From: ace of clubs
Subject: A Belated Welcome to the RVY Replacement
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X-XS4ALL-Date: Tue, 13 Oct 1998 00:29:32 CEST
Although I decidely
am NOT the duly eeeee-leckted Welcome Wagon fer
a.r.s.--lacking even the requisite four wheels--please allow me to add
own humble expression of salutations and salaams to celebrate yer arrival.
I had sech a warm, close relationship with yer predecessor, RV, I feel
is my duty, and a dis-stinking honor, to make yer stay here in a.r.s.,
So, ladies and gentlemen
of a.r.s., allow me to heartily endorse to you a
man whose legend and reputation arrived in this forum far, far ahead of
own selfless, modest presence, a legend that wuz finely crafted by only
very BEST guv'mint spin-doctors, and delivered with breathless
effervescence by that sparkling wit and kitty-kat lover, that Field-Agent
Handler soo-preme, the delightful, the delovely, the combative Ms. Stacy
To Ms. Young: a tip
o' the Ace of Clubs top hat. You are doing a *fine*
job, Young lady. Of course, things went a bit south with the field agent
you were formerly handling--poor ol' busted up RV--but you are not to
faulted for his inability to hold his own in the face of adversity. (I
didn't think y'all would punish him, though, by havin' HIM be the one
have to start oozin' out the fact that Hubbard wuz bumped off--once it
squeezed so hard by others that it had to come out of you. That's some
tough love! But his brain shampoo seems to be going *so* well; his writing
may soon rival that of Jane Austen. You may recall that, of Ms. Austen's
scribblings, Mark Twain sed: "It seems a great pity that they allowed
to die a natural death.")
And to Mr. Prince:
Welcome! As the latest government stooge and CST
smoke-screen--here to back up Ger-bil, and to replace poor ol' has-been
RV--you, too, good sir, are off to an exemplary start. Why, you have the
Lower-Than-Room-Temperature-IQ Section on their feet, doing "the
cheering, shouting out your name! It makes the blood rush and the heart
pound to see it. It gives goose bumps.
For the benefit of
those who have come in late, please, Mr. Prince, indulge
yer humble host a moment, and allow me to recap briefly your performance
far in this arena.
I recall, with pangs
of pathos, yer first touching post:
ago I contacted Stacy Young. In talking with
her I realized I could help in the struggle to expose the
truth about Scn and get them to stop hurting people and
ruining lives of decent and innocent people."
Wring out yer hankies,
kids. Very nice, Yessie-Jesse: you managed in yer
very first sentence to position yerself wif one "opinion leader,"
yer munificent motivations. *Do* go on:
Sunday after Stacy and I met, Mike Rinder
called Bob Minton to ask if I was now on his payroll. It was
obvious that they knew Stacy and I had met and were ready
to attack all of us---which is what they have been doing
There, you immediately
introduce the junior villain of the piece, Rinder
(even though he's one of yer own, too), to get the peanut gallery booin'
and hissin' (but only warmin' them up fer the REAL villain--yet to come!),
and then you IMMEDIATELY bring in the "heavy hitter" hero, the
International Banker Overtly Fighting the Evil Global Empire of
Scientology, Mr. Compassion his-own-self, Bob Minton. Oh, youse guys is
And finally, you
introduce another one of yer fine crew, the former
pivot-man in D.C., Michael Meisner's handler, buddy to the FBI and to
Emory during the "Snow White" Operation, everybody's favorite
counsel to CST (whom you never, ever, EVER, under ANY circumstances, must
even acknowledge the existence of), Mr. Kendrick Moxon:
Rick Moxon has already put me on notice that I
am to be sued if I divulge any information about their
criminal activities. However, I will not be silenced by
Give me a minute.
Ol' Ace is all choked up. All right. I'm okay now. That
wuz a *fine* introduction you gave yerself, Yessie-Jesse, and you were
smart enough to get in, and get *out*--no agenda; jest a touching hello.
Oh, but the crowd
is hushed. The players are in place. The stage is set.
In yer second post,
you give us yer tech bona-fides, lettin' us all know
that you had been tapped by the Old Man his-own-self as "the best
supervisor or cramming officer in all of Scientology." Wow! Ain't
*blessed* to have you amongst us! And then in that same post, you
ee-e-a-a-a-se in the subject you'd been sent here to really talk about,
tease us with jest a *hint* about the REAL villain of the piece: MISCAVIGE!
And we hear, before the curtain falls on this act, that he tol' you that
"there is no such thing as God"!
[CUE DRAMATIC MYOOSIK!]
With a sharp intake
of breath from the audience, the curtain falls. End of
Act I! Now walks on yer chief endorser, Bob Minton, to let us all know
"Jesse has done so many sec checks on Miscavige, Rathbun, Starkey,
Spurlock, Heber, Rinder etc. A lot of crimes come out in those sec checks."
OooooOOO! Ain't NOBODY goin' home early now!
Raise curtain on
Fer some unknown,
cosmic reason, you take us on a surreal trip down Mem'ry
Lane, back, back, back to the late '70's. A boyish and innocent Marty
Rathbun is seen caught up in an awful drama! A husband in a rage pulls
pistol and shoots his own wife, her blood and brains splattering a dazed
and shocked Marty Rathbun. Is he treated with compassion and helped? NO!
What happens to him? Well, now we KNOW why you took us in the time machine:
so you could tell us that "Little David Miscavige often beat Marty
the presence of bigger stronger goons, of course) and all of this has
effect on a person."
Omigod! It's the
eeeee-vil, all-powerful DAVID MISCAVIGE AGAIN!
Hissssss-s-s-s-s-s-s! Booooo-o-o-o-o-o! Beating up on a poor innocent--and
with an army of goons, yet! Throw the tomaters! Throw the potaters!
Now this is all good
drama. This is all damned *fine* drama! But then, the
crowd begins to grow a little restless. There ain't no MEAT with all them
'maters and 'taters. Why, some critics have the gall to start even bein'
critical of YOU, and it seems like some of them 'maters and 'taters might
even start splatting on our hero.
And so, with high
tension in the air, suddenly appears:
Now we're gon' get
the INSIDE DIRT! Hooray!!!
And what do we LEARN?
What do we FIND OUT? Well, we are told:
"The power was
taken over by David Miscavige..."
And what else?
Nothin'. That's right.
We get a bunch more antecdotal "evidence" about
everybody's favorite lawn ornament, dwarfish Davey-the-Dunce Miscavige,
being the gree-e-e-e-attt Potentate of all Scientologydom, and some more
stories about PC-folder culling (always a hit with the peanut gallery),
yet MORE stories about the omnipotence of the eeeeeee-vil Davey-the-Dunce
Miscavige, and a rehash of the U.S. Guv'mint Approved Official Reason
<yawn> why there are no records of Hubbard having been the managing
of Scientology. (Couldn't *possibly* be because there never *were* any;
unh-unh--it wuz because the eeeee-vil Davey-the-Dunce had 'em all
destroyed. Uh-huh. And here's the evidence... Oops! <Snort!>)
Then we get the chocolate
fudge fer the whole thing: we get a bunch of
jumbled-up, indecipherable, non-traceable, incomprehensible
"FactNET-possessed-originals-only" table of "copyright
information," ALL of
which frantically points AWAY from the true owner of the copyrights--the
Church of Spiritual Technology (CST), doing business as the L. Ron Hubbard
Library--and pointing frantically TO Bridge Publications, Inc. (better
known as the clowns that Barnum and Bailey rejected). What a fuckin' joke.
You know, Yessie-Jessie,
if ol' Ace didn't know better, I'd almost be
forced to think you wuz jest another lyin' motherfucker, like yer
predecessor, RV, and like my dear, dear, sincere fox-hole buddy,
Gerry-the-Gerbil-Ass Armstrong--who still keeps dodgin' my question about
where he got them lobotomy pictures of LRH from. I'd almost be tempted
b'lieve you wuz dragged in here by yer Field Agent Handler,
Stacy-the-Schtup Young, to spread some more of that U.S. Guv'mint Approved
Disinformation fertilizer that you all reek of.
Jest so's I can have
an opportunity to purge myself of sech wicked, sinful,
sacreligious thoughts, lemme jest review some of yer follow-ups. Like,
come in here last month, and you sed:
hear Samuel Rosen say: 'Your honor, the witness
they are bringing into this case, Jesse Prince, was second
in command of the Church of Scientology.'"
Well, shet my mouf'!
I guess that jest about seals the deal, don't it!
Yessiree, Yessie-Jesse! That's means that if it comes from YOU, it's jest
GOTS to be the real thing! And so if YOU don't mention CST, then, by God,
CST don't exist! And if YOU say Miscavige is in charge, then, by God,
I has to tell you, I got a little burr under my saddle
here, and let me tell you why.
See, it struck me
as REAL odd back a few months ago when that VERY SAME
legal whore stood up in court and put the following on the record.
Righteous Rosen gratuitously sed:
ROSEN: And Mr. Henson,
at the time of this posting that you
repeated a subject line, you had never even seen Mr.
Miscavige, the worldwide ecclesiastical leader of the Church
of Scientology, had you?
Now, ain't that a
fuckin' head-scratcher, Yessie-Jesse? Here is Mr. Rosen,
this unassailable paragon of truth, this polished officer of the court--who
jest HAPPENS to have worked jowl-to-jowl with CST's favorite counselor,
Kendrick "Snow White" Moxon--making GODDAMNED SURE that he gets
it into the
record that Mr. David-the-Dunce Miscavige is the "worldwide ecclesiastical
leader of the Church of Scientology," no matter how stilted, forced,
phoney it sounds. And now this SAME Mr. Rosen, this VERY SAME tool of
CST-via-Moxon, gets up in ANOTHER court, and hands YOU all the bona-fides
YOU need to confirm that, yessie, Davey-the-Dunce is de MAN!
I believes I is gettin'
religion now! I believes I sees the light! Yessie!
Massah Miscavige sho' IS de Big Boss Man. Yessie, dat's de troof. Ah knows,
'cause YOU was de SECOND Big Boss Man, and you SEZ SO! Jes' ask de
always-trooful Massah Rosen dere. He'll tell you. And dere ain't no sech
thang as the haints called CST. Nosuh. Dey ain't nobody. Dey don' exist.
Dey's jest like the boogey-man; dey's jest like the green balls of light
that go glowin' and rollin' down dirt roads late at night near the hangin'
tree: it's all jes' a figment of my overheated imaginashun!
I am jest overWHELMED
with the august authority of your references, Mr.
Yessie-Jesse. They are impeccable. And I couldn't help but notice that
wanted to make DAMNED SURE we all fully received and understood your
endorsement from CST's (wdne) mouthpiece-once-removed, Samuel Rosen, 'cause
you came back in here this week and REMINDED us all, when you sed:
lead counsel Sandy Rosen identified me as
having been the #2 person in control of all of Scientology."
you seem downright ENAMORED of that endorsement
from CST's mouthpiece-once-removed. And, like him, and like RV before
you're about as subtle as a hydrogen bomb, too. I 'spect we'll be seein'
on your resume 'fore long!
we're proud of it FOR you, Yessie-Jesse. We sure are;
jest proud enough to bust a button!
And since we all
got it completely nailed down here, now, that no one is to
have the effrontery to question anything you say, let's find out what
trumpeted, holy, consecrated message you are bringing on your low-swingin'
Sweet Chariot. Show us the tablets, prophet! Reveal to us the truth!
And, lo! Yessie-Jesse
DID reveal to the heathens the troof, the whole
troof, and nothin' but the troof, so help him Rosen. And he moved amongst
us, and he spake thusly:
was taken over by David Miscavige..."
Rise to Corruption..."
Scientology's new dictator..."
[Forget about CST.
You are getting sleeeeepy...]
was made by a trustee of RTC who is also the
managing agent of the entire Scientology empire, David
specifically stated that ASI was 'already
dealing with the problem', ridding ASI of any documents that
would implicate L. Ron Hubbard as managing agent of
[There is no CST.
They do not own or control ANYTHING. Sleeeep.]
Ron Hubbard's death, David Miscavige has been
the self-appointed managing agent of Scientology..."
who run the intelligence network are in RTC,
the most senior organization within all of Scientology. ..."
[CST is the Seven
Dwarves, digging little mines. Sleep Sleeeeep!]
gave orders that..."
Wha'? What happened? Did I doze off there? You know, I
wuz jest thinkin'. I sure am glad we got it all settled that Mr. David
Miscavige is completely in control and charge of the entire Scientology
empire, the soo-preme dictator, and always has been, and that he owns
controls all the copyrights and trademarks, and everybody dances at the
of his strings, 'cause he is all-powerful, and is the greatest evil genius
that ever lived in all of time, and that there ain't no sech thing as
(Well, there IS, of course, but they ain't NOTHIN' 'cept some little
monkish guys diggin' holes in the desert--because Mr. Miscavige ordered
them too, of course. Copyrights? Trademarks? Them? Don't be ridiculous.
don't care how many copyright registrations and signed documents you can
show me. Go away!) Why, hell, Mr. Miscavige even has the IRS, FBI, CIA--the
whole GODDAMNED GOVERNMENT under his thumb, blackmailed, scared SHITless,
just a gol-durned minute, here. Why, that means... Well,
let me see. Mr. Miscavige is an OPERATING THETAN. And them guv'mint
agencies is all WOGS. So... Why... Well, that can only mean ONE THING!!!!
S C I E N T O L O
G Y W O R K S!
Jesus, I b'lieve I has had a EPIPHANY, here! Oh, thank
you, thank you, Yessie-Jesse Prince! (Just adding my thanks to those of
op Kim Baker!) Ah am SAVED!
Now lemme' witness!
Lemme' witness! Lemme' give my Success Story!
Testing. Testing, 1, 2, 3. Is this on? Okay.]
Listen, you humble-pie-eatin',
sanctimonious, smooth-crawlin' worm: there
are OTHER players on the fuckin' field now, all of whom know EXACTLY how
you low-life, covert, blood-gorged, slime-coated leeches work. So pass
through your guv'mint whore handler, and tell her to get the fucking
message ACROSS this time.
The word is out on
CST, *and* on the dog-humpers that are behind THEIR
asses. You never expected to get as much exposure as you've gotten. It
happened too fast, too unexpectedly, and you've all been trying to do
Keystone Cops catch-up cover-up ever since. But it ain't playing in Muncie,
fuckhead. Your scripted, well-financed plays are like
The-Third-Grade-Does-Broadway-Hits. Your redundant "talking points"
Davey-the-Dunce and RTC are about as delicate and sly as a pile-driver.
The documents proving--yes,
I said PROVING--CST's ownership and control of
the copyrights and trademarks are not only all over the fucking 'net,
are safely squirrelled away in more places than you will ever know to
The toothpaste is out of the fucking tube, and you ain't EVER going to
it put back.
Some of the players
involved with CST are scared out of their fucking
minds, because THEY know that THEY know too much, and THEY know that THEY
In fact, I notice
that in yer latest post, asshole, you're already setting
one or two of them up to go down with Miscavige. Oh, that must make 'em
feel *real* secure! They thought they were safe. They thought they were
top fucking dogs, didn't they. But I notice you sed:
"Out of all
the so-called 'brilliant leaders' in Scientology
during the time I was there, the only major players that had
a college education were the lawyers. ...[T]he attorneys
have played DM, who never even finished high school, for a
total fool. Soon he will be thrown away... . I believe for
me to reveal or speak against those particular attorneys
could threaten my life. However, in the event of death,
what I know has been written down and will survive me."
Ignoring for the
moment (out of a sense of good sportsmanship) the fact
that you are now forced into doing a 180 on your "Miscavige is all"
that bit about your life being in danger from the attorneys is a VERY
touch! Get a fucking clue, idiot: the only guarantee on your life is to
POST IT TO THE INTERNET--IF you really have the inside dope on something
don't already know, and IF you are what you say you are. Then YOU don't
count for shit. Then YOU don't matter to them. Idiot. Because then
EVERYBODY knows it. What are they going to do: wipe out everybody?
You think that you
can put over on even gelatin-heads the idea that your
"safety" depends utterly on your being the ONE guy in the whole
world who knows who these alleged all-powerful backroom lawyers are? If
really THAT stoopid, who does yer typing for you?
But since you're
jest a lying motherfucker, you ain't going to post what
you know about "The Attorneys." That ain't what yer orders are.
are jest to drop some sly fucking hints about some of the attorneys,
because you fucks have been FORCED into it by all the revelations you
expected to be made, and SOMEBODY might have to take a fall now besides
Which of the low-life
motherfuckers are you setting up to take the fall
with Dum-Dum David? Stephen Lenske? (Surely not Sherman. Naw, he'll have
his ass covered.) Heller? Misterek? Hell, even Meade? Somebody else?
Like I actually give
a flying fuck.
I noticed, too, that
WallowSlime's own personal bow-wow Intel Agent, Joe
Harrington--also linked to the good-old Snow White Op, and to Sharon
Thomas--has jumped in to endorse yer ass--along with WallowSlime his own
Well, I figure the
ONLY possible explanation for Wollyslime's case having
dragged out for SIXTEEN FUCKING YEARS is that it is, and always has been,
part of yer op.
It was, after all,
part of THE catalyst for the big corporate shake-up
engineered by Lenske that GAVE us CST, RTC and the rest of the fuckin'
of misfit corporations (jest ax yer Handler, Stacy-the-Schtup, or read
affidavits), and has been there all along as the safety-net should anybody
get onto yer fucking schemes.
So, WallowSlime plays
catcher for the copyrights and trademarks if it all
really goes to hell, and, in the meantime, you have a nice foil to play
both sides of the fuckin' game with, and to run up billable hours fer
buddies, right? Don't bother--rhetorical question. (That's the new org
fer all of Scientology now, ain't it: Billable Hours. Don't
You guys are a fucking
But send this message
out on yer Dick Tracy wrist radio: tell 'em the
fuckin' party's over.
Oh, by all means,
keep comin' in here entertainin' the troops. It's fun to
watch yer lap dogs jumpin' around on their hind legs, doin' tricks fer
and snappin' and lappin' up yer treats.
But while yer puttin'
on yer little dog'n'pony show, if you hear laughter
behind you, DON'T, fer God's sake, turn around. It's jest because we're
watchin'. And yer ass is hangin' out.
The most outrageous
lies that can be invented
will find believers if a man only tells them
with all his might.
ace of clubs