Brian Williams vs. Bill O’Reilly

On a less personal note (*personal note see Bill O’Reilly below) if Brian Williams’ integrity is being called into question, how has Bill O’Reilly been allowed to dwell in our TV sets and living rooms for so long?  I could list his thousand transgressions but a site called  O’Reilly Sucks appears to be doing a pretty decent job from a purely professional standpoint.  I have personal information on Papa Bear Bill that will curl your toenails and make you physically ill – so if you’re squeamish don’t read it.

Bill O’Reilly

*Personal Note – What Bill O’Reilly Did To Me

Bill O’Reilly attended a Satanic rape ritual featuring me as the victim.  He was second in line after John Alexander and before my ex-husband.  I was drugged and tied spread-eagle and naked to a rape table.  At his turn, instead of raping me, Bill O’Reilly took a sharpened, flattened-out soda-can pop-top that he had been holding, and he stuck it deep into my vagina, pressed down hard with his thumb, and dragged it out with his other hand’s finger, and sliced my vagina from deep inside all the way to my rectum – a much more severe gash than an episiotomy.

Bill O’Reilly is the man who drives the airwaves on at least three television stations, CNN, Fox, and now CBS.  This is the man who makes up lies and broadcasts them as News.  Many Americans think of him as a god, who can do no wrong and they believe him when he says he’s trying to the expose the injustice of the Democratic Party and says that any other television station that tries to broadcast the truth as the News is lying.  Dick Cheney chuckled when he told me Bill O’Reilly was the craziest SOB he knows, and Cheney thought Bill was so delusional he even believes the lies he tells.  No one calls him on it since everyone’s afraid of him because O’Reilly’s a mass murderer.

Here’s what pissed him off enough to make him want to mutilate me.  When the original x-rated short video, ‘The Dream’ (the short sex ‘Art film’ with the big splash in it. Again, I was drugged to think it was a dream and didn’t know anyone was filming it.) was sent out to cult members there was a renewed interest in having sex with me.    At the time only those in Satanic cults were privy to the film.  Rita got so many calls that she decided she would hold a rape ritual using me as a sacrifice.  In the Conversation in 2003 Rita said she got a bigger turnout than when they use a virgin and she made thousands of dollars that night.

As my memory returns I can remember that night.  I remember some discussion as to who would go first and the man who it was decided would go first was John Alexander because he had done so much for the cult.  (In the muddled conversation John and I had in 2012 he told me it was him.  In our conversation in 2012, John told me it took a hundred stitches to sew me up.  I lost so much blood he thought I would die.  Frightening and odd but true.  For any cult members reading this – Rape is not sex! That’s what the Satanic Church teaches, that rape is the same as sex.  Women cry rape because a man is forcibly putting his penis in them.  It’s an act of violence, not love.  Since I was tied down, drugged and naked, spread eagle on a table, and there was a long, long line of men waiting to put their penises in me, I would consider that rape.)  Bill O’Reilly was allowed to be second.  My (now ex-) husband was third.

Bill O’Reilly is the prince of his own Satanic Church.  He was born into an intergenerational Satanic Church but was not in direct succession to become prince and was overlooked even though he had committed more than the requisite number of murders and rapes.  Bill O’Reilly felt the person with the most evil heart should become prince.  (As an aside, Peter Mickelsen became prince of his Satanic cult for that reason, he was much more evil than Rita Zot’s brother so she had her brother killed and had Peter named prince.)  Because of Bill O’Reilly’s direct influence on world views, and his money and his power, his cult became more respected than Rita’s Church and so he was second in line at the rape ritual.  Bill O’Reilly didn’t like the movie ‘The Dream.’  He insisted women were not supposed like sex and therefore I was an abomination so he wanted to fix it so that I wouldn’t like sex so he gave me, what he thought was Female Genital Mutilation (FGM.)  (Young girls subjected to FGM have their genitals sliced and cauterized without benefit of anesthesia or any numbing agent.)  Since Google is part of the cult I would imagine that there are pictures of what he did to me on Google images – FGM (I’m too squeamish to check.)  Female Genital Mutilation (FGM) is practiced worldwide by any organized religion that has its roots in Satanism.  It’s performed as torture and is meant to make women so afraid of sex that they will not have sex, or if they do, they won’t feel anything.

The cult had already developed a fabric that can be seen through from one side and can’t be seen through from another.  I had a bag placed over my head so that I couldn’t see through the bag, but the men on line could see me well enough to know that it was me.

When Bill  came up for his turn I could hear the soda-can tab in the palm of his hand because he tapped it on his palm when he went to pick it up with his left hand.  I could feel him put it in my vagina, press it down and drag it back out.  I could hear the aluminum tab hit the ground when he tossed it under the table I was on.  Then he stuck his penis in the hole that he had just made and thrust it in as hard as he could as many times as he could while I screamed, “He cut me, he cut me, it hurts!  He’s hurting me!”  Rita Zot Denman, who was moderating the rape ritual, looked over to see a bloody mess, blood squirting out each time Papa-Bear O’Reilly thrust his penis in me harder.  He was saying, “I want this to hurt!  You cunt!  You whore!  I want this to hurt!”

Rita shouted for him to stop and when he didn’t she had other men grab him and pull him aside, to which Bill said, “She’s such a slob, look at her; I wouldn’t be able to come in that disgusting mess anyway.  She’s a pig!  She bleeds like a stuffed pig!”

“You cut me.  You cut me!”  I screamed.

“Search him for a knife.”  Rita commanded.

Bill O’Reilly took a step back and chuckled, he opened his arms out by his sides and extended his fingers, “Search me,” he laughed because he was naked.  All the men on line were naked.

“Check the floor,” Rita commanded.

“There’s just this,” someone bent down to get the bloody pop-top.  It had been hammered out flat and the edges had been filed to razor-like sharpness.

“That’s it!  That’s what he used,” I told them.

“What is it,” many of them asked, since it was covered with blood.

“It’s a pop-top from a soda-can,” I told them.  I knew, I could tell what it was when he put it inside me.

Someone began wiping the blood off the pop-top and cut himself.  Rita asked to see it.

I said, “See?  It’s a pop-top from a soda-can, that’s what he cut me with.”

“That’s impossible,” Bill insisted, “I cut her with my penis.  That’s all I have on me.”  He added angrily, “You could never prove that.  How does she know it’s a pop-top anyway?  How does she know what’s going on?  I thought she was drugged?”

“I heard it in the palm of your hand.  I heard it as you put it in your other hand.  I felt it as you put it inside me.  I felt it as you pressed it down with your thumb.  I felt it as you cut me.  And I heard it when you threw it on the floor underneath me.”

“She can see.  She must be able to see.  No one can hear things like that.”  Papa-Bear refuted.

“I can’t see anything – I heard it.  Just as I hear you admitting it now.”  I told him.

I heard Bill O’Reilly tell them that I was bleeding like a stuffed pig because that’s what I was – a pig. I heard Rita tell them to get him out.  “Get me out?  Me?  I’ll have you killed if you try it.”  They knew of the thousands of people he’s had killed, so he was allowed to stay.

John Alexander said we have to stop the bleeding.  Someone had already placed a bucket on the floor to catch my blood.  (The human body only holds a little more than a gallon of blood and I had bled out at least two pints already.)  A few people voiced concern that I would die.  Bill O’Reilly thought that was a great idea that would stop me from enjoying sex.  He wouldn’t have to worry about that anymore, so he ordered my death.  A few people said this is a rape ritual not a sacrifice ritual and they overrode Bill O’Reilly’s request.  So John went to work stopping the bleeding with handfuls of styptic powder and then began sewing me up.  (John is the man they refer to as Dr. Death, the one who was responsible for the torture at GITMO)

I remember the many men on line complaining that they paid to rape me, and this guy, meaning Bill O’Reilly, stopped all their fun.  They wanted a refund and Rita reminded them that it was their dues that they were paying and they would have another chance to rape me once I was healed, and they complained again and most of the men reminded each other that they would be paid up and next month only have to pay for another month.  John Alexander said it would take more than a month to heal.  They asked Peter how long it took for my episiotomies to heal and he didn’t know because he said he didn’t have to pay attention to that because all he had to do was rape me to have sex with me.  (What Peter would do is in the morning or in the night when I was sleeping, he’d press my head face down in the pillow until I passed out and then he would rape me.)  So they asked other women how long, and the answer was six weeks to two months.  John said it would be at least two months since this was much worse than an episiotomy, so they set another date for another rape ritual two and a half months from that night.

Most of the men who were only there for the rape ritual, left.  As John Alexander was busy sewing me up, Bill O’Reilly explained how he was trying to do FGM on me.  They had a name for that ritual, too, and it was explained to him that this was a rape ritual not an FGM ritual.  (All organized religions have a different name for the FGM ritual.)  He said someone had to do it because according to their Bible women aren’t supposed to enjoy sex, they were not supposed to have sex at all.  For whatever reason, possibly because he just knew what Bill O’Reilly had done was not FGM, John explained to Bill that what he had done was not FGM.  John explained that the clitoris was cut off for that ritual.  Neither Rita nor any of the women still present, nor any of the men knew where the clitoris was.  Papa-Bear Bill O’Reilly said he didn’t know since he had never had sex with a woman, “Oh, rape rituals, sure, but never sex,” he said.  I could tell by the murmurs in the crowd that they were surprised to hear that.  Later, in 2012, I found out that Papa-Bear only likes sex with twelve-year-old boys, and usually, that’s rape as well.  He had also raped John Alexander, and other men who John knew about, but didn’t want to share that information with me.  When I asked John why he didn’t charge Bill O’Reilly with rape, he said he couldn’t.  I corrected him by saying he didn’t feel he could, but, in fact, he could.  He would’ve been killed he told me, and the lawyer would have been killed and the allegation would have been swept under the rug and everyone would forget about it because Bill O’Reilly is held in such high esteem no one would believe it anyway.  At any rate, once the stitches were done, and that area was numb, they had to wake me up enough to tell them where the clitoris was.  I told them a woman has to be aroused in order for them to see it.  So John coaxed my clitoris out and cut it off and sewed me up again.  Then Papa-Bear was satisfied.

I KNOW THIS because one the drugs used on me is the one that can put people in comas.  Things that are said and done around people in comas are comprehended and retained as memories.  The memories surface later.  My memory of that night was erased except for the memory to not have sex for two months.  I know this because Papa-Bear talked about his place in line, while he was on line, while he was raping me, after he raped me and while I was being sewn up.  And like everyone else in this country I KNOW HIS VOICE.

When Peter got me home he put me in bed and he rolled me over, pressed my head into my pillow, and proceeded to rape me.  The pain was so great it woke me up and I screamed, “You stabbed me!”  Peter said, “It wasn’t me.  I didn’t get my turn.  I just wanted my turn!  I’m not the one who stabbed you!”

I was bleeding profusely so I got up to call 911 and Peter hit me in the head and knocked me out.  I came to as John was finishing sewing me back up.  He hypnotized me and told me not to remember this and not to have sex for two months: and he told Peter that went for him, too.  Peter complained saying he wanted his turn and asked if he could take his turn now.  John said in two months Peter could take as many turns as he wanted, but not until then.

TWO MONTHS later Peter and I had sex for our anniversary and Peter bit hard onto the skin that once held my clitoris and shook his head trying to gnaw it off.  The memory of that wasn’t erased so I began to devise a many step plan to get a divorce.

Now Bill O’Reilly’s trying to get Brian Williams fired for embellishing the truth.

About Grace Gardener

THE NSA AND THE MOOCS WON'T LET ANYONE GET THROUGH TO ME. THEY MAY EVEN HURT YOU IF YOU TRY. See the pages in the tabs of this blog, Grace Gardener, and, A Little About Lynn Mickelsen. If you know me and I don't get back to you, then the email was intercepted. Never talk to anyone claiming to be me without asking questions to be sure. All site posts beginning 4/1/16 will be on I’m not doing this for attention. I have 107 broken bones, zero disks in my back, and I’m exhausted. I need to get through to the people who knew me for credibility: but the NSA blocks my every move. I have to have the same acknowledgement and respect for my judgement I had while I was a ghost director in Hollywood and when I was CEO of the Rand Corp. Rand has been able to keep my work anonymous and credited to other people so they can collect my pay and residuals. They figured as long as they’re erasing my memory, and taking credit for my inventions, music, acting and directing; they may as well keep the money I earned. Also, the money would be proof that I did the work, so they’ve kept me poor all of my life. The reason the conspirators made plans in front of me was because they were assured I would “Never Remember” them, their visit and the things they planned. They talked in a kind of code that I have since figured out. I would have turned them in after the meeting had I been allowed to remember. I have to operate the way I do to keep away from my captors. GRR taught me most of the tactics I use. (Now he won’t help because his memory of me is implanted.) I know it angers some corrupt NSA Officers, but it’s a fact that I was a prisoner and slave at the Rand Corporation, and the NSA helped and still helps to keep me that way. I have to make evasive maneuvers to keep me, my daughters, this country and the world safe. Meanwhile I have no where to turn. I still feel like a candle in the wind. My name was Lynn Mickelsen while I was a prisoner in a blue house and slave of a “club” based in northern New Jersey. If you know me PLEASE DON'T TRY TO CONTACT ME THROUGH THE RAND CORPORATION OR ANY OF MY FORMER EMPLOYERS OR ANY CONTACT FROM MORE THAN 9 YEARS AGO. People who tried doing this are being killed. Some people know the cult know it with a name similar to The Builder Berg Society or the Skull and Dagger Society. There's a HUGE bounty on my head that the cult I escaped from has no intention of paying. The plan is to have me killed and then to kill the person trying to collect the bounty. I thought up the plan and the amount because I thought it was going to be the plot in a movie. I told the people who wanted the plan, "This is one movie no one will want to see." In short, anyone who kills me will be killed within 24 hours and will never see a dime. Now I'm RVing but I’m still a prisoner in that I can't get in touch with anyone, and no one can get in touch with me, except in person. I found out about the other life I’d been living during a grueling five-hour conversation I detail in my Book, ‘the Conversation’ The reason I knew nothing about my own life was because I suffered selective amnesia - induced by the cult that owned me - with drugs, torture and electricity. 'The Conversation' is available in paperback at The ebook is free. I worked nights and weekends naming products, bands and internet services, or anything else the "club" wanted me to do. I would wake up in the morning and remember nothing about the work and meetings, and I never received ANY money. I could only remember my 9 - 5 job at a bank. I’ve written the eBook, ‘Garden of the Light,’ as a lighter, inspirational compliment to the eBooks – ‘the Conversation,’ and, 'the Truth about Lynn Mickelsen’ which are intended to shed new, totally different light on the current world situation and change the world for the better. Apocalypse is a Greek word meaning, ‘the Revealing of Ancient Knowledge.’ I consider the book, ‘the Conversation,’ as Apocalypse because it reveals the ancient knowledge. We'll have World Peace once we abolish child abuse. My view of Apocalypse has no battle, no war, no army. I believe the knowledge in ‘the Conversation’ is enough to save the world. The blog lists just some of the accomplishments I achieved as a slave, to let everyone I've helped over the past sixty years, who I am. I will finally claim my life! If you’re a George Lucas fan you may remember some of these strange stories that involve him. I met George on the set of American Graffiti; we got engaged when the movie wrapped. I was taken away and George was told I was dead. Five years later I was hired to figure out how to make Luke Skywalker’s farm vehicle fly. The people who handled me (owned me) forgot that I had worked for this director once before on American Graffiti and they told him I was dead. I arrived and solved Lucas’s problem for him and he tearfully remembered me and told me what had happened five years before. I stayed on the set of Star Wars long enough to name the Star Wars characters and solve another animatronics problem with Chewy’s costume. I was told it was time to leave and started to follow my jailers the way I had been programmed to, when George asked, “When will I see you again?” I began to say, “Oh, you’ll see me again,” but I realized I wasn’t certain of that because once before, when we got engaged, I never saw him again. So I turned around and started walking back toward Lucas and I asked, “How about now? Can I stay with you now? Because I don’t know when I’ll be able to see you again.” George thought a second and agreed that I should stay. As I was walking back to him I saw his expression change and looked over my shoulder to see the man I had been following holding a gun on me. I kept walking because now I was sure that the story Lucas had told me about what happened five years ago, was going to happen again and I couldn’t allow that. Someone had obviously been playing with my life, and I couldn’t have that, so I kept walking toward Lucas and away from the man with the gun. Lucas’s expression changed again, this time his face was filled with fear and horror. I turned around and now there were three men holding guns on George Lucas. There was only about 20 feet of desert between us but I had to go with them in order to save Lucas’s life. So, if you’re a fan of George Lucas you may remember someone being stolen off the Star Wars set at gunpoint. That was me. Years later I was abducted and stolen from the Academy Awards. You may remember that incident - that was me. Years later I was abducted and stolen from the Elton John’s post Oscar Party that benefits his AIDs foundation. You may remember that incident - that was me. Years later Harrison Ford and George Lucas devised a plan to steal me off of the set of The Fugitive. This time I was shot with a coma drug. They used a hypodermic needle that went through my coat and slacks and into my thigh. Two bogus ambulance men came in a stolen ambulance and took me away. The only other time I saw George face to face was during the making of Howard the Duck. George Lucas and Steven Spielberg made that ridiculous movie to try to rescue me again, in case you were wondering why they made that movie. I was supposed to see Lucas again on a set of Indiana Jones but this time it was George who was drugged and abducted. This makes 8 times George Lucas tried to rescue me. I’ve spoken with Lucas on the phone only a few times over the past 40 years, and those phone calls and the conversations we had while shooting American Graffiti, are what makes up Yoda’s philosophies and Star Wars 7 – the Force Awakens. The reason the people who owned me don’t allow George and I to get together is because they don’t want World Peace. War makes them rich. The greed of a handful of people keep the word in the turmoil it’s in. The people in the entertainment industry know me as the woman with no memory and no name. If you want to know more about me, check out my blog; or read my free ebooks the Truth about Lynn Mickelsen, and, the Conversation. I‘m still trying to walk those 20 feet.
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