Episoder
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Sometimes my multi-interest black ops takes the form of fiasco that comes from no other source than commonplace mediocrity and a series of mildly ill gotten circumstance, but I know that there is a highly paid operative sitting in front of a computer screen somewhere, patently crafting my downfall. Here’s a tale of a sneaker sole, a blood donation, a an exercise routine, a shopping trip gone-not terribly wrong, or even slightly wrong-just a bit sour enough to place me in a resting state of discomfort and disadvantage. And probably to trick me into having to share some deeply personal information in order to convey the intention of this specific anecdote.
This episode includes a bonus feature possible false memory at the beginning. -
I never thought I’d be here describing a possible Robin Williams lookalike operative hired to stalk me to a Hungarian bakery circa 2019, but here we are.
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Manglende episoder?
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Are gang initiates staging domestic abuse mental breakdowns on the subway in hopes of assassinating me as an incidental bystander for incentive from Scientology/the Brooks and Kargman families, or ATA?
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Here’s the tale of two long term operative friends possibly trying to use subtle suggestion to get me to sink my meager 9 months worth of retirement savings into ill informed Alibaba options, and when that failed, see if they could get me to purchase a handmade $900 umbrella when obviously I should get one for free as an influencer.
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“Covert action is a stimulating business, a heady experience for those who sponsor it and for its practitioners. If not used in moderation, it is as dangerous as any stimulant.”
-David Phillips, former CIA Officer
What’s up Y’all School of Drama. I got the above quote from “The Last Honest Man” by James Risen. I highly recommend it to anyone with time to kill while you’re sitting in a parked car near my home, watching me from a live feed hidden camera, and masturbating.
Speaking of heady experiences, I’m pretty sure my coworkers and managers and people getting paid to interact with me in a highly controlled environment have been commissioned in an elaborate scheme to covertly chip away at me using advanced psychological warfare tactics until I am a shell of my former self who appears to have inexplicably just declined after leaving Scientology. This episode is about their possible/probable attempt to Paulette Cooper me into an alcohol dependency.
Also-nobody can use these episodes as inspiration for your Netflix series. You have to come hire me and give me book deals. Happy Pride Bychess! -
Hey-if you’re a hacker or specialist with the resources to investigate and prove the extensive psychological warfare demonstrated in Vanity Fair’s “The Golden Suicides”, get in touch.
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This is the follow up to episode 116, in which I describe getting stalked by a literary agent, or someone posing as such, after I sent an email query to Bill Clegg for my dark humor memoir, “Almost Rapist”.
Here, I delve back into the James Frey scandal being complicated by the presence of two major Scientology actors in the film version of his disgraced memoir, and even touch upon the potential long range cultural impact of Will Smith’s sequel to Independence Day—Palm Sunday.
Ultimately, this episode, like this whole podcast, is about me getting screwed out of all I deserve while terrible people benefit from a society designed to keep average people from ruining too much and punish greatness.
I honestly wish I was back in the cult so I didn’t have to know all this. Nevertheless, I haven’t called the registrar just yet. I’m not a conspiracy theorist, I’m a conspiracy realist. There’s a real conspiracy against me, I just don’t know how it works exactly. -
Do you ever get the feeling that a billion dollar church has put cameras in your home in order to anticipate your next move at the laundromat in order to coordinate spies to interact with you so you’ll form delusions that your response was morally inadequate and so karmically manifested a rejection email from an arts residency in hopes of triggering your public Karen freakout? I knew I wasn’t alone in this. Thank you everyone. After only 121 episodes, this podcast has surpassed 1000 downloads. Consider this your reward.
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This is for anyone who’s ever said “Why would I care if anyone spied on me? I have nothing to hide.” I used to say this very thing, in a loud, bragging tone to all my friends. Other than an isolated incident involving a single serving meatloaf from Eli Zabar’s which falls outside the statute of limitations, I have nothing to hide that I won’t eventually exploit for my art—but it turns out, getting spied on can still be terrible for many reasons.
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Hey all-so I experienced a leak in my ceiling timed oh-so-perfectly with the publication of an article in The Marshall Project written by an inmate sentenced for murder whose girlfriend’s body was found by hotel staff who noticed a leak coming through the ceiling of the Soho House. This inmate happens to be a character in my currently-being-queried novel, “Almost Rapist”. It’s like, even from jail, people are still getting better writing opportunities than me.
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Friends, this one has taken a while to process. I think an operative was employed in my workplace to stage an incident in order to try and get me to publicly confuse him with an online mugshot sharing the same name. Or he was the actual guy in the mugshot curated to work alongside me in an attempt to put me in danger. Some great options for me.
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This episode examines even more coincidence that I now realize may not have been coincidence at all…this time surrounding a Brazilian Documentary I appeared in with my Slovenian connection.
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When it comes to getting your daily serving of bone broth, there are better ways than murder. This is an especially long-game MKUltra style manipulation that took place in what seems like an attempt to falsely incriminate my book with false confessions. It could be that Scientology has really upped it’s game since Operation Freakout—but if I’m outsmarting established literary agents, regardless of what spy agency is paying them, then it’s unfair to deny audiences the intellectual sustenance of my memoir.
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This is the story of how a literary reading series may or may not have attempted to influence me into circulating excerpts of my then incomplete dark humor memoir surrounding the Joseph Brooks rape trials against the backdrop of my parents losing their house—which I’m told is generally ill advised prior to getting a commercial agent and book deal. Was the purpose of this subterfuge to get me to leak my own writing so that the Kargman Brooks and Kaplan families could claim they discovered my book through my own sloppiness rather than their engaging private investigators?
The best way to get over leaving one cult is to join another. -
Scientology helped me manifest a phone call from a literary agent on a specific day, just by writing “Get $300,000 Book Deal” with tone 40 intention in my day planner. Let me tell you how.
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Unsure how they pulled off an Italian tourist stalking me from 5th Avenue to Houston Street and trolling the draft of a poem in my iPhone notes with his tween daughters earrings but they did. Somebody better call the Pentagon. Or Karl Lagerfeld.
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I forgot to mention a key moment in my Multi-Interest Black-Ops involving the possible Slovenian Operative and a casting workshop at The Public Theatre that took place in 2014.
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Now that there are robot dogs in Times Square, I no longer feel self-conscious about sharing my hypothesis that a Slovenian spy targeted me with advanced mind reading instruments in 2018 as part of a possible government experiment.
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When the competition tries to make you so concerned about one risk, and distracts you from another, this is classic misdirection, classic Sun Tzu’s “Art of War”, and classic drama school.
- Vis mere
