Article for ClearNFO.com

I believe ever so strongly that I discovered a CIA led plot to assassinate Obama while he was sitting president. This to install Biden a la JFK and LBJ. The story is long and multifaceted, as the CIA works hard to stay in the shadows and has excellent personnel, believers, even when creating horrific false flag events like 9/11, JFK’S or so many others. And why is it I alone discovered this plot, doomed to fail, though that not guaranteed? I was to be the patsy, a Lee Harvey Oswald for a new generation. I wrote a blog, banned by Facebook, Instagram and Twitter which suggests that I am correct in my assertion of having discovered and ultimately foiled the aforementioned CIA plot. Anna Chapman was a Russian spy uncovered by the FBI in NYC in 2010. Arrested for spying, jailed and exchamged for Sergei Skrivopal, who would later be poisoned by other Russian spies using deadly nerve agent, Novichok in the UK. I had met Anna Chapman two years earlier in Moscow when she came to my office at the Yellow Pages of Russia unannounced and uninvited. I was CEO. Anna came on to me but I dodged and weaved feeling negative vibes from her which overcame the advantage nature had given her in the former of her bosom. Better men that me she had stalked and overcome. But my radar said she was up to no good, likely had a 'sugar daddy', hence her executive director position at Saint Petersburg based Russian company Kit Finance-owned Gdeetotdom.com, a Russian real estate website. I lacked imagination to think her sugar daddy was in reality it a three letter national security agency, this time ever a Russian one, the FBI, child of the dreaded earlier KGB. In time I would learn why she, a Russian spy, had spent significant time and effort to enter my orbit. She was clearly under direction of her spy masters, those at a higher level who had agreed to set her on me at the behest of their counterparts at Langley. An affair with Anna Chapman, however possibly delightful, was nothing I seriously considered. I would be led to divorce only in 2012 by an ethnic Russian, Uzbek national named Evgeniya Kosheleva who would succeed where Anna failed. In public, I was a successful American businessman residing and working in Russia in the telecommunications sector in executive management roles and having served for a time as Chairman of the Executive Committee of the Americqn Chamber of Commerce in Saint Petersburg, a role that I had enjoyed and being selected by KPMG and the Russian Management Association in 2003 as the 20th best commercial director in Russia, and the third in the telecommunications sector. This report came our while I was commercial director of Comstar Telecommunications, a Moscow based, all digital city wide fixed line telephone network, the first allowed by Russian law after the fall of the Soviet Union with a foreign investor as Russia opened up its lapidated telecommunications sector to foriegn investment, technology and marketing having recently becoming a millionaire, and while far from being faithful to my beautiful Russian wife in my private life, who in time, by June 2014 I learned had long ago betrayed me, for her role as a conspirator in the CIA plot to assassinate Obama and blame me as patsy. Svetlana would have gotten my wealth then which was approximately $2,000,000 via our son Nick as he would inherit it upon my death which CIA had planned for using a variety of outcomes for their decades long in the making scheme, either I was to be patsy for an assassination attempt on Obama or I was intended to be arrested and jailed, then shanked in prison likely in response to my file likely created by FBI under CIA direction which likely had me on the terrorist watch list among other things and used what in ‘targeted individual’ lingo is called a ‘parallel construction’ a file on you created by the police to justify their use of resources in surveilling, investigating, gangstalking and gaslighting ‘targeted individuals’ like me and NSA whistleblower Karen Stewart, untrue behaviors based upon falsified criminal intent so as to drive the ‘targeted individual’ towards career breakdown, divorce, separation from family, destitution, prison, a psychiatric hospital, or the street as a homeless person deprived of job, family and friends. Svetlana had in the course of our relationship indulged my sexual proclivities for a time and drug use, with apparent intent to be able to maintain the lifestyle to which she had grown accustomed to as my bride for several years. Her role would have been similar to the wife of Lee Harvey Oswald, who backed up the false flag story and as a result was kept comfortable. In retrospect I wonder how disappointed Svetlana was, when I uncovered the entire plot, her role, her unbeknownst to me relationship with Alexander Tregubov who in 2013 would make me believe he was intent upon killing me, and so I abandoned done Russia to retreat tactically to the US. As I said, I strongly believe I was to be patsy for a false flag event, specifically a US presidential assassination attempt to be led and controlled by the CIA, the likes of which had not been seen since 1963 for which I was to be blamed as assassin. Poor JFK. I weep for him, knowing what I know. Him and Lee Harvey Oswald. Anna Chapman coming on to me in Moscow in 2008 was a clue that pointed to the FSB’s cooperation with their sister spy service, the CIA. It is my belief that national spy agencies collaborate together on a project by project basis. In time I would learn that I had been set upon by an international team of German, Norwegian, British, Russian, Canadian and American spies. One American spy, senior NCIS agent Douglas Boyce, resident at 313 Sage Road, Virginia Beach, VA, had made significant effort to befriend me and to build a trusting relationship with me when we both worked in Saint t Petersburg, Russia in the early 2000s. Doug was general manager of the Lomonosov Porcelain Factory, a hallowed Russian national treasure dating back to the days of the Tsars, while I was commercial director of the city’s biggest all digital phone network, PeterStar Telecommunications. Doug and I also concurrently served on the American Chamber of Commerce in Saint Petersburg with me in the position of Chairman, and Doug a board member. Doug had even pursued hiring me away from the phone company to join him in his miraculous factory. I was flattered but gently refused as I had been trained for 6 years in the US Navy in all sorts of digital communication and radar systems, and felt I was better employed by a high tech company than a porcelain factory, regardless of how well revered. Flash forward to 2014. I had retreated from Russia to the US in late 2013 under what I was led to believe was a death threat from two Russians, Alexander Valerievich Tregubov, whom I would later learn had been my Russian wife’s backdoor man for many a year and his cohort ethnic Armenian Egish Kharchatrian. I had believed I had rescued a petite brunette 21 year old prostitute named Evgeniya Viktorovna Kosheleva from the Saint Petersburg city center whore house where she had resided for two years and had worked under the direction of the aforementioned Alexander Tregubov, who claimed to be her pimp and lover. He proudly boasted that he such arrangements with several your women. I never pursued the matter as I found Alexander unsettling and odd, though was initially grateful that he and Genya provided me my first threeway sex experience, something that I will never forget. Egish had supposedly been in on this as a human trafficker bringing Evgeniya from far away failed factory town Angren, Uzbekistan, a former Soviet city in the Fergana valley. Evgeniya claimed to be in love with Alexander, this a well acted lie told to me in 2011 that I would only learn in 2014 but left the whore house with me, her number one John for those two years. And me, having lost my beloved 79 year old mother Catherine Macy in a Wellesley, MA ICU in 2011 to COPD, had fallen head over heels for petite Evgeniya after that death, I had made the decision to rescue this dark haired beauty from a life that could only ultimately damage her. Sex and death are funny things, linked together as they are. In retrospect, this idea of rescuing a prostitute was crazy, though a key in my uncovering the failed CIA Obama assassination plot. I had convinced myself that Isaac Asimov’s laws of robotics applied to me, that I could not knowingly let Evgeniya come to what I perceived as harm and a dim future as a whore, under the control of self proclaimed pimp Alexander Tregubov who I mistakenly believed was simply using her and taking a cut from the money she earned on her back at that bordello where we had met abandoning her young fatherless son Andrushka to her single impoverished mother in Angren, Uzbekistan, so very far away from Saint Peterxburg. I have no regrets in this matter, for I learned much as I tried to bring Evgeniya into what I believed was my world full of millionaires and the well to do, where she would be relatively safe, receive a higher education, a career, and the possibility to raise her fatherless son in a level unknown to her parents, dirt poor Russians in Angren who had failed to return to Russia after the break up of the Soviet Union, when most Russian, perhaps those better off had fled as the ethnic Uzbeks took control of their new nation. Ultimately I failed in this and decided I would enter her world in my harried attempt to save her and perhaps myself. We would live together three times especially in 2012 and 2013, she would facilitate my divorce, we would injest large amounts of amphetamine, I would add to this fine hashish smoked with tobacco in manner most European and have a very full sex life, for in this we both had an interest. In September 2013, as part of an amphetamine fueled argument as I had caught her in yet another lie, Evgeniya informed me that Alexander and Egish planned to kidnap me and slit my throat as retribution for persuading Evgeniya to forsake life as a prostitute, to enter into a relationship with me, and live with my support and under my protection. My then ex wife Svetlana Macy, mother of our son, he an only child soon to be 21, and also part of my tale also informed me that Alexander had called her by dialling my son’s mobile number and had informed her of his intent to kill me. She relayed this to me heartlessly yet also lyrically and with pride. Only in June of 2014 would Svetlana admit to me of her role in this plot and that she and Alexander had been long time lovers, all that time ever in the dark and behind my back. She told me this as I resided as a guest of Douglas Boyce, now in the employ of the NCIS at a GS-15 level, residing at the aforementioned beach home in Virginia Beach. During my stay, Douglas told me that while many of the Russian locals had suspected that I, an American boy, was actually a CIA spy in Russia, the truth was that Douglas, an Army veteran, had been in the employ of the CIA while in Russia running that porcelain factory. This set off alarm bells for me, for I had neither an active security clearance nor a fabled need to know. I had served in the US Navy and held a secret security clearance and later I held again a secret clearance while employed as an international sales manger responsible at first for Middle Eastern and Latin American sales, later promoted to serve the larger Far Eastern market by legendary Watkins-Johnson Company, now part of LeonardoDRS, maker of the radio receiver the burglars used to listen to the bug they had planted in the early 1970s Watergate Hotel break-in, and was therefore mildly familiar with the rules about the handling of government secrets, as having been in the employ of the CIA while working in Russia would likely at least to me remain a secret. Why had Doug Boyce told me conversationally in his Virginia Beach home that he had been a CIA spy in Russia, one night after dinner as the two of us entered into an after dinner habit of conversing in his basement as went about this and that prepared by his formerly Russian wife Elena, a striking blonde who gave up her Russian citizenship in favor of a US one, in order to help facilitate husband Doug’s career in the employ of the NCIS that he was a CIA spy? Those with foreign wives would be limited in their careers due to national security concerns and rules based upon that. In early 2014 why had NCIS agent Doug Boyce appeared to break these well established rules to reveal himself to me as a CIA spy? First Anna Chapman in Russia working for the FSB, and now Douglas Boyce in Russia for the CIA and then Virginia for the NCIS, and both spies tangential to my life. And both clues to the greater mystery that would expose itself as a CIA led plot to kill Obama, blame me, and mindfuck, just like in 1963 and again in 2011, the world, while installing Biden again a la JFK and LBJ. This answering the question as to why Biden hadn't chosen to run for president immediately after Obama, he hadn't thought he would have to. I believe Biden to be aware of and complicit in the CIA's failed plan to murder Obama. Back to Russian citizen, ethnic Armenian Egish Kharchatrian, for he would provide another important clue. Having learned that my ex wife had conspired with Alexander to divorce and to defraud me of my luxurious city center apartment in Saint Petersburg, Russia, I intended to return to Russia with the support of Douglas Boyce, our mutual acquaintance, Daniel Mead, Head of Security for McClellan and Marsh in their London office, and the crimes against foreigners department of the Saint Petersburg city police force, to arrest both Alexander and Egish for their death threat and related shenanigans. I therefore called to Alexander’s common law wife, Irina Klimova, and was surprised to hear Egish answer the line. He howled into the phone how I would be this generation’s Lee Harvey Oswald, and that they would get me and Obama too. What madness was this I thought at the time. Only later when White House intruder, Omar Gonzalez went over that fabled fence and into history, would I understand what Egish had meant. Omar was a CIA back up plan likely gangstalked in the US by the CIA’s junior partner, the FBI, using psy ops as I bepieve they did in manipulating Timothy McVeigh into becoming the Oklahoma City bomber, while I was to have been the real deal. While staying in Virginia Beach, first as guest of NCIS agent Doug Boyce and later as a room renting tenant of Shari Faller, I had taken to recounting to Doug all that had and was happening to me related initially to the false death threat that caused me to retreat from Russia to the US in October 2013, to silk road drug dealer Adam Stanhope trying to get me into drugs and to join him in his criminal online venture, to then ex-wife Svetlana confessing to me in June 2014 that she with Alexander and Egish and Genya had conspired against me in an effort to defraud me, to Egish threatening me on the phone at about that same time, “Rick we will turn you into this generation’s Lee Harvey Oswald! We will get you and Obama too!” I also informed Doug as to Jason Smolek telling me that the date of the u solved roof fire at the building where I resided in Russia had occurred on JFK’s virthday. Doug always responded with interest, and I had believed him to be in a unique position to protect and aid me given our long relationship and that he held a senior position in US law enforcement. Doug repeatedly posed the question,”what juice is worth the squeeze?” as I described to him all that had happened to me up to and including being chased by up to 40 cars immediately after Svetlana had made her admission to me. After a night sending Doug Boyce the pictures I had taken of the cars pursuing me for him to assess, I ended up spending the night in his driveway as he was away with family on vacation, and it appeared to be the only place the cars didn’t harass me, Doug called me in the morning to inform me that the cars I had photographed did not appear to be following me, that perhaps I had a psychological condition, that I had misperceived much in my life, and all in all Doug turned my world upside down as he blew my mind. I simply couldn’t understand all that I had been and was experiencing. I had believed that my problems went back to Russia, to Svetlana and Alexander, and that their goal was to get back together, raise my son, steal all of my assets and get rid of me in some fashion. The cars pursing me caused me to question that paradigm for where would Alexander and Svetlana get the resources to finance 40 cars and drivers to pursue and harass me for over a week? The payoff of getting my son and my stuff simply wouldn’t be enough to pay back their criminal investment. What juice was worth this squeeze indeed? A few days after Doug blew my mind, I loaded my car and departed the 3205 Sandfiddler Road home where I had rented a room from Shari Faller, who I would learn in time was another FBI gangstalker, to drive all night heading North to the home I once owned in Victor, NY pursued by the 40 vehicles. The key event that pushed me to abandon Virginia Beach was an effort by Shari to entrap me with an arson charge. The home had an electric stove/oven that would, when used get stuck with the oven on at 400’ Fahrenheit, requiring it to be moved from the wall and unplugged to turn it off. Shari asked me to move the oven and to unplug it as it was stuck on again at 400’. I complied. When I went to plug the oven back in and push it to its place in the kitchen against the wall between some counteracts, I noticed that someone had stuffer a great amount of balled up paper into the exhaust line of the stove. This paper hadn’t been there when I disconnected the oven. Someone had taken the time to put that paper into the exhaust line since the few hours earlier, when I had unplugged that electric oven. By then I had concluded that Shari Faller and roommate Jon Poiliot Jr. were deceptive and seemed intent on getting me into drugs again. I had not yet understood that they were likely undercover FBI gangstalkers as I hadn’t enough data yet to make such a conclusion. This would only happen by 2016 after I moved self and son to Denver in an attempt to start a new life for us both. In Denver, I would get lessons in the FBI’S capabilities as they filled 19 apartments of the prestigious 1801 Skyline downtown apartment building with undercover FBI agents intent upon gangstalking, gaslighting, and entrapping me. This me reward for having escaped my CIA planned fate as a patsy for a failed false flag event. I concluded that it was Shari Faller who had stuffed paper into the ovens exhaust pipe. Why? To set me up for an arson charge with the police. This would recall the unsolved roof fire some years earlier at the building where I owned a flat in Russia having occurred on May 29th, JFK’s birthday that year. This I had concluded the CIA had planned to attribute to me in the case that they had been successful in murdering Obama, blaming me, and mindfucking the world as they had once done in 1963. I made my decision, packed up my stuff and abandoned Virginia Beach. As I drove out of Virginia Beach my GPS went haywire forcing me to stop at a convenience store to pick up an old school paper map with which to navigate my way North. Both my GPS and cellphone were under attack by the FBI apparently. This should have scared me but I could not afford myself fear. My son, still in Russia depended on me being brave, to resolve this conspiracy once and for all to get him out of Russia, away from his dangerously deceptive mother, so that he might have a life unfettered by all the darkness I had experienced. As I head for the lone tunnel out of Virginia Beach heading North, lit up signs advised drivers that the tunnel was closed due to a car accident. My gut told me this was a lie, a bluff. I continued to and through the tunnel, which in contradiction to the sign was clear of obstructions and wide open. Back to another encounter with senior NCIS agent Doug Boyce in his home at 313 Sage Road, Virginia Beach. I told Doug about Adam Stanhope, he who had hosted my initial visit to the US upon my retreat from Russia some months earlier in October 2013, even picking me up at Boston Login International Airport. I informed Doug Boyce, an officer of the law, that Adam Stanhope was dealing illegal drugs out of his father’s home in Pembroke, MA on the Internet dark web silk road under the name ‘Nawlins’. I asked Doug his advice on how best to report Adam to the relevant authorities. Doug advised me to cut individual let’s from newspapers and magazines, glue them together on a blank sheet of paper and mail this off to the local Pembroke, MA police department. This struck me as odd, seriously so. Doug was advising me to act as though I were a deranged individual from some sort of serial killer flick. I could not fathom why he would do this. I did not follow his oh so suspicious advice, and several months later reported Adam Stanhope to the DEA via their online site tip line, clearly identifying myself in the process. This was what Doug Boyce should have advised me to do and yet didn’t. Another clue. I returned to Victor, NY where I owned 2 acres of land and a 3200 square foot home, having rented it to Alice Calibrese, CEO of local Lollipop Farms animal shelter, and Dylan Chase, formerly a small shareholder in a local gym called Iron Butterfly. In short order, I evicted them both for the damage they had done to my home in their time as my tenants. I had to wait, in accordance with NY state law, 30 days for them to vacate my property. So I rented a room at a local motel in Victor, NY. While there I witnessed a CNN report on army veteran Omar Gonzalez having climbed over a fence and having entered the White House with a pocket knife. Omar reportedly had PTSD, in his trial would report hearing voices that drove him to that moment most would term crazy. What juice was worth the squeeze? This question posed repeatedly to my by NCIS agent Doug Boyce. And as if hit by lightening, I had my answer to all my questions. My problems hadn't been initiated in Russia only a few years earlier. The payoff wasn't my son, my apartment, my home in the US, my stocks, and bank account. The payoff was a false flag event that like 9/11, the Oklahoma city bombing, and the assassination of JFK in 1963 that would cause tremendous increases in the budgets of national security organs like CIA, NSA, and FBI, that would case tremendous reductions in personal liberty a la the misnamed 'Patriot Act', that would expand the powers of the surveillance state into something approaching an Orwellian nightmare. This was the juice that was worth the squeeze. Damn. My targeting had likely gone back decades and was run by some dark CIA department responsible for covert false flag events, including assassinations and bombings. This reported via the Internet by similarly targeted Swede, Ole Dammegard. Gangstalking. Targeted Individuals. Gaslighting. False Flags. PsyOps. NLP. Terms that then meant little or nothing to me for the majority of my life, now in the fullness of time and experience, most unexpected and unusual, to say the very least, are to me and I hope to you as well, dear reader, tools that our security services use in order to construct a world to be fed to the masses, the sheep, of which I was once one, and now sadly stand apart, via our corporate controlled mass media at the behest of their monied masters, those who run this, our world. Google Ole Dammegard for more in this arena. Also in 2014, an American expat I had briefly met who worked as a consultant for Russian consulting market reseach company J'son and Partners, located in Moscow, Jason Smolek, would, under the ruse of trying to aid me as a friend and fellow American expat in Russia, from having read my heartfelt Facebook posts of that time, upon my departure from Russia having learned that my wife of many years had betrayed me from the beginning of our relationship as to the conspiracy that my now ex wife was part of with Alexander, the apparent kidnapping of my then 13 year old son Nicholas by his mother (she had slunk off to Malta that summer with him without informing me in direct contradiction to our Russian divorce settlement of 2012) offered to help track them down in Russia if I would foot the bill. Jason would be able to move around freely in Russia as opposed to me, desperately residing in the United States, and being fearful for my life should I return to Russia, where I now reside for 20 years. Jason, in manner most unexpected and uncalled for, informed me that the date of an unsolved roof fire in the building, constructed pre-Russian revolution, located at Kamennostrovskiy Prospekt 35/75, Saint Petersburg, Russia that had occurred on May 29th, was also JFK’s birthday. I was once single owner of fifth floor apartment seven in this seven story architectural wonder. Post divorce, I am reduced to a 50% ownership, the other half to my fraudster ex-wife, with whom I reconciled and remarried after my return to Russia in the final days of 2016, after a 9 month stay in Denver as a single father raising my then teen son in the US for two years. As a side note, I had regained parenthood status in December 2014 when my son followed in my footsteps and fled Russia and his corrupt though beautiful mother. She a former prostitute as well. I had been her 75th and final client reportedly. That on my second trip to Russia in 1995 as a sales manager for publicly traded US defense manufacturer Harris Corporation, now L3Harris. I had been away from home and my wife for several weeks on an extended road trip to Copenhagen, the Faroe Islands and now Russia, in the formerly closed Soviet city of Gorki now renamed Nijniy Novgorod, and dared show my room key to a dark haired whore in the top floor bar at the Octoberskaya Hotel, the place to stay if you were the creme de la creme in 1995 in that city. I had expected her to follow me to my room and was surprised when a far more beautiful 21 year old goddess knocked on my door. This was Svetlana. We became acquainted for $100. I fell for her immediately. I would tell my friends she was porn star quality. She had been a successful swimmer at her Soviet high school, even beating many of the boys, this due to her genetic advantage, a gift from her divorced parents. In 1996 I would leave my first wife, a high school crush named Christine Ryan for Svetlana, for Russia, and for a job at Millicom International Cellular as the Sales and marketing director for a cell phone start up in Sierra. It was a two year contract, paid $75,000 a year, with free room, board and a car. This a 50% Increase over my Harris compensation. In four months I would lead that company, then called Kemerovskaya Mobile Communications, now a department of Rostelecom 100% owned national Russian mobile phone operator Tele2, to first place in that market of the Kuzbass region of Russia, over two incumbents in four months, largely due to Western Sales and Marketing techniques and better financing. Back to likely CIA agent Jason Smolek for a moment. Why had Jason Smolek known that my horrific roof fire of May 29th sometime around 2008 or so was on JFK’s birthday and why had he told me of this? The repair work, the mold, and more, would take some months and cost me approximately $80,000 as I had no insurance. Jason Smolek gave me another clue in retrospect. I believe the fire had been started as a false flag event by the FSB and was to have been attributed to me in the event that the CIA plot had succeeded, Obama dead, me blamed as villian, though in reality nothing more than Lee Harvey Oswald, a patsy, dead as well. In this event the FBI would have travelled to Russia to uncover my, a madman’s past. The FBI would then describe me as an intense genius, sex crazed and drug addicted, leading sophomore of my high school, selected above all classmates, honor graduate of US Navy boot camp in April of 1984, first of 640 recruits, Outstanding Performance award winner at my first US Navy technical school, Basic Electricity and Electronics, rising to graduate first in my class as a rated electronics technician with a 97.9% final average. This allowing me to select my specialised Navy Communications schools, and final assignment to a Navy ship. After courses in Norfolk Naval Base in the Raytheon manufactured AN/SPS-49 air search radar, the AN/SPS-55 surface search radar, the AN/URN-25 TACAN, the AN/SRN-12 Navaid, I would select the guided missile frigate FFG-36, the USS Underwood based in Mayport, Florida, winner of the Battenburg Cup in my first year aboard, this award given to the best ship in the Atlantic Fleet, to be my home for four years and four months, completing my six year enlistment in April of 1990. And in that time I was a 4.0 sailor, earning my Bachelors Degree in Sociology with a 4.0 GPA from Excelsior college, until a week before I completed my six year service obligation and ran into new CO, Commander Bob Rankin, him eager to make his mark as stern ship captain. Commander Rankin would see to it that my final evaluation was pulled down to a 3.6 and that my discharge, though honorable would be coded RE4, I place of the standard RE1. This meant that I was of no interest to the Navy should I seek to return and reenlist at a later date. This a black mark to potential employers, filling that younger version of me with fear and dread. Why had Ranking done this? A week before my discharge I threw a party and had posted a single flyer inviting my shipmates to join me as I 'JUST SAID NO TO REENLISTMENT’, a play on Nancy Reagan's plea to just say no to drugs. Rankin didn’t think it was funny and would make an example of me to inspire fear an compliance with my shipmates those who remained in the service. Another ploy likely due to the influence of our security services to help build the legend that would be attributed to me, a brilliant flawed individual, misunderstood by his peers and superiors, called a trouble maker for defying those in authority, a trait apparently acquired in high school, and again demonstrated in the service. Back to high school for a moment. I was an Episcopalian boy in a Catholic high school named Sacred Heart, located in Kingston, MA, where I was born and spent the first 18 years of my life. As a sophomore the school selected me as outstanding sophomore of the school and sent me for a long weekend for an off site conference with the cream of other Massachusetts high schools. Our principal, Sister Nivard, had taken a liking to me, an American student, prone to be class clown as I struggled through my teen years into early manhood. I had been beginning to dip in grades that year as things not understood like hormones, girls, beer and weed entered the fray, though was successful in my application to represent our sophomore class. I returned from the extended weekend away inspired, and had decided to focus on academic performance for I had tasted a truth unknown to me then, that there were other kids like me, destined for leadership roles. And upon my return to school after having missed the Monday as part of the event, Sister Nivard engaged me in conversation in the main lobby of the high school, asking me sarcastically if I had enjoyed my day away from school before informing me that I was 'full of shit'. This attribution set me off, my grades plummeted, my focus my after school job as assistant manager at the now defunct Kingston Drive In Theater where I was well regarded, promoted and paid, and by the end of the school year I had set the record to that time of after school detentions for speaking back to teachers and my unrivaled performance as class clown, drawing naughty and sometimes naked caricatures of the teaching staff and other students. And so with two weeks left in the school year I was hauled into the principles office castigated for being unwilling to shave my 16 year old scruff of a beard though there were no school rules on shaving, and told I was to leave, would be able to return for the finals, and there would be no record of my disenrollment in my school record. My father laughed and I was satisfied for I had hated that place since fifth grade, being the outsider, who knew not the words to the Hail Mary prayer, this in opposition to the good Catholic school children in their suits, ties, and skirts. I had liked the public school where I spent the first four grades far more, always easily top of my class and teachers pet. My parents decision to place me in the local Catholic private school transformed the boy that I was from A grades and teachers pet to outsider class clown and pot smoking joker. In my junior year I return ed to the public high school from where I had been long removed and faces I had known at an earlier age were now unfamiliar to me. I returned my senior year to Sacred Heart after my first successful sales meeting where I convinced Deputy Principal Sister Johnette that if allowed to return to graduate, I would shave, tie my tie correctly (I had worn it in quite a loose disarray my sophomore yea4 as part of my rebellion), get A grades, and be the good student she had hoped I would have been. And so I returned to Sacred Heart and got those As for the first half of the school year, keeping my promise to Sister Johnette, before breaking her heart again and enlisting in the Navy to avoid college, more beer, women, and having to select a major when I had no idea of what the world was and what that kind of decision could lead to, and its costs. I would earn my BS in Sociology at night while serving in the Navy aboard ship being the only one of my shipmates at that time to accomplish such a feat. All this and a 4.0 GPA. Brilliant indeed. And more than a little bit motivated. Just as I could not wait to leave high school, I could not wait to escape the Navy and enter I to what I believed to be the working world. This I would learn was another chapter in the decades long plot by the CIA and her affiliates to create a patsy that would pass all scrutiny. Kicked out of high school in 1981. Nearly thrown out of the Navy in 1990. All this me as parchment the CIA would draw upon in its’ mad effort to create a back story to support their plan to create for the world the legend of another troubled loner, similar to Lee Harvey Oswald, this one too, a deranged though brilliant assassin. And all the while just a patsy. In 2017, retired Anglican Church minister, Stiiv Knowers, introduced to me by Adrian Terris who had preceded me as CEO of the Saint Petersburg Yellow Pages, residing in Tallinn, Estonia, him likely an MI6 agent apparently, like Adrian, had made it clear to me as he attempted to use psyops and NLP upon me in church in Saint Petersburg to drive me towards depression and despair, that God loved what he created, a sly reference to the CIA and myself. But what Stiiv didn’t fully consider was that by 2017, and since 2012, my divorce, cohabitation with Evgeniya and two bisexual drug snorting former prostitutes Genya Klimova and Albina Taptiga, I had faced deception and gaslighting so many times, in Saint Petersburg, Russia, in Pembroke, MA, in Portland, ME, in Levant, ME, in Manhattan, NY, in Virginia Beach, VA, through my successful recapturing of the luxurious home I once owned in Victor, NY, to a sort of denouement in Denver meeting first undercover FBI agent Coy Ebell, and later US State Department Diplomat in Residence, Rocky Mountain Region, Stuart Devine, learning that all this time it was the CIA and FBI behind my mysterious setbacks, arrest in Victor NY for the misdeamenor of child endangerment, a trap set up for me under the guidance of the FBI utilizing fusion centers, the local police, ordinary criminals, neighbors, school teachers, therapists and gangstalkers. Another story for another time. The misdemeanor charge was dismissed after I agreed to plead guilty, accept two weeks therapy, and keep out of trouble for a year. I moved self and son to Denver to escape the corrupt gangstalking only to learn it wasn’t a few bad actors on the East Coast of the US and Russia, as I had hoped, but it was a truly international conspiracy featuring the real boys in blue, the CIA, the FBI, the MI6, the FSB and others, all corrupt, seeking nothing more than better stats and larger budgets. And if the expense to set up a man like me to be a loser and a patsy, is tremendous, what of it? As likely MI6 agent and friend of the retired reverend Stiiv Knowers, again my predecessor as CEO of the Saint Petersburg Yellow Pages for ten years, and my colleague in arms while he and I worked for the same owning company, Metromedia International Telecommunications, Inc, owner of both the Yellow Pages and PeterStar Telecommunications, Adrian Terris, Scotsmen residing like me, in Russia for over twenty years now and more gleefully informed me as we became reacquainted upon my return to Russia in December of 2016, met up for beers and small talk and informed him that I had uncovered a CIA plot to murder Obama, blame me, and install Biden as president and that several of our mutual acquaintances and friends in the Saint Petersburg expat community were in fact spies as Doug Boyce admitted to being. Adrian would revel himself to likely be in the employ of Briitish security agency MI6 when he took pleasure in responding to me when I informed him about my uncovering of this vast conspiracy that during the crusades those righteous European crusaders would engage in plans of deception that would last decades, even generations, to quietly tunnel successfully under enemy Muslim encampments. This, a sly reference to my targeting and gangstalking, all in effort to create the perfect patsy for a US presidential assassination attempt. Adrian practically from every pore his desire to brag about what he and others like him worked so hard to do to me. Not long after that I posted on my Facebook page my belief that Adrian was actually a British MI6 spy in Russia with my rationale backing up this conjecture well thought through. For a time in early 2017, I attended the small Anglican church here in Saint Petersburg, Russia in response to having been invited by Adrian to participate. We were still feeling each other out at that time, so for several weeks I attended service, took communion, listened with new ears the stories of old, and stayed for the after service coffee to socialise with other attendees. I was grateful to Adrian for his invitation as my social world, which I had earlier found so colorful and full had as a result of my targeting and gangstalking to a mere shadow of its former self, I spend much time at home in our city center apartment in Saint Petersburg spending time with my wife, though she continues to lie about her participation in the Russian side of the conspiracy, denying that which I discovered and advising me keep my mouth shut. Simply put I can't and won't. After posting on Facebook my belief that Adrian was a spy and had conspired to gangstalk and gaslight me as so many others had, I attended church the following Sunday and walked up with hand extended to greet Adrian. In response he ignored my hand and aggressively bumped his shoulder into me with an angry scowl on his face, as he passed saying nothing. This was an attempt to bait me I to a fight with him to position me to be in trouble with the local authorities. I took not his bait and walked out in the middle of the service, never to return. Shortly thereafter I was banned by Facebook in retaliation for my documenting what I had experienced and learned. Twitter an Instagram allow me my accounts though they block the Web address of the blog I set up in response to Facebook earlier banning me for 30 days at a time in response to my truth to power posts. The address is here should you have interest to learn more about my story: Plottoassassinateobama.blogspot.com I wouldn't wish my path as a 'targeted individual' on anyone, and pray that in due course these conspiracies and false flag events put upon us by our well financed security agencies to promote their own agendas will be exposed, wither and die, but I feel that day is a long way off. Stay strong. I do. )) For more read my blog, banned by Facebook, and censored by Instagram, and Twitter...