Big Dick Cheney and the Most Dangerous Game

The Most Dangerous Game

MK-Ultra survivor account – Trance Formation of America


Wyoming, Dick Cheney, then White House Chief of Staff to president Ford, later Secretary of Defense to President George Bush, documented member of the Council on Foreign Relations (CFR), and Presidential hopeful for 1996, was originally Wyoming’s only Congressman. Dick Cheney was the reason my family had traveled to Wyoming where I endured yet another form of brutality— his version of “A Most Dangerous Game,” or human hunting.

It is my understanding now that A Most Dangerous Game was devised to condition military personnel in survival and combat maneuvers. Yet it was used on me and other slaves known to me as a means of further conditioning the mind to the realization there was “no place to hide,” as well as traumatize the victim for ensuing programming. It was my experience over the years that A Most Dangerous Game had numerous variations on the primary theme of being stripped naked and turned loose in the wilderness while being hunted by men and dogs. In reality, all “wilderness” areas were enclosed in secure military fencing whereby it was only a matter of time until I was caught, repeatedly raped, and tortured.

Dick Cheney had an apparent addiction to the “thrill of the sport”. He appeared obsessed with playing A Most Dangerous Game as a means of traumatizing mind-control victims, as well as to satisfy his own perverse sexual kinks. My introduction to the game occurred upon arrival at the hunting lodge near Greybull, Wyoming, and it physically and psychologically devastated me.

I was sufficiently traumatized for Cheney’s programming as I stood naked in his hunting lodge office after being hunted down and caught. Cheney was talking as he paced around me, “I could stuff you and mount you like a jackalope and call you a two legged dear. Or I could stuff you with this (he unzipped his pants to reveal his oversized penis) right down your throat, and then mount you. Which do you prefer?

Blood and sweat became mixed with the dirt on my body and slid like mud down my legs and shoulder. I throbbed with exhaustion and pain as I stood unable to think to answer such a question. “Make up your mind,” Cheney coaxed. Unable to speak, I remained silent. “You don’t get a choice, anyway, I make up your mind for you. That’s why you’re here. For me to make you a’ mind, and make you mine/mind. You lost your mind a long time ago. Now I ‘m going to give you one. Just like the Wizard (of Oz) gave Scarecrow a brain, the Yellow Brick Road led you here to me. You’ve ‘come such a long, long way’ for your brain, and I will give you one,”
The blood reached my shoes and caught my attention. Had I been further along in my programming, 1 perhaps would never have noticed such a thing or had the capability to think to wipe it away. But so far, I had only been to MacDill and Disney World for government/military programming. At last, when I could speak, I begged, “If you don’t mind, can I please use your bathroom?”
Cheney’s face turned red with rage. He was on me in an instant, slamming my back into the wall with one arm across my chest and his hand on my throat, choking me while applying pressure to the carotid artery in my neck with his thumb. His eyes bulged and he spit as he growled, “If you don’t mind me, I will kill you. I could kill you—Kill you—with my bare hands. You’re not the first and you won’t be the last. I’ll kill you any time I goddamn well please,”
He flung me on the cot-type bed that was behind me. There he finished taking his rage out on me sexually.

Flashback - Scalia and Cheney play "The Most Dangerous Game"

Cheney displays his marksmenship in a round of The Most Dangerous Game

From – Trance Formation of America – Cathy O’Brien

Please note: In order to maintain the integrity of documenting my experiences using precise and photographic detail, I have recorded events and
quotes as they occurred in reality. Please excuse any offensive and foul language, but this is the way Cheney presented himself, 1 was attending another White House cocktail party where, as usual, I was taken aside for a meeting and escorted to a large office. There, Reagan and Cheney were having their “before cocktail party” cognacs, and Reagan’s cheeks were already flushed.

“You’re the kind of girl who could hold a man in line. (He was cryptically

referring to the lines of military personnel I was forced to have sex with.)

That’s why I’ve selected you to tour a few Air Force Bases with the Colonel

(Aquino) and demonstrate for our boys in the service what a Presidential Model

is trained for, a kind of ‘hands on’ demonstration. But you’ll have to audition

for the role.” Reagan drained his glass and gestured toward Cheney as he

strode for the door, adding, “Do what he says. He’s your commander.”

It had been eight years since I had been hunted and brutalized by Cheney in

Wyoming, and apparently he wanted to see how my programming had

progressed before agreeing to use me in Reagan’s “Hands-On Mind-Control

Demonstrations”. He grabbed me roughly by the hair and slung me onto a

black leather chair, tipping my head backwards over the high studded arm.

“Audition here,” he snarled. Since I last saw him, 1 had undergone Wizard Of

Oz Tin Man programming, which he accessed to accommodate his large, thick

penis. He placed his hands on my jaw while he said, “Soon we’ll have you

purring like a wetl oiled machine. All of your moving parts are pivotal and

gliding with ease. Melt into my hands. I’ll hold your jaw to keep it from

slipping while you slip through a window in lime.” He then jerked my jaw out

of joint, and roughly gratified himself in my throat.1

As he lit his cigarette, I slowly regained focus enough to realize I was in

pain. The back of my head hurt from being thrust into the studs on the chair,

and I slowly lifted my head. My owner, Senator Byrd, had just walked in and

realized Cheney had already completed the “audition”. Referring to

compartmentalizing my memory via stun gun high voltage, Byrd asked, “Did

you fry her?”

Cheney, ‘cocksure’ of himself as always, answered. “She can’t have fucked

all of Washington” (indicating that no one would believe me anyway, even if I

did reach this point and talk). Cheney put out his cigarette and said as he went

out the door, “She’ll work. Tell Ronnie she’ll work.”

When Byrd saw that my lips were bleeding, he called Cheney a “son of a

bitch” under his breath, as this damage would prevent my fulfilling other

assignments that were planned for me. Byrd touched his finger to my swollen

lips and tasted the blood (and Cheney) several times. Then he slapped me hard

across the face, which re-aligned my jaw but caused more blood to flow down

my chin. He took a box of tissues from the desk and threw it at me, the corner

hitting me in the forehead. “Wipe yourself up. You’re just getting started. I’ll

see to it you get what you’ve got coming to you.”

Fortunately for me, Byrd had cause to return to the formal cocktail party

and did not have time to brutalize me further. My face was battered, mouth

torn, and my throat felt torn and stretched. I had difficulty swallowing for

some time, and could not speak. I certainly was in no condition to return to the

cocktail party, and was escorted out by agents/guards.

Before I could leave Washington, Byrd made good on his threat and

arranged for me to meet with Cheney in a blue bedroom in a part of the White

House so remote that “no one could hear my screams and moans”. But Cheney

implemented Oz theme “Silence” conditioning anyway as he proceeded to

brutally sexually assault me.

“Byrd tells me you need a good whipping. But I’m not certain which

instrument you prefer, so I brought them all.” Cheney had a riding crop, a

whip, and a cat-o-nine-tails laid out on the bed. He beat me quick and hard as

though he were releasing his tensions rather than savoring my pain like Byrd

did. I regained consciousness when Cheney slid a pillow under my neck,

steered me by the hair, and bent my head back. Survival instinct kicked in

when he positioned himself above my head, I hoped to satisfy him before he

became deadly brutal again. But he quickly pulled out his liquid cocaine

sprayer, sprayed my throat, then proceeded to get rough. At one point he

yanked my head aside and asked, “Was that a tooth?” and grinned. It was

imperative that 1 kept my teeth off him because, according to Aquino’s

programming instruction, I was subject to death if a tooth was ever felt by


Cheney knew this was my programming and manipulated me with it

often. I resumed “satisfying him as though my life depended upon it, because,

of course, it did.” This is another Aquino programming line Cheney knew and

used. When he was gratified, he flopped over and slept. I had been instructed

to leave immediately because Cheney absolutely did not want me near him when

he slept (some insiders say he is paranoid), and I began dressing. I was

escorted out.

In preparation for ”running bases” for Reagan’s Hands-On Mind-Control

Demonstrations, I underwent a great deal of programming by both Aquino and

Cheney. Cheney laid the ground rules while Aquino carried out Uie

programming derail and performed the demonstration with me on various

military and NASA installations.

Reagan wanted the demonstrations to include all programming depicted in

the “How to” films, additional programming instilled since the videos were

made, delivery of drugs when applicable, and sex according to Aquino’s

instruction with whomever/however many were present at the lecture. Cheney’s

personal “touch” to the demonstrations was to have me programmed to

vaginally internally electric prod myself with a high voltage cylindrical cattle

prod-truly an example of total mind control.

I was routinely escorted arm-in-arm “Oz style” by two agents to Cheney’s

downstairs office in the Pentagon. Sometimes Byrd took me in. Other times

Cheney walked me through the building, particularly if we were going to his

“Bunkhouse” personal quarters. Cheney’s office was equipped with black

leather furniture, a huge messy brown desk, massive book shelves, and an hour

glass that he always used in keeping with Oz programming, to assure me that

my life was on the line under his command. As a programmed MPD, I had no

concept of time. The hour glass was a visible way for me to see “my time.

runing out” and actually grasp the concept.

The first time I reported in, Cheney shuffled through the clutter on his desk,

picked up a paper and began reading: “Number one. I am NOT your friend, and I don’t want to see you unless I order you to report in. Number two. Follow the Colonel’s (Aquino) orders, as it is the chain of command. What he orders you to do, is a command from me,

follow it to the letter, as though your life depends upon it, because (he looked

up and grinned wickedly) of course, it does.” His cold eyes bore into mine as

he walked around to the front of his desk, “Any questions?” I knew he “was NOT my friend,” but he already “saw me” sexually on other

occasions. I was perplexed and hesitated. Even though I remained silent, Cheney sensed my hesitation and became enraged. He got up in my face,

poked my breast bone with his finger and roared, “Don’t even THINK to question anything I say! There is no question as to what I do, what I think, or

what I say, because 1 am absolutely above questions-especially YOURS!! Your orders are clear. Now get out of here! I have work to do!”

Throughout the next three years, U.S. Army Lt. Colonel Aquino used me in

the Hands On Demonstrations on numerous Army, Navy, Air Force, and

NASA installations across the U.S. according to Reagan’s plan and Cheney’s

orders. The Top Brass privy to the demonstrations ranged from three at a time

to roughly twenty. In closing, Aquino always “persuaded” them to line up

while I was forced to perform sexually on command with each one. The larger

groups were physically painful, while the smaller groups often involved

unapproved variance from the routine, such as revealing Reagan’s bestiality

perversions. The wide array of “switching” my personalities that Aquino

incorporated into the demonstrations, and the vast amount of high voltage and

torture to which I was subjected, left me exhausted and physically devastated for

days after each one of Reagan’s Hands-On Mind-Control Demonstrations.

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