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From: Ace of Clubs <aoc@blackjack.not>
Subject: Re: $MI ($cientology Mission International)
Date: 1999/02/26
Message-ID: <199902260138.CAA24446@replay.com>
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Newsgroups: alt.religion.scientology


Well. bless my soul! Here I wander back into the Valley of Spam, and
what. to my wondering eyes, does appear, but a genyooowine,
boner-fide, copyrighted, sanctified, plague-ridden post from my good
friend and fox-hole buddy, Gerry-the-Germ Armstrong--floating like a
turd in a punch-bowl filled with Spam-jelly.

Hel-l-l-l-l-l-ooooo, Ger! Gawd! It's good to see you, boy!

You know, you slinked off so quiet-like when I kept axin' you where
you got those photographs of L. Ron Hubbard from, that I thought you
might never slither back out into daylight. But, Praise the Lord! He
hath delivered you back amongst us! Not smellin' any more like a rose,
mind you--you still got that loamy bouquet about you, boy--but yer
HERE, by God, and that's what counts!

Now, before I get back to my questions concerning those
photographs--which you never answered, by the way, Ger--I want you to
know that I have not neglected you entirely. No, I have not. I have
monitored your fortunes, your comings and goings here on the
newsgroup. I have. It may have seemed to you that I was inattentive,
that I was out of touch. But, Ger, rest assured: I would no more turn
my attention fully away from you than I would from a scorpion that was
crawling toward my crotch.

So I couldn't help but make a tiny little note here on my blotter,
circled in red, about that limpwristed backhand you threw at me when
you thought I wasn't around a few weeks back. 'Low me to refresh yer
memory, Ger:

You sed:

In any event it appears that the work of Aceofclubs (sic), the
librarian and the more specifically articulated of the goals over
there in Veritasland are to (1) black PR Robert Vaughn Young, (2)
black PR Gerry Armstrong and (3) get everyone else to believe
that some untouchable attorneys in CSTare (sic) responsible for
whatever there is to be responsible for...

Why, Ger, I believe you are onto us! You have routed this
conspiratorial cabal; you have put us all into a blender and hit
"Puree." With this single incisive deduction, you even may have caught
up with wgert. No, you have passed him! You have lapped him!

Good God, man, you are a work of wonder. I kneel and kiss the ground
where you walk. You are the Pieta of a.r.s. If ever I could acquire
your grace and ease of marbleized liquid lying, I, too, might hope to
someday look like Jesus.

But, Ger--I know Jesus. Jesus wuz a friend of mine. And, Ger: yer no

In fact, I had to snort through my beard (Naw--it ain't the Jesus
kind; think Garth Hudson) as I watched that sweet little Miss Marie,
over there in "Veritasland," jerk yer shorts down around yer neck, and
expose you for the Jesus-huggin' liar that you are. Remember, Ger? She
asked you real polite-like to either prove yer lyin'-assed
allegations, or retract them. And did you answer the kind lady? Why,
no, Ger. No, you didn't. In fact, you studiously ignored her, and just
slinked off the newsgroup--JEST like you did when I axed you about

Oh, dear me! It seems the wheel is still in spin. 'Cause here we are,
Gerbil, back to those troublesome photographs.

PLEASE, Ger! Please, won't you share with the newsgroup who yer
FRIENDS were that you got those lobotomy pictures of L. Ron Hubbard
from? WHERE were they taken, Ger? WHO took them? WHAT, EXACTLY, had
they done to the Old Man? And what about that fucking CAT, Ger?

The cat... The cat... Something about cats around here. Oh, yes! This:

Delgado, J.M.R. (1952) Responses evoked in waking cat by
electrical stimulation of motor cortex. Amer. J. Physiol., 171,

Alonso de Florida, F., & Delgado, J.M.R. (1958) Lasting
behavioral and EEG changes in cats induced by prolonged
stimulation of amygdala. Am.J.of Physiol.193, 223-229.

Oh, but that was the earlier work--right around the time Delgado and
Jolly West were dicking around in back rooms with their CIA buddies,
and the Old Man was busy exposing all their dirty work with Dianetics.
Delgado graduated, though, didn't he. Oh, yes! He went on to bigger
and better things, didn't he:

Delgado, J.M.R. (1967) Social rank and radio-stimulated
aggressiveness in monkeys. J. Nerv. Ment. Dis. , 144, 383-390.

Plotnick, R., Mir, D., & Delgado, J.M.R. (1968) Aggression,
noxiousness and brain stimulation in unrestrained thesus
monkeys.In Eleftherion, G.F., ed. Physiology of aggression and
defeat, pp.143-221. New York: Plenum Press.|#SB51-8

Delgado, J.M.R., Mark, V., Sweet , W., Ervin, F., Weiss, G.,
Bach-y-Rita, G., & Hagiwara, R. (1968) Intracerebral radio
stimulation and recording in completely free patients, J.of
Nervous and Mental Disease, 147, 329-340.|#tnf_j6

Mark VH, Ervin FR, Sweet WH & Delgado J (1969) Remote telemeter
stimulation and recording from implanted temporal lobe
electrodes. Confinia neurol. 31: 86-93.

Then he gained some unwanted notoriety with:

Delgado,J.M.R. (1969) Physical Control of the Mind (Harper and

Didja know, Ger, that old J.M.R. actually stopped a charging bull in
his tracks by remote control? Electrical brain stimulation! Cool, huh,
Ger? Things yer buddies--I'm sorry, I mean the spooks--*really* get
off on, huh? Fuckin' bull fergot to wear his tin-foil hat! Ha! Whut a
fuckin' joke!

But ol' J.M.R. wasn't done yet, was he? Why, hell no!

In fact, right around the time the Old Man disappeared for ten
months--December 4, 1972, wasn't it?--Delgado had definitely hit the
big time:

Kupfer, D.J., Detre, T.P., Fonster, G., Tucker, G.J., & Delgado,
J.M.R. (1972) The application of Delgado's telemetric mobility
recorder for human studies.

Delgado JMR (1972) [re. freewill] The Humanist. 1972. [Camellion

Fonster, F.G., Kupfer, D., Weiss, G., Lipponen, V., McPartland,
R., & Delgado, J.M.R. (1972) Mobility recording and cycle
research in neuropsychiatry.

Delgado, J.M.R., Obrador, S., & Martin-Rodriquez, J.G. (1973)
Two-way radio communication with the brain in psychosurgical
patients, In L.V.Laitinen & Livingston (ed.), Surgical
approaches in psychiatry, Lancaster, England, Medical &
Technical Publishing.

Delgado, J.M.R., Sanguinetti, A.M., & Mora, G. (1973) Aggressive
behavior in gibbons modifies by caudate and central gray
stimulation. Interntional Research Comunications System Medical
Science, Spt., 16-2-32.

Good God! Wonder who the lucky stiff was he got to experiment on?

Spooky shit, huh, Ger? Nothin' you'd know anything about, right?

And you ain't gon' answer NONE of my questions, are you, Ger?

Well, never mind, Germ-Worm. Fact is, we don't need yer data--"we"
bein' me and all my 422 co-conspirators, plus the mouse in my pocket.
It's all comin' out in the wash, Ger. I jest sure hope you ain't left
any fergotten skid marks anywhere, boy.

Now, next installment, we're going to get around to that little
episode in 1972, Morocco, with the secret police and the E-meters;
you're going to avoid some more questions about WHO ELSE--besides
Peter Warren and Amos Jessup--met with General Muhammad Oufkir; why
Oufkir tried to shoot King Hassan II's airplane out of the sky on 16
August 1972, when Hassan was returning from PARIS--just a few months
before the infamous Paris indictment rumor broke that supposedly sent
the Old Man flying off to New York.

(Help me out, here, Ger: What wuz that operation called? I
disremember. Wuzn't it "Startled Hare," or something along those
lines? Something somebody buckin' fer a guv'mint pension would dream
up. Ah, fuck it. It's academic now, ain't it?)

We might even get around to chewin' the fat over why Henry Kissenger
arrived in Paris on 20 November 1972 for "peace talks" <snort!>, then
broke them off on 25 November--just DAYS before the announcement comes
down the chute that the Old Man might get extradited to Paris. That
announcement arrives in Morocco right around the 1st of December,
everbody bails, the Old Man catches a plane to New York--and,
lo-and-behold! Old Henry K. resumes his "peace talks" the very same
day! Imagine that!

Yes, that same day LRH took off with his good friends Paul
Preston--"former" Special Forces (Green Beret) grunt--and the
fun-loving Jim Dincalci, whose idea of a good time was to get x-rays
done of the fatty lymphoma on top of the Old Man's head. (Hey, Ger,
wonder why the Coroner's report doesn't mention that very prominent
distinguishing mark. Any thoughts? Never mind.)

Gosh, Ger! There is so MUCH to talk about! 'Cept, Ger, it seems you
don't do much talkin' in these little campfire chats we have. You
sorta' jest lay low, like ol' Brer Worm, and don' say nuttin'!

Well, now, I'm not gonna be like that with you, Ger. You don't seem to
want to answer any of ol' Ace's questions, but I'm gon' be po-LITE,
like my momma taught me, and answer YER question. You axed:

>Does anyone know if the set of Hubbard orders which lay out his
>plan (he called it a "billion dollar caper) for $elling
>$cientology franchises has ever been webbed?
>Here's a little bit of Hubbard from his despatch to Sue Mithoff
>dated September 10, 1979:


Oh, Ger, Ger, Ger. Tsk. There you go, slippin' into being that lying
little sack-o-shit motherfucker that just barely manages to run an
autonomic nervous system and has butt-crust. God, boy! You know damned
well the Old Man didn't write that crap. In fact, YOU know who DID
write it, Ger. YOU K-N-O-W. There, I answered yer fuckin' question for
you, jest like Miss Manners says.

(Do you love it when my teeth <GLINT> in the sun like that, Ger? RV
did. He jest LOVED it! Don't see him around these parts much of late.)

>There are about 20 typed pages in this set of Hubbard $MI
>documents. ...

Yeah, and more diarrhea dribbles down yer chin. WHO typed them pages,
Gerbil-Boy? WHO typed the cute little asterisks at the bottom? Go on,
Ger--you can tell! You're here with yer good foxhole buddies. The ones
with the permanent, fixed grins, Ger. The ones that smile at you all
the time, all the time, all the time. And sometimes, sometimes, when
the light is right, they almost seem to move, don't they.

Well, Ger, despite all this fun, the melted clock on the wall says
it's time fer ol' Ace to gather his beef jerky and toothpicks, and
mosey off into the desert night.

But before I go, I want to remind to you try and pick up yer very own
copy of the "COPYRIGHTS" series that some industrious AnonyMouse took
upon his-or-her-self to post to this newsgroup. (Rest assured, Ger, it
WUZ one of my cabalistic minions.) Slip a copy into yer Bible, next to
the Book of Job, where you'll remember to read all about the


copyrights that have passed into the possession and control of those
touchable, accessible, huggable, loveable, up-front, on-Source, and
responsible-fer-not-a-God-DAMNED-bad-thing attorneys over there at
CST. You know, Ger--the ones that me and that Librarian (do you worry
I might be shaggin' her in the cloakroom, Ger, and you get jealous and
hot?) and my close, close, dear foxhole buddies over on Planet Veritas
jest made up. I mean, we all TALK about them CST attorneys, so we must
all be in on it together, right, Ger--jest makin' it all up? Might one
of us even be a plant, forging records at the U.S. Copyright Office?
Think about it, Ger. Yeah, that's it: we got us a plant inside the
Copyright Office, jest like the Snow White days! Yeah. And we got 'em
to enter


false copyright-transfer entries into the computer, just so we could
all conspire to torment you, and to divert attention away from poor,
picked-on Davey Miscavige, because he's really the Head Dawg, the
Mastermind, and my personal sweetheart hero.

We're jest makin' it all up, Ger. Together. It's a conspiracy.

You stupid, miserable, cretinous, dumb little lying fuck.


Sentio aliquos togatos contra me conspirare.

--(c) GA-GA


ace of clubs




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