday, when I posted the link to the Pink Floyd, some other video showed up here, below, I should have taken a screen shot, but did not do that, and now I am made to look as the fool, because I watched Married with Children too many times, and apparently Luke & Laura finally went on that honeymoon... left the mess here on this page. So, now, I can’t show you that other place where the link, linked to. Ohh well..  the good news, is I can listen to the album now, could not do that yesterday. (you have to imagine that the remainder of the post was written while the link was wrong, presented some other video there below, otherwise you won‘t know what happened)}

Makes this video happen:

Could be a bug...

Certainty is part of the Syntax Error.

It’s not the Decoder Ring. That works good.

I’ll try again... after some scans, reset the signal amplification modulation unit, adjust the rabbit ears...

That’s the problem... that fucking RABBIT! He’s inside the Symantec norton 360 internet security software I pay a lot of money for every year. That dreaded norton Life Lock Pop Up Window happened as I was explaining about the 100 watt tube driven amplifier experiment, it says: “Your Wi-Fi May Be at Risk”.

I don‘t use Wi-Fi. It’s not at risk. There are other risks, and they may be Wi-Fi risks, but I don‘t use Wi-Fi, others are able to use the Wi-Fi for me, inside of my computer, without my knolledge or consent. The problem is at Centurylink ISP, Oregon.

I don’t even have a Wi-Fi modem, but that won‘t stop the Sheriff and State Police from saying that I Piggy Back Wi-Fi from somewhere else.

Restarting initialization sequence now...

==================

5:53 pm:

Local Update:

The computer URL Hijack was done to get me to go outside for a walk to the mailbox, where along the path starting from the moment I opened my front door a series of activity was roled out for attack from Chartrand’s at 376 Jackpine with much support at Strong’s SAG house at 3747 Russell Road, and other, hidden support to the south on Russell, and distant assist from farther east somewhere.

The attack plan is a Pacific Power Corp attack plan, has been done dozens of times. I know how to defend from the Pacific Power Corp w/Centurlink assist attack’s when they are roled out. Many involved, as many a perhaps 20 individuals necessary for this attack scenario, mostly staged at Chartrand and Strong’s terror cell physical locations, with digital location inside my computer.

First was the set-up, all day my eyes were not working, had very poor vision, they have a poison aerial gas that produces that symptom, and a airplane flyover at the very moments that I plugged in my coffee maker was used as a signal through the Smart Meter Power Meter to read and transmit my power consumption live, as I use electricity. The Smart Meter at my house is isolated at Pacific Power HQ as one to monitor 24/7 as I consume power, thereby alerting the Pacific Power Corp terror cell of some detail about what I may be doing, and where I may be physically located inside my home.

The coffee maker produces a signal to Pacific Power in the form of amperage consumed, about 7 amps draw is my guess. They learn my habits by the consumption of electricity, they learn what kinds of electric powered things I use, over time, make a data base, use that to assist in a physical attack at my home, today, the coffee maker signaled a airplane, the airplane was used to dump a load of poison gas over my home, the gas was sucked into the house by virtue of the return-air vent of the forced air heating system, that produces a negative air pressure condition inside the home, thereby drawing in air through small cracks, holes, under the front door where they intentional wrecked the door sweep insulating rubber years ago, and other places such as the chimney, where the poison gas from aerial delivery sparked into action by use of a coffee maker, is drawn into the house where I breath it, making my eyesight poor, and a feeling of false security and well being is washed over me that way.

I suspect other gas was introduced into various places around the home throughout the day, all in effort to set me up for he walk to the mailbox after a full day of breathing a variety of poison gasses.

--

The sound of loud screaming was heard from the distant east as I opened the door and began to walk to the road to get my mail. The scream sounds were female, and were compounded with a duplication of the exact same screams from the nearby southwest direction, and additional duplicated screaming was from the south, near 560 or 598 Jackpine backyard areas. The screams were what I would associate to someone mauled in a wild animal attack, lasted about one minute, was intense screaming.

At the same time, Strong’s terror cell deployed two vehicles, one went south on Russell road, the other unknown, but I suspect it was people I encountered at Chartrand’s a few moments later. The people were already in their cars, waiting for me to open my front door, they have access to a listening device that was put under my house by the front porch somewhere. Then, along the path to mailbox, things quieted down. I checked the mail, the box was slightly opened already, the mail was a bill, somewhat crumpled, and placed inside the box in a way that is not consistent with the way the mail carriers put the mail in there, each mail carrier, it turns out, has a signature way they put the mail into the mailboxes, it’s possible to determine if the mail carrier was the regular one, or the substitute one, simply by the way the mail is placed inside the box. Today’s mail was placed by some other person.

As I reached for the mail, that is when the physical part of the attack began as a car (from Strong’s) came down the road. The Strong terror cell consistently roles a car to Chartrand’s most of the time I go get mail. So that happened.

Today, I already had figured out the Centurylink/Pacific Power attack before I went out there, some of that is evident in the contents of the Tumblr entry today.

The way to deal with the biggest thugs, is meet them head on, and drop one, then leave.

So, I walked over there to Chartrand’s to drop some thugs as they had just driven from Strong’s and parked.

As I approached, I lit my Bic Lighter constantly with intermittent small uses of the lighter.

There were sounds of popping, some thud noises, bang, bop, baddaboom... a short delay, then that car left Chartrand’s, as the car left, i was standing by that front driveway at 376. The car was not able to maintain a straight path forward, was all along the shrubs at the soft shoulder, wheels off the road, and swerving. the car stated to drive into the Clyde Baum terror cell at 333, then turned straight down the road and out of view.

I walked home.

As I turned to walk home, either that same car, or another car, came down the road towards me, by back to the headlights. When I looked to see what car it was, the car was not there. There was no car there, I think it was two people with flashlights on foot mimicking a car as I turned to walk home, and were seemingly alerted into action by the other car that was swerving.

I suspect the attack team from Pac-Pow, had burst from nitrous gas ignition as I approached over their to drop some thugs. I also suspect that car was a remote control car, was operated by the two flashlight men on the road who mimicked a car headlights.

Another assessment is the typical one, after things went sideways at Chartrand’s, the back-up plan was quickly deployed, to say I hurt the people in that car so I could steal their car, that means the County Sheriff is at Clyde Baum’s at 333 orchestrating the Pac-Pow/Centurylink attack, along with Oregon State Police terror operatives there.

Big operation today, they must be Orthopedic Surgeons over there, plastered, from Quebec.

Fail.

It’s 6:54 pm.

=========

8:57 pm: “Keep it simple” approach to finding and apprehending hard core terror mass murderers:

Hope. Follow the hope. The people who promote hope, the people will sell hope to you... if they are telling that hope is a good thing, it’s likely that is a terror murderer, it’s simple as that.

The Rules:

Hope is what remains after everything else is gone. Those are the rules.

So, if it’s a Hopeless situation, in terror language, that is like having vast riches.

They played the turn-a-round on what we believe hope is about.

If you have a family, a home, some money, some valuables, vehicles.. if you have some stuff that you enjoy, do you really want of need the hope that they want to give to you, or worse, sell to you?

They will find a way, to make you want some hope. If you fail the Hope Test, you mark yourself to be taken out by those who understand the true meaning of what really is. So, find the Hope Dealers, make arrests. It’s like a drug the world does not need.

The same people who want to hand out all of that hope, will come to ask what you are proud of, when you mention how proud of your family you are, and say why, and tell stories about Pride, that is when they hunt down and kill everything you are proud of, then, that’s when they come back, not to give you hope, but to tell you that you can buy it.

The farm is sold, with stories of hope and pride.

====

9:23 pm: The terror come from Britain. At some point in the not so distant past, what USA used to think about as England, changed emphasis, to Britain.

If you grew up at some point before about the 1980′s, maybe you understand that England to Britain transitional condition that took place.

Why?

The reason is the language we use, the English language, it’s called English because it originated in England. The language was developed as a weapon to aid Christian Crusades, the double meanings, and round-a-bout nature of the word craft is by design, so, when the British began to go hard core with use of the weapon language over the broadcast airwaves when SAG came aboard their Pirate ship, the British do what they have always done, draw attention to some other place, while maintaining control, and illusion of superiority. The terror includes a campaign for switching thoughts away from England, in favor of United Kingdom, and Britain, for subject matter that leads over in that direction. We don‘t say England any more, we say The UK because of the campaign to draw attention away from the source of the English Weapon.

It’s take my whole life to learn that, I remain confidant that some other people will understand the enormity of it, because the enemy are the people who crafted the language we use to speak with.

The words themselves, are a variety of poison.

There is a dictionary, they gave us a dictionary, send us to school to learn English. We are scolded if we misuse the words, or spell them “wrong”, that happens while the enemy has a alternate use dictionary, one that allows more freedom of expression, more creativity, more legroom, more headroom, is very handy, can be used as a front with the dictionary version we are bound to, while others are saying completely different ideas in the background of the same conversation. It’s the same as “White Man Speak With Forked Tongue”, or, “Double Talk”. The enemy speaks English up front, and Mayan in the background at the same time, with dialect considerations, words are crafted on the fly, outside of the boundaries of a dictionary, for taking victims at the One Hour Martinizing. They used to speak Mandarin there, now, they speak English, and no one can understand what the heck they are talking about there.

I suspect that the presence of what I have been calling “Ancient Chinese Secret” contained in the Thunderbird’s episodes, could turn out to be the idea that the English language is a “Double Speak” language, so, they need to announce that within the episodes, at places in the episodes where double-talk is done, so that the terror operatives who need the command orders will know when to use the dictionary, and when to switch to “Ancient Chinese Secret” language, which is portrayed with the notion that the Chinese Laundry has all changed, and is now called “One Hour Martinizing”, and those guys at the Martinizer are best described as “SAG newsmedia personalities”, so, when it looks as if a Mobile news crew is on the scene, that is the same as “Ancient Chinese Secret”.

That’s my read about that.

===

10:09 pm: Although it may be best to describe the “One Hour Martinizing” as newsmedia personalities, I still believe it’s important to say that it’s also the entire visual media industry, a place where they do some front office work, in the back office.

Think about the older television programs, the ones that were on for One Hour, are different than those that were only on for a half hour. Shows like Laugh-In, the Carol Burnette Show, and Glen Cambel Music Hour are going to prove to be way up the command chain at the Martinizer, and those guys are subordinate to Amp Guru, Music Industry, originating at the Vatican, trickling down to British commercial music industry, leading to British Invasion, where we Meet the Beatles, and are slaughtered, with take over of US Music Industry, to start with.

=====

10:31 pm:

Gone Postal Terror:

Hijack of US Postal Service came with Russian Mother Hoax Fractal View.

Say you are a kid eating breakfast, have some time before school, see that if you send in 10 Box Tops from the cereal box, you can get Thunderbird’s Paper Hamburger Server Hat, they say it’s a Space Mission Leprechaun Hat, but you know what it really is, and, you already collected nine other box tops, so, you put those into the envelope along with the postage necessary to ship the Hamburger Hat to you (It’s like a mini Pope Hat) and off to school you go, while dropping that into the mailbox, red flag goes up, and onto the Bus you go.

Three days later, you are missing, and the newsmedia warns about the presence of a Cereal Killer, but unless you read the news paper, you won‘t ever know there is a typo in the paper, where they spelled it “Serial Killer”, the way “Amp Guru” spells it. Some other place says “Surreal Killer” (The Star, Mom reads that in the bathroom), while they are searching for you offshore. Reality is you in a dungeon at school, held captive. because the “Gone Postal” terror cell, is “The Stork”, and they put you in the dungeon with other kids who also sent something in the mail, like a note to Santa, with return address on there, so Santa knows where to find you.

Gone.... Postal.

Taken by the Stork, for delivery to the terror training center at a SDA nanny not far away.

There are a few ways the double speak is done for killing and replacing, kidnapping and taking, the English way, on TV, school, at the store where the cereal came from (Post Cereal for Fractal View), newspaper headline, and at home.

===

11:04 pm:

It’s been about six years since I began to write eye-witness terror experiences this go around, there have been other times when the information was all deleted by the county sheriff who said help was on the way before deleting the information. That other time, there must have been someone who had power to help, and read the information, sent the local authorities to my house. But those people did not understand the enormity, the complexity, the extreme nature of the Christian terror army. I wonder if those people survived the return rapture that is done when outsiders get involved in Oregon?

So, I started again writing about six years ago, after waiting what seemed an eternity for that help to arrive... no help came. I started again six years ago, on Google+, they deleted the whole Google+ as a result. Had to start over, carried all of that writing here to Tumblr, where I have absolutely no indication whatsoever that anyone has actually seen any of the information I put here.

There is no reason at all for me to believe that this account even exists, it’s like I am a ghost, surviving in a house, with no one to haunt, all alone, and no one will read the notes I leave behind.

There is no indication that anyone can see these writings other than the terror bastards who toss the information back at me in three dimensions while waging an attack. Happens almost every day, but no help has come to speak to me, write an email to me, send a letter to me, call on the telephone to me, send a text message, or even a carrier pidgin or smoke signal to say that they got the message, read it, are making a effort... nothing but silence and attack at my home ever happens.

The terror bastards take what I write... they actually not only read it, but they made a searchable data base out of the raw information I put here in paragraph form, with some links that don‘t always work the way they are supposed to, and other photos and visual aids that no one can see, other than the terror army. That data base is real, you may think I am joking, there are no jokes here, any humor you find is part of the terror, the Comedy mask of SAG built in to the terror, it goes along with the Tragedy mask, and all of that is part of Covfefe Presidential Grade SAG Terror. The data base serves the terror army, is cross referenced to another data base of lies told to federal officers, so that the terror army can better know what lies go with what parts of these entries, to maintain the trickery they do, and keep the federal officer entertained. I suspect there is at least one more data base of cross reference to a “alternate universe” sort of psuedo mirror backwards version of what I write here. There is much evidence to support such a mirrored bassackwards version written by other persons, for further fuckery to my cries for help.

The whole Google+ Social Media Platform of millions of accounts was deleted, not just mine, it was done to cover their asses, no one really knows the true reason why they deleted Google+ is all contained inside this Tumblr account that no one can see.

The terror bastards not only attack the ways I explain here, but they use poison gasses to foul me up, they have gas that makes you need a restroom, one that makes you itch like crazy, the nitrous makes you stupid enough that you will hand over your wallet, badge, gun, car keys, and photos of the wife & kids, right to them, when they say: “Hey, I collect those, can I have that one?“... “sure, here you go.” Then they say: “we have a ride, it’s like a roller coaster... let’s go ride the roller coaster” then they take you to a giant razor blade looks like a sllde, people all lined up to ride it, body halves on each side and the sound: “weeeeee” as another child is cut in two, SAG audience cheers.

So the gasses they use are also ones that make my vision not work, and that is pumped into the house after they toss a handfull of ground up glass dust into my eyes at the store, the cashiers do that part, it’s like saw dust made of glass, makes you blind for a month or more if it sets in real good.

The terror is layered like that, one thing means another similar Fractal iteration will be done, the same in some ways, different in other ways, and the difference is Fractal Iterated further after that... ditto, etc, and so on....

But there is absence of assistance in every way.

===

Seriously, the closest thing to getting some help to stop terror, happened at a time when I didn‘t know it was terror I needed the help for, in around 1970 when Elton John showed up with all of those other musicians in my youth, he saw what was going, was opposed to it, I asked for help, he said he would help.

He left, called later, said he can’t help, they killed Olivia, his wife.... no one knows or cares that they switched the Olivia’s.

I don’t ever defend entertainers, and the rainbow warriors really make me angry, but I set that aside because that is what happened, and is the only example of anyone even offering any help, and that was nearly 50 years ago.

It’s an example of extreme terror, and that was before they became powerful.

===

Maybe that was the help.

Saying that they killed the Olive, switched it out for an Onion, the SAG Union, could have been what he was saying to a 9 year old who had no idea what a Union was, other than some obscure math class lesson about exclusivity.

I understand now.

Let’s see if Elton joins the 27 Club in the coming weeks as a result of this post.

This particular lyric video hurts my ears to listen to, kinda tinny, good stereo separation though, and is pegged on the VU Meters, lots of clipping going on, it’s all fucked up, and is difficult to read... must be perfect.

The Queen will send him to Duordia before she sends him to 27 Club.

Happens all the time.

==========================

12-27-2020:2:06 pm:

There are turkeys outside somewhere nearby, that means Sparacino terror cell is trying to sneak up to put some kind of poison gas into the house, happens almost daily. Sparacino’s are part of: SAG; Oregon County Courts; County Sheriff; State Police; Li’l Pantry Market’s; Velero Gas Stations; Mikey’s Video; Video World, and that Taco restaurant nearby Merlin Li’l Pantry.

======

Triangular Prism. It’s as strong a shape as can be made.

But if you drop one, the pointy tips start to break off, a paper one will squish at the pointy tips. Keep dropping the Triangular Prism, over and over again, it will become smaller, and smaller, and increasingly smaller, less pointy, more round.

Eventually, the Triangular Prism will become spherical, loose it’s pointy vibe, then, the thing is more predictable in which direction it will go, when you smack it with a Louisville Slugger.

Something to think about.

====

12-27-2020: 2:28 pm:

I explained about how the forced air unit for your heater makes a negative pressured condition inside the house and will draw in air from outdoors through many tiny cracks, holes, and vents that houses have built into them, or are purposefully made, happen from seasonal moisture conditions as materials swell and contract, or are simply from wear over time. There is other considerations that investigative people need to know when dealing with terror soldiers who use airborne gasses to over power their victims. You need to understand that the terror bastards don‘t need to be right there at the front door, vent, or window to get the gas into your house, all they need is a breeze, and to release he gas such the the breeze does the work of carrying it to the house. All they need to know is when the heater or air conditioner is running, and that will go on, and turn off intermittently. The Smart Meter, when manned by Pacific Power representatives at their Smart Meter Receiver HQ to alert the terror soldiers, is handy for use a means to advise gas wielding terror soldiers about the timing of when to release the gas into the breeze. I have often heard the words: “We have the wind”, spoken from a neighboring yard as the breeze kicks in. That means the wind is in favor of the gas wielding terror soldiers, who play innocent as they poison you with gas released on the wind.

One more piece to this part of the puzzle is the electronics that make the heater work, the thermostat. They actually made thermostats with remote control functionality, even the ones the don‘t say they are remote operation capable, are indeed remotely operational to some extent, all they need is remote control to turn the  fan unit on when they need it to be on. The rest of the heating system does not need to function, but the fan does in order to create the negative air pressure condition necessary to draw in the poison gas, so, they have that capability at my house, because I had one of those digital thermostats installed at my home. Trust me, the old “Bi-Metal” thermostat is what you want to keep, don‘t let some asshole sell you a digital thermostat, the bi-metal is superior for safety.

I suspect the tech that works the remote for the hidden control in the thermostat is Infra-Red like the TV remote, except with addition of a digital enhancement of some kind. That could also possibly be the technology that works the implanted microphone transmitter in my jaw.... infra-red technology.

All of that stuff combined will get poison gas into anyone’s house, regular citizens. or FBI on stake out.... everyone is set up in advance, and is the presence of Bob Hope, all of the time.

2:55 pm: small airplane buzzed over top of my house as I write this.

========

3:06 pm: I write stuff here, then I read it to see what the bastards changed, then, I have to make the changes to put it back to the way I wrote it.

some consistency in the terror changes made are noteworthy, provided that the not stays the way I write it.

Tee-ache-eee spells the word “The”.

Often, if when I write “Tee-Ache-eee--en“ to say “Then“ or, “Tee-ache-aye-why” to say “Thay”, those are conditions that often get changed to: “Ache-eee”, “He”, and to “Tee-ache-eee”, “The”. I write “Then“ and it gets changed to “The”. I write “The”, and it gets changed to “He”.

There are hundreds of examples throughout these post entries where the words are changed out by some Christian Cult Zealot somewhere at Tumblr, Google, or Centurylink ISP.

The reason they do that is not known, the history of it’s significance is known, as follows:

The

The Ology

Theology

Study of God; The Bible

They are inserting some God into my reports of Terror.

People from places other than UK don‘t have the kind of background information about the language we use as dose the people who are from places closer to the source of the language.

I think I can demonstrate to you why the word “The” is the same as “God”.

Just start talking. Every time you need the word, “The”, pay close attention to what follows that word when you speak, or write.

Every last thing that follows “The”, is a thing that is said to have been “Created”. That means God created it, if you are a Christian Cult Zealot, so, when you point at the coffee in the store and say: “look, the coffee is on sale” you are saying “God Coffee is on sale”, he created it. That is the history of it. You can make it as simple or as complicated as you want to, but everything that follows the word “The” is said to have been a thing that was created, by God, by golly.

I don‘t follow the God crowd, so, to me, either the thing was made from evolution, circumstance, distance from the Sun, a person, or bug or animal, such as the dam made by the beaver.

We are getting closer and closer to the Sun as time passes. The gravity of the Sun draws Earth ever closer with each satellite revolution the Earth makes around the Sun. Changes will occur naturally. Eventually, we will be on the equivalent of Venus, no where to go, as things heat up. So, why not live peacefully and enjoy the ride, eventually, the ride will come to an end.

The only hope, is to develop powerful rockets that could push Earth a little farther away from the Sun... but.... what could go wrong?

Then, there is the Latin extension of the word “The”, it’s “El”.

The bastards like to simplify that word, “El”, it gets reduced simply to “L”.

So, sometimes, “L” is the same as “The”, in order for a Christian Cult Zealot to say the word “God”. But when they do that, it’s done in Vane, so, that means “Vain” also, for those language complications I tried to explain. It turns out, that a Christian terror soldier who says “L”, is also saying “Use wind, to make blood”.

The English language is weapon, so, listen carefully to those around you, especially in Oregon, where from Trinity County in California, to Salem where the state Capitol is, is all called “God’s County”, and is as close to a living hell as can be imagined, all while being so very beautiful to see.

After consideration of the “The” word, then, you need go towards the “Ology” part of “Theology”, and do some thinking. You can wind up back at “Olivia was killed, I can‘t help you”, and why there is an Olive at the bottom of the Queen‘s Martini. You could get to Oliver Twist from there, and Olive Oil, Popie’s girl friend who is forever sleeping with Brutus, or Bluto (they must be identical twins), but, Olive Oil comes in three varieties, Virgin < Extra-Virgin < and the beloved, Extra-Extra-Virgin (is very expensive). By the time the Olive Oil becomes Virgin, there is no more olive-oil left in the Olives to squeeze out, the olives are discarded after that.

It’s all part of the story of Theology and it’s evolution.

===

12-27-2020: 4:18 pm:

Someone paints a colorful scene on some terra cotta flower pots, collects some wild flowers from the woods, makes a bouquet, it goes in the pots... it’s more than gift when that person hands that to you, frightened.

It’s rocket science.

==========

12-27-2020: 6:42 pm:

This happened:

So I went over here, to see what’s going on... maybe Internet Explorer will work, but this happened:

So, I checked the “Find out why” button, and this happened:

For the federal officers, who are being jacked around by the local authorities, you need to know that the bastards stole about a thousand of my screenshots, similar to those above, yesterday when I accessed the Pose Photo Button. Some other asshole is going use some screenshots to fool you by saying they belong to Sean or Theresa, or Nicole Sparacino.

They are screenshots of advertised music gear, and Twitter news stories mostly.

Don‘t be a tetrahydronic Prism in a world controlled by Triangular Prisms, you will end up in the Trapezoidal Prism at Monroe’s terror cell.

They are spring loaded, made with stainless steel wire, and swords on garage door springs, are motion detector operated, they will tell you to “Go stand over there to get a look at the suspect”; that’s where the spring loaded snare is at, wherever the local authority tells you is best for a having a look. Victims are cut in two with just a piece of thin wire, on a spring, as they walk by, like a egg slicer.

The way the local fake authorities fool federal investigators and then kill them and their families includes that those screenshots that were stolen, (I watched the download happen, Centurylink accessed, and downloaded a lot of screenshots) can be switched out on the download, on the fly, live, from some other storage vault of kiddie porn that exists at Myers terror cell at 560 Jackpine (they have been kidnapping small girls from the nearby church for more than twenty years at 560 Jackpine and putting them into a outdoor garden shed over there) so that what actually winds up happening is the federal officers are shown those images, then later, when the federal officers are alone with some privacy, looking at porn, that is when the local fake authorities send the likes of Sean and nicole Sparacino over there, and those people are the Sneakiest Bastards On Earth, no other terror cell compares to those people for sneaky considerations.

So, literally, the Foolish Feds get caught with their pants down, and the Sparacino’s gas them. and attack, while dressed and disguised as a flock of wild turkeys.

That’s just one way. There are sooooo many ways to fool the feds when the State Police and County Sheriff are in charge of the foolery of the federal officers who are sent into traps, to come here, by their elected official leaders. The foolery comes from two ends. That is how the bastards “make ends meat” around here.

========

12-27-2020: 7:45 pm:

This for people sent to Oregon to see what the heck is going on around here:

First, you are in far more danger than you think you are.

I want to say about a phone call I received on Christmas day, from someone claiming to be family, I know there was at least one Stingray associated with the incoming call listening, I suspect there was more than one, but only one being operated by anyone who could help. Others in the hands of terror soldiers were also not only monitoring, but manipulating, participating in the call, with acting, scripted pre-arranged lines to say to fit whatever the local authority terror theme was. Also, on that call was the sounds of the terror soldiers who were hiding outside either my house, or some other house nearby, and their custom Blu-tooth style communication bleed over into the phone call I received.

I heard someone say: “I’m by the house”. That was buried with intrusive participation into the call with the so called “family member” saying that they bought a house to me on the call, introduced by the people who are fooling the federal officers who are obviously some where nearby and in contact with the local fake authorities, and is why I say you in greater danger than you know.

For those who can help, if you did not hear me saying that the terror army has taken control of all of the geographic area between the ends of the Interstate 5, from Mexico to British Columbia, then you were not listening to me, you heard someone else, you were fooled with electronics. I also talked about medical services are not available in Oregon, the doctors are fake, the police are fake, food is difficult to obtain, everyone is required to wear a face mask by State Government mandate, and other similar “I don‘t have any good news to say on this phone call” sort of subject matter. I explained about the sword fight at the end of the driveway and that fishing net that was being put there to put me into. I expressed extra distress specifying Josephine County beyond the conditions of the rest of the state being all terror controlled. If you did not hear that, you were not listening to me, you were listening to an act that was made possible by complicated electronics, actors from SAG, and terror soldiers who do whatever it takes to entertain federal officers.

It’s notable that when I get a call from that particular family member, the phone always goes blank with dead silence as I am speaking... eerie silence that is as if the call is not really happening, as if I am talking to the phone without a call connected. That silence condition has been present with that particular caller for about ten years.

I thought I heard someone say that the F-18 national Guard Fighter Jet Trainer that I bailed out of about fifteen years ago had been found in the Pacific where it fell, but that was brief and faint on the phone call, like hope, not really there.... but that airplane is in the Pacific unless someone retrieved it, and the instructions to find it are at an old Twitter account that was suspended awhile ago. There also might be instructions here on Tumblr, I have forgotten if I did put them here. Bruce Freeberg is the suspected airplane thief, I am not sure, I only know I had about less than five minutes to decide how to stop that airplane from being stolen, so, I got onto the airplane, so that I could get out of it. That way, the terror bastards don‘t get use that particular stolen airplane to kill US Citizens with.

So, you were fooled if that is different from what was heard on the incoming Christmas phone call.

===============

Let’s say that some federal investigate people were sent to Oregon from somewhere, say, Pittsburgh, and they got here to Oregon, checked in with Kate Brown representatives at State Police HQ in Salem, or, maybe at one of the five FBI Field Offices as they were instructed to do.

Where ever such persons checked in at, be it FBI Field Office or even if they just went into one of the convenience stores for some coffee, without checking in, tried to be stealth about it, either way, “they are not from around here”... it’s a Judge Thomas Hull style rule for terror soldiers to use.

The “You ain’t from around here, are ya boy?” method has a lot of sneaky parts to it. Everyone is a rank & file terror soldier here in Oregon, they look like old church people, they look like truck drivers, they look like tradesmen, and like kids on bicycles, but they are indeed all terror soldiers, most of the inhabitants of Josephine county knows the other inhabitants at least enough to identify that they are all “From around here” in a variety of ways.

There are scouts who go around in cars, and hang out in parked cars in the parking lots, the scouts use Smart Phones, everyone is supposed to have a Smart Phone, with proper setting information that will automatically make connection to the Smart Phone of the scouts. I don‘t have information about what will pass, and what gets marked. You are marked right away if you do not present a Blue-Tooth signal that is correct. Those who are marked, are followed and studied, prepared for take-out attack.

So, the federal people, simply by being here, and making a purchase, start to become the same as Red Marbles in a collection of All Green Marbles. The terror army begins right away to find out why there are Red Marbles in the collection, and from whence they came.

It would take them no more than two days to find the identity of who the outsiders are, even if they use cash to make purchase, cash is “forbidden“, so that is a Red Marble Flag. Anyone who comes to Oregon on commercial airline is marked and Identified before the airplane landed in Oregon, that is because the TSA is a agency under the parent agency Department of Homeland Security, and DHS is a major part of the terror take-over of USA. Air Traffic Controllers are also part of the DHS I think, not certain, but I do know for certain that Air Traffic Control is hijacked, part of the terror army nation wide.

There are no choices here in Oregon.

Such persons who come to Oregon would need to contact Pittsburgh at some point, but, the terror army is led by Broadcast Media, they have all of the communications locked up tighter than a bulls ass in fly season... you cannot make a phone call without it being heard by others. I doubt that even a personal satellite communication would get through unheard because the terror bastards are the people who put the satellites in orbit, and have access to the controls to them.

I am wanting to reach Pittsburgh here, on behalf of those who were sent here to Oregon. I know there are outsiders around by the way the terror cells around me are behaving, I don‘t know where they might be and would not say so if I did.

Let’s say those helpful people who were sent here are thought to have contacted Pittsburgh, and the people at Pittsburgh HQ are not concerned, all seems OK.

Don‘t do that, don’t feel like everything is OK, the terror can mimic, and they have horrible ways of making others do as they are told to do.

That scream I heard last night was different than other fake screaming that happens for “Save the Princess” where some screaming is part of the “Save the Princess”, everyone involved with those is a terror soldier, and the Princess is the one that does the kill most of the time. Anyone can “Princess”, could be a whole bus load of people who are stranded, and the bus is the “Princess”, is an attack against those who offer help. That scream was the most real terror scream I have heard in many years.

That scream is why I am going mention some detail, I don‘t want to, I need reach Pittsburgh though. If putsiders are captured, they are penned up somewhere, separated from their group. Typically, what I have seen is that the males are penned up, tortured, any females and children are forced to observe the torture. All who were captured are injected with heroin, even the ones who are tortured. they are exposed to nitrous/Versed gas mixture also. The ones who are tortured cannot feel much pain, that is part of the torture of the other people too, who observe their friends being subject to nails driven into their heads, everyone starts to say a lot of important information to the terror bastard by then. The ones subject to the nails are provided a mirror, so that they can see the nails that they cannot feel. It’s all fucked up like that. Happens at the house next to mine at 520 Jackpine, under direction of Myers terror cell next to that at 560 Jackpine. So, what made me share that is to advise those in Pittsburgh to listen very carefully to any contact that may occur. Other unseen things may be happening in the background.

There are other ways of torture to gain information. They have old world torture devices, if you can search and find it on Google search with “Torture Device” then the local terrorists made one, with a modernized twist. There was a “Rack” next door at 520 for many years, 9 feet stretch, not including arm length. I could hear when the knees pop loose, so, I get tortured too, to that extent of knowing it’s happening next door, and cannot do anything to stop it because I am outnumbered by 50,000 to 1.

I will be on the rack if I try to physically go there with my trusty fingernail clipper to fight with. You can‘t get a gun here, they are on the shelf in the case at the sporting goods stores, and are also part of the torture, because it’s right there, just out of reach, and you cannot get it, any attempt to purchase a gun, leads to:

“You ain‘t from around here, are ya boy?” and Honorable Thomas Hull will find a way to make sure you need his other service at Hull & Hull Mortuary Services, across the street from the courthouse on C Street.

Years ago, people came door to door, came into the homes, and took every thing that was sharp. Only a butter knife was allowed. Steak and chef knives all taken away. If you buy a knife sharpener, that will mark you for take-out.

Pittsburgh, don‘t rely on the communication, don‘t rely on local Oregon authorities. The good guys could be in a dire situation with no choices.

50,000 to one. Just in Josephine County, add Jackson, Douglass, and Klamath counties and it gets to 175,000 to one against me, and that is conservative estimate.

US Military is required.

Please send help.

Please send medical services.

Bring your own hospital.

====

9:39 pm:

national guard is not there anymore, they have not been there for about twenty years, any communication with Oregon national guard that suggests otherwise is a lie, is an act, to fool those who contact national guard. They can still procure new equipment and munitions as needed through the normal and customary means of getting equipment from national guard HQ command chain.

=====

12-27-2020: 9:55 pm:

Survival as a Red Marble in all Green Marbles advice:

Don’t go outside unless you need to.

For food, what I do, is difficult, but I’m not dead, so, I don‘t have other advice. Stay away from restaurants and fast food, canned food is probably safest. I choose the frozen chicken, Walmart brand, 5 lb bag, I stay mostly with that, the frozen Walmart brand vegetables are top grade, so I get that and stay alive doing it. Stay away from fresh bakery goods, packaged cookies seem OK, but they all seem to have some kind of way that is not exactly right, for me, all my teeth were shot out by the terror bastards, so, most of that is they are all too stiff, too crunchy, some seem like they make me sick in strange ways. But, I am going to have milk and cookies even if it kills me. The Walmart brand items mostly are OK, if not prepared in the store, and you have to check all of the packages for pin holes and safety seals before you buy the items.

The store is dangerous no matter where you go for food, but the Fred Meyer is more dangerous than Walmart, I have been hurt bad at Fred Meyer, seem to get out of Walmart without injury, but not without them trying to capture me. I suggest using a debit card over cash. The cash will mark you right away, the debit card has a delay to the ID of who used it, but there is that guy at the entrance with the tablet that scans for card chips in your pocket. I suggest a small metal case for carrying the debit cards. If no case, then stack as many cards as you can together to fool the scanning thing, even expired cards will help in a stack, I think. Be careful in every way.

Don’t buy fuel at AM/PM, your car won’t run, will stall, won‘t always start. Fred Meyer is best for fuel, but be prepared to physically fight, you need eyes in the back of your head, but the car will stay running if you are willing to fight for the fuel. There is no other way that I am aware of. I don‘t want to experiment at other stores, I have to learn each stores way of killing, so, learn, and defend is the best advice I have.

That is pretty much it. If you are in Oregon, and are an outsider, it’s only a matter of time before they hunt you down, so, know that too.

Personally, I don‘t go anywhere, ever, except to get some food, or go to a fake doctor, that is the scariest of all, the doctor is bad news, someone dies every time i go to the fake doctor. There are no more real doctors, all are somewhere held captive to treat terror soldiers, or worse.

Use a lighter, keep it in your hand while at the store. The terror army will come close, to gas you for a take-out at the register, so, when they get close, wave the lighter around briefly at waist high, that clears the whole aisle sometimes, nothing but abandoned shopping carts and falling ceiling tiles. The self checkout is scary, the other checkout with cashier is a place where the other terror soldiers (fake shoppers) get in line, to gas you in bulk, and the checkout lanes are lined with stuff, tall shelving that aides the gas to stay in that area in the line where you pay. If you can go to the store with a friend, that will greatly increase your survival chances, but they will try to separate you from your friend, don‘t allow that to happen. I choose the self checkout, but I did not like it at first, when they took away most of the cashiers, now, there are only about 4 cashiers aisles. sometimes only one is open.

Things are different now than they were this time last year at Walmart, so, older posts I made here may not reflect all of what I put here today.

The conditions have become gradually worse over time, this COVID situation is a nightmare, everyone mandated to wear masks as they try to kill you, and the entrance at the Walmart is reduced to just one door, one way in, one way out, and there are men who make sure you stay in the correct lane to get in or go out, they have special electronic tablet size thing, it scans debit and credit card chips while they are still in your pocket, all is cross referenced to ID data base and bank account info. There are at least 6 terror soldiers at the entrance to the Walmart, one tablet man, sometimes two of those guys, and at least one other vested person that is hanging around the entrance, and a number of Cart Jockeys who manage shopping carts there, those guys choose the cart for you, and park it right there for you, while saying “Welcome to Walmart”, there is someone there at the next entrance where actually go in to the shopping area. All of those people wear Walmart blue, some are yellow vests. That person at the actual store entrance past the shopping carts monitors, makes sure you have a mask over your face, if you have no mask, they give one to you to wear, you must wear a mask at Walmart, and everywhere, large or small stores, everywhere, by government mandate. There are signs everywhere that say so.

There is something extra special about the Walmart Pharmacy area, where over the counter remedies, shampoo, personal care items is at. The terror soldiers are like Velcro over there, they stick to you, if you go into one of those aisles, there will be instant other people that swarm there, and there seems to be always someone in each aisle, at least one, and, there is always a vested Walmart associate with a special kind of cart, has a ladder, has a place for a trash can on it, is a wheeled cart with ladder & trash can, has a shelf. The store associate is always on the ladder when I go in those aisles. There are no other places in the Walmart where I have seen those ladder/trash wheeled carts, only at the third aisle away from the actual pharmacy where prescriptions are faked. There are no real prescriptions filled at Walmart pharmacy, everyone in the line is for show. It’s all fake right there, and is higher concentration of terror soldier fake shoppers than other parts of the Walmart.

There is a cosmetics department, that area is a corral, it has four walls when you go in there. I suggest stay out of there. The hair dye and lip stick is not worth dying over.

You can still get a “Loaner Sword” if you are a special SAG terror operative at most or all of the checkout counters in the store. The cosmetics is where I see that most. They just go over to the cashier with some long narrow object, such as back scratchers that are hanging on display right near there, they take that, set it on the counter and say: “I need a loaner”, no more, and no less is spoken, perhaps a repeat of “I need a loaner”, then the cashier pulls a sword out from beneath the cabinet, lays it on the counter with the handle easy for the special SAG assassin to grab. The back scratcher is there only to fool the camera, as the sword is taken away from the check-stand, and the assassin goes to look through the store for the mark, with much assist from others in the store, and Oxcart service that follows. The people who do that tend to be very tall, well over six feet tall, male, over 50 years old, physically fit men, usually dressed with stylish comfortable leisure clothing such as cargo shorts mostly. If you look around the Grants Pass area, you can see these guys walking around on foot, older, tall men, casually dressed, in pairs. They are some kind of special mobile assassins on foot around the city, many of them scattered around, not hard to spot.

Those guys might be Vatican special assassins. They don‘t really fit the SAG vibe, and are Cookie Cutter Card Board Cut-Outs, they all look and dress the same basic way as the next one does. They are a lot like those weird women that accompany the Pope when he comes to Grants Pass, all the same, no personality, blank expression.

===========

12-28-2020: 12:48 am:

I put some Chip Bait in this entry, use it to catch big fish.

====

12:57: am:

Those “Loaner Swords” are not limited to Walmart!

They are everywhere at a service counter in a store, pretty much all of the retail stores have at least one “Loaner Sword” for SAG or Vatican special roving assassins who need one where ever they are called to service.

To my knowledge, there is at least one “Loaner Sword” hidden inside specially designed concealment compartments at the service counter of each and every pharmacy from Mexico to British Columbia along the west coast of USA.

========================

12-28-2020: 3:24 am:

Still trying to reach Pittsburgh.

I can‘t sleep after telling about the torture I witnessed for long next door at 520 Jackpine.

So, there is more to know about that, some is  mystery that others may find helpful about the torture rack. I saw it, it’s physically described elsewhere on this account, and there was more than one kind of torture rack. I have details about the 9 foot stretch that are significant somehow, so, as follows:

To start with, there is “Jesus was a Carpenter” considerations that I learned were of importance about it’s construction characteristics.

Then. there is some old 1960′s terror math that also seems to fit into the thing, in one way or another.

I’ll start with that: Terror in 1960′s began to remove & replace police officers with actors, and Vatican/British operatives in Los Angeles. So of course the math includes multiples of twelve for terror speak about that, so, “They come by the dozen“ is “Winchell Mahoney Time”, “Winchell’s Doughnuts”, “Windsor Royalty”, and gets into “Winston Churchill” areas of the Russian Hoax, and beyond and onto the beach at Malibu with addition of “Churchill Swim Fins w/Morey (Doyle) Boogie Board” (it goes on forever like that, could go to “dorsal fin”. “shark”, and “$5 bill” just from Doyle). So the math is 12′s for police. Those are feet. They gum on their shoes. It could turn out that the TV show called 24 is all about taking pairs of police, or, roleing out pairs of impostor police, with instructions within the episodes as marching orders. (that show was over the top, same with SAMCRO the bikers who sell arms to the Irish (Ireland is “the land of the angry people”))

now the carpenter math that is built in to the rack:

They made sure I understood it was a 9 foot max, not counting arm length.

So, most tract houses are built with 92 1/4″ studs, plus two top plate, and one mud sill, for total of additional 4 1/2″ of plate material, that grosses out to 96 3/4″, for a net wall height of 8′ 1″ after “lumber crown” of 1/4′ per 3 plates is added.

That’s for a tract house, typically 2000 sq, ft. or less.

9 feet walls happen in larger, more custom, or upscale homes.

That same math, but with use of 104 1/4″ studs, renders a wall height of 9′ 1″.

An additional foot of headroom for upscale dwellings, over a tract house of 2000 sq ft or less, is for the 9 foot ceiling height, which is what you get after the ceiling is covered with sheet rock, 9 feet.

I can see a number of religious connections to the math, but I can‘t do anything about what it seems to be saying, which seems to also go in more than one direction. Is multi-directional communication in the rack. Maybe that is the point, it pulls from two ways, like that “make ends meat” terror plan I mentioned earlier that seems to work so well.

I don’t think I have much more to say about that, without taking a three page ride in the Russian Mother of all Hoaxes by following the dots to see where they go.

I’ll go a little ways in there: That “Lumber Crown“ is actually called a “Cup”. The “Crown” is along the length of a piece of dimensional lumber, a carpenter must “Crown” every piece of lumber so that all studs, or joists, are all crowned with the lumber’s high spot going in the same direction, but I’ll leave the math the way I wrote it. The British Crown, knows all about that, they have been carpenters for a long time over there, so, they cling to ideas like that Crown. or that Cup, to do terror take over seeming simply because they are able to do so. The bastards control the whole lumber industry in Oregon, probably the whole nation. Brings new meaning to “Lumber Crown”. The “Lumber Cup” can be associated with young girls, the Holy Grail, and a lot of other religious connections to “The Cup” of a piece of lumber can be made.

Each piece of dimensional lumber has:

A Cup

A Crown

A Twist

A Bow

And Grain.

There is also wane on each piece, oddly, even if there is none there, in which case, it has no wane. Wax, on the other hand, is only on the wood if the carpenter puts it there, to make it slide across the surfaces, and into place.

All are important reasons why it’s said that “Jesus was a Carpenter”, but the truth I am pretty sure, is that the only thing the man ever built, was the cross that he was nailed to, hence, carpenter.

I’ll close out with that old TV show called “The FBI”.

From Wikipedia:

“Produced by Quinn Martin and based in part on concepts from the 1959 Warner Bros. theatrical film The FBI Story, the series was based on actual FBI cases, with fictitious main characters carrying the stories. Efrem Zimbalist, Jr. played Inspector Lewis Erskine, a widower whose wife had been killed in an ambush meant for him. Philip Abbott played Arthur Ward, assistant director to FBI Director J. Edgar Hoover. Although Hoover served as series consultant until his death in 1972, he was never seen in the series.”

Basically, the show served in some way as a “Vacuum” Hoover brand, according to Wikipedia, unless you really think J. Edgar had something to do with actually consulting.

The way I remember it, the people in The Valley where I lived dropped everything so they could watch that show. When I think about the way the people who where questioned in the series behaved at the time the investigators came by, it’s easy to see a connection to the way some of the older terror soldiers around here behave when they get around other people, they behave like they jumped right out of a 1965 FBI TV show, as if the show served as a training tool, mostly to show how to dance a move called “The Brush Off” to get rid of people who ask too many questions simply by looking and behaving “Holier Than Thou” when the police show up to ask some questions.

Lot’s of stuff at this link to think about. I wonder what IMDB.com has to say about the show.

(suddenly the links I make are working, that’s new)

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_F.B.I._(TV_series)

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