However
bizarre, this story is unbelievably true…….
THE
TRUE STORY FROM THE “VIRGIN MOTHER”
OF
THE FILMING OF “SO EVIL”
People are
going crazy, haunted by psychosis, led to believe that I am responsible for the
terrible perversion on their ears. The film crew of “So Evil” which was aired
on the Discovery Channel have been planting
microscopic radio transmitter/receiver signals in ears for many years!
The same
strangling desecration was happening daily….. someone infiltrating and haunting
my home with filth, sprinkling insect larvae around the edges of rooms, in
shoes and pockets; cutting my clothes, depositing fleas on my dogs’ foreheads,
shaving their buttocks, planting weeds and stealing new nursery plants;
blackjacks appearing at all corners of and entrances to the property, replaced
as quickly as I destroyed them. I was always forced to play the crudest
housewife, having to mop the floor of faeces, urine
and insect eggs, having clothes to mend, bringing me to anger and despair
instead of a step further in my endeavours. What a
struggle to remain strong and happy taunted daily by ghosts of the antichrist.
Stewart had a
yard of great character slap-bang in the centre of Muizenberg,
but chose never to have electricity installed. Ancient cars and trucks were
lined up like an audience.
Funnily
enough, while he was with Gwynn, I said “squeeze me
in between
Lynn the
first, alias “Gypsy” when I was 23, was attacking me in a satanic movement way
back on a farm in Broederstroom, Hartebeespoort
Dam. To my dismay, she moved into my garage with Stewart, who, in an
environment with very little oxygen, got hypnotized nightly against me. My
workspace was right above their heads & I heard her drumming the most
shocking ideas into his brain. He must perceive her as his magnificent sexy
goddess & me as sinister and evil. Whenever he thinks of me he must say “I
can’t stand her vibe”; whenever he sees me he must say “I can’t stand that
woman”, “I hate that chick” or “I can’t bear that girl”.
“Owee. Stu, why are
you doing this? Ow.”
“Aw, I have to
Deb.”
I banned
Stewart was
the angel of help when I came out of hospital. My friend Jack had moved out
& Stewart took his room. He was forever leading me on, making me want him,
& then running next door for sex. I made the fatal mistake of showing him
my life story, & suddenly I was entrapped in a famous situation, ridiculed
and belittled by the neighbourhood ladies he was
getting involved with. They made a preposterous wreck of my car and seized the
engine, and I was forced to rely on him for transport; a 1953 Dodge wagon with “Robertson’s
Butchery” inappropriately painted across the container. While some were oohing & aahing, blessing the
Virgin Mother at my window, he was yelling “show us your tits!” from his window.
The soles of
my feet were slashed nightly; he was being hypnotised
every night while he appeared to be asleep, hypnotised
with “hate the mother”, “hate her face”, “hate her body”, “love her…...ting her”,
“love hating her”, “make her want you but don’t ever give it to her” , “Don’t
ever call her Debbe… call her The Bitch.”
I was
experiencing overwhelming sadness and heartache, but also, the burning
necessity to complete much work for God & broadcasts for Humanity via my
website. Some powerful force of our Lord’s anxiety was pressing me to
warn Humanity to avoid the 3000 year-old prediction of Armageddon.
Quietly, I’d
return to my computer and carry on working.
Stewart would
give a wolf whistle from the back door, and spend his nights sleeping with any
number of young girls, but not before he denounced me first. “Hang the mother
of God”, he’d hiss, before he got seduced.
Their password? “Debbe’s a disgusting pig.”
And that is
what they made me.
Daily, my car
got “filthed”, my clothes were slashed, alcohol
bottles were planted under bushes, weeds where I’d planted flowers, garbage
bags upturned and my house desecrated in filth. I’d sparkle up the windows and
by morning a dirty rag of chicken fat would be smeared over my windscreen and
every inch of window. It appeared as if I’d never done housework in my life.
This same pattern had been going on since 1988. My new car disappeared for
three weeks. I finally tracked it to
I thought I’d
developed supersonic hearing, for I could hear every pant and moan in the neighbourhood, especially from Stewart. There were many
girls involved. “The mumbling wall” was forever mumbling from Stewart’s room,
“the come-undonet” was forever ordering Stu around, forbidding him to love me, ordering him to
steal from me and destroy my life. Then there was the girl with the squeaky
voice who never stopped nagging Stu for a lay. “But Debbe’s awful” she’d squeal. Daily, religiously, the girls
would pick up every man and woman walking down
I knew Stewart
had four walkie-talkies. I cut a thick cable snaked through the air vent of his
bedroom, and the infuriating chatter stopped for a while. I tried to follow the
cable but it was buried deep underground for some distance. The girls were now
running a busy brothel; ultimately geared to destroy me. No one could have sex
without denouncing me first. Make love not evil. They used a tape-recorder to
haunt me with Stewart’s sexual endeavours when he was
not around. There was never any peace in my home, but speakers to their
bedrooms revealed their secrets! They were stealing my chequebooks
and using my credit card. Stewart came into some money when his yard was
liquidated. “What’s your pin number?” she asked softly after two minutes of
hypnosis. “91564” he gulped. “Why thanks.”
All of R360
000 was gone in three months. He kept trying to bring me sums of R7 000 which
he owed me, but was always intercepted and seduced before he got home, the
money gone.
Working on my
PC by the window in the early hours of the morning, with the jealous girls
chanting insults below, while planting weeds in my garden. “Kill the mother.
She’s evil.” “Hang the bitch”. The usual monotonous slander.
Journalists were given guided tours of my “disgusting” garden. A film
representative arrived from
Ever get the
feeling you’re being watched? I got the feeling twenty four hours a day, seven
days a week.
Somehow, I
could never quite be myself without the privacy of total solitude, especially
when the very people spying were hell-bent on destroying me. The police
were also watching. As usual, everything in my life was intangible – voices in
my head, shadows in the night, filthy desecrating evidence in the morning.
Movie devices
are amazingly high-tech these days. Cameras look like blobs of glue or tiny
screws, car tracking is possible from a sooty dust or golden specks that look
like dirt, and, well, I had headphones on, listening to loud Led Zeppellin, when I discovered where the hidden speakers
were…… right inside my very ears! With time I came to a shocking realization. This film crew were putting signal transmitters in thousands
upon thousands of ears!
I examined one
of these radio receivers with a pink toy microscope. It looked like a miniature
radio tower with four speakers arranged in a square, with tiny feet, and two
antennae. It was no larger than a pin head and with the naked eye, could pass
for a bug.
The eve of the
day I left my house, routinely sweeping the daily sprinkles on my passageway,
usually a dustpan full of wriggling maggots & insect eggs, but this time it
was different. I was looking at strange dusty-coloured branches, resembling the
inside of sugar-cane, in blue, green, purple, mauve, orange, pink, ochre,
white, black, brown, red and yellow.
I could bear
no more of this and moved to an idyllic estate in
Back in time,
in
“You cannot be
hypnotized Brent. You are in your own body, of your own being. No one can
destroy your Faith.”
“Don’t Debbe don’t”, she screamed. “He’s mine! He’s mine.”
“Monique”
happened to be the film editor responsible for what was sent to
If my kitchen
door was left open unattended for ten minutes, I’d return to find the kitchen
table painted with bugs, slithers of faeces sprinkled
around the lounge deep in the carpet, garbage bags emptied wherever I’d
cleaned. Stewart was coming over daily begging me to let him in, luring me to
leave the door open for him, but then screwing everybody else. I simply needed
to be 100% alone, with broadcasts to make, a website to work on, but I couldn’t shake away the voices in my ears, the silly women
outside my windows, the hidden cameras forever spying. If ever I said something
intelligent, I’d hear the film editor saying “Out!”, if I swore at the cat for
putting her head in my food, “In!” The creepiest chill overcame me when I realised who this film editor was…. None
other than Anthony, now calling himself Bruce, who had sabotaged everything
close to my Soul for so many years.
My food was
constantly drugged. On the 5th June 2007, I awoke aware of two men sprinkling
fibres on me, various lengths of hairlike white
threads which, under a microscope, reveal a shaft of minute relays. Remote
controls can send them deep into the body. They cause wrinkles, and had been
arranged on my face to etch the scowl lines of an evil, snarling witch. I have
never had wrinkles. A large clump were inserted into
my anus. One of the men said “All set. Do your thing” to a man at my window. “I
love hurting people people people.
I love hurting people people people”
he muttered insanely as he drove them into my body via a remote control.
I recall
someone pulling him from my window, punching him hard and sending him
reeling into the bushes. I think it was Stewart.
I lay there,
comatose, paralysed, my eyes open, unblinking. My snow-white cat approached
with great concern and stuck her paw in my eye!
For three days
I couldn’t defecate, until I finally got a knife and cut the mesh of fibres
deep in my butt.
Now I was
constantly cursed with fibres. They were sprinkled on my clothes, in my car, in
the hairs of my white cats every time they went outside. The cats were so
terrified they peed in the house. Time and again I’d comb the threads out of
their fur; threads that moved in unison as I waved my hand above them. My house
was being used for film-shoots whenever I went out. The roof tiles were loose,
so it was easy to gain access. I came home to find my mattress covered with
fibres which pranced around like dying fishes! The room was rigged in such a
way that the threads could be remotely activated within… the same was done to
my car. I’d discovered newspapers and certain jackets were protection from
these ominous threads. I overheard a man outside the bathroom saying he’d been
ordered to “off” the entire film crew, that four of the girls were already “offed”. I collected much evidence; collective branches of
these hairs, black or white, as they were delivered.
I drove into
the mountains, seeking a home, but was followed. It dawned on me this was an
entire film crew & the threads helped them track me. I recall a science
fiction novel I read as a child about similar threads that eventually became a
threat to all humanity. For two days, I was constantly tracked like a fugitive
by this diabolic crazy TV crew. The fibres were excruciatingly painful as they
were driven into my body. I believe threads are as unlawful as napalm &
mustard gas --- internationally illegal. Someone mentioned they were his
grandfather’s. I recall, I think in
I had never
watched “So Evil”, but listened to it & realised not one intelligent
positive word I’d said was finally televised. Everything I said was
misconstrued. Hardly ever was there a full sentence; as that would incriminate
the film crew. I impersonate when I quote people, but they made it appear as if
I was saying such things. My web address was never even mentioned. I was in a
big brother scenario without my consent, constantly hounded by demonically
obsessed actors chanting insults & death threats. Why were people calling
me a sluttish whore and mother of all evil when I am celibate, my mission being
to stop a 3000 year old prophecy of Armageddon & call on all humanity to
replenish our Earth & restore the balance of nature, saving fauna and flora
from extinction. Obviously, there is a body double depicted as me in this TV
drama, which might be make-believe to the actors, but degrading untrue
falsified reality TV to me, unfairly threatening my life. I fear the faith of
millions assaulted by this horrific deception. I once said to a young girl in
Stewart’s room “How can you say I love evil”, but this was spliced to my saying
“I love evil”, something I would never say, having battled dark forces all my
life, though dominated by the quest for truth, faith, goodness and closeness to
the Supreme Being. I refuse to go down in history as an evil woman! That I am
not, nor ever will be. I have helped & healed many throughout my life; I
have never robbed, lied or killed.
Blessed are
those who seek truth, faith and integrity above all else.
I have seen
these demons that possess… like great bears with drooling fangs and sharp
claws, much larger than us. I have seen them stand behind and walk into bodies,
materialising from the underworld in unison. They are
spirits of the antichrist and the only way to overcome them is through one’s
own Faith, intelligence and inner strength. If you summons
dark forces, you are surrendering yourself to their insane power, possibly the
most dangerous game anyone can play, for evil has a way of hovering; it is a
contagious heavy vibration most difficult to shake. Praise the Lord.
I stopped off
at a favourite spot – the rondavels at the caravan
park in Ceres. Stewart phoned to find out where I was. Next, the entire film
crew had moved in around me. I was called to join them in a film-shoot, but I
never did. Some wonderful child of God yelled “How can you do this to the
Blessed Virgin Mother. How can you profane against the holy
word of God” when a shot rang out. “Oh, why did you shoot him? He’s
dead.” “I just wanted to shut him up.” And with that, the signals in my ears
were switched off. I have never agreed to a film-shoot with these people, for
obvious reasons, and so, they fabricated a body-double who had plenty of sex,
and did the wildest, most perverse things imaginable, often, I imagine, with
Stewart’s body-double whom I had met in Clovelly.
When asked why
they did this, Stewart said “we wanted someone gorgeous, not Debbe.” If humanity could choose their own Virgin Mothers
there would be a lot more of them. God made me fat and ugly for a darn good
reason; so I could spend a lot of time alone with him. This film-crew are hung up on the “revolting child of God” line. I might be
a slob who is not at all concerned about appearance, but I am not going to
allow myself to erode spiritually from the slander and insults hurled at me. At
least the Lord loves me, and he promised me I am the most protected woman on
the planet. Wherever I go and whatever dangers I am confronted with, I always
feel the hallowed cocoon of God’s strength and clarity surrounding my being,
lighting the darkness on a moonless night. My shadow radiates His presence.
They tried to
burn my body-double to look like me, but she died. Something else I heard
through my ears, not something I witnessed myself.
I’d once said
to Stewart, before he got involved with Gwynn, “Squeeze
me in between
I was whisked
off to Stepping Stones, a drug rehab. Not having a drug problem, I am
transferred to a psychiatric private clinic. What was I doing in this place,
locked up for a month. The food was dandy, creative
skills involved threading beads to make sun catchers, but most of the time, I lay flat on my back watching TV feeling helplessly
anxious. I could feel the Lodge was getting burgled; I could feel my Clovelly house getting trashed. Firstly, I was given an
injection pulverising the clear mirror of my brain.
Then I was prescribed Risperdal ~ a dopamine and
serotonin antagonist. Dopamine is the “feel-good” chemical in the brain, the
source of Godly devotion, the feeling of Soul -- it was as if I was now riding
a one-lane highway with my head in a cardboard box. My house was sold.
The day I was
finally released, in Fish Hoek to organise a new bank
account, as mine was frozen thanks to she-devils forging cheques,
someone was tapping on my car window.
There was Stewart!
He spotted my car from the train on his way to hospital. When evicted, with all
worldly goods thrown on the pavement, he rode off on his motorbike to arrange a
truck, but hit a Land Rover doing an illegal u-turn. He was now in a shelter
for the homeless. His leg was in a cast from thigh to ankle (a fractured
kneecap) and both forearms were in casts. I, of course, took him with me to the
country in search of a home.
For three
weeks it was blissfully peaceful, free from intrusion, as none of the whacky
film crew knew my whereabouts. In urgent need of my own place, we booked into
holiday accommodation converted to a permanent residence in
Lynn and Coralea had stolen the production assistant’s tracker, and
were following Stewart and me around.
Stewart was
getting hypnotised again; couldn’t
resist titillating seduction. I awoke to hear him saying, “There’s
always two of you. While one’s screwing me the other’s attacking Debbe. You can’t just go attacking Debbe
all the time.” I had been given a widows peak of black fibres
and countless transmitter signals poured in my ears.
Hurriedly, I
packed everything and left
I drove
towards Montague where there are three passes; I took the one nobody ever uses,
an ancient dust pass where romance was pure magic with Steven aged 20. It is
incredibly beautiful, and I stopped by a wondrous mountain bend, by a waterfall
on the river, where we’d camped thirty years ago. I could see the film crew on
the opposite mountain, driving back and forth for over an hour. I was waiting
for them to run out of petrol! Knowing they’d be waiting for me at the end, I
turned the car around and cruised back down.
I ended up
winding my way through the mountains to Wilderness, but they had no problem
tracking me --- some thirty or forty cars were following me around. I gather
there was a camera in my car showing my exact whereabouts whenever I passed a
signboard. Wherever I stayed film crew would book in, even deep in the suburbia
of Somerset West.
A chalet at my
favourite resort in Wilderness; tucked away, where hardly anyone ever stays,
but great pandemonium, for Coralea had stolen the
production assistant’s tracking device and was twiddling buttons. So many
transmitters were tuned within my ears that they were swollen… I couldn’t get my tweezers in. I used my car keys to crush
the signals. The control signals had been stuffed up my nose, forcing me to
pick my nose constantly in order to breathe. This was a witch-hunt, for
wherever I stopped, two motorbikes would whine around trying to track my car.
There were Land Rovers with stealth trackers droning “evil virgin” “destroy the
mother of god”, up and down the highway, making a raucous noise. There was some
sort of device on our front tyres, activated by
remote control, causing the tyre to scream “hate the virgin..evil mother… hate the virgin..evil mother… hate the virgin..evil mother… hate the virgin..evil mother… hate the virgin..evil mother…”
I discovered I
could stop it by simply switching off the ignition & restarting the car.
That night in
Wilderness, the tyres of a hundred cars appeared to
be activated as they drove up and down the highway trying to find me. I’d
plugged my ears with foil and managed to get some sleep.
Their cars
were everywhere. I could always hear a movie car ‘cos
the signals in my ears would start chatting. I tried to make a break for it up
My ears were
then tuned to a drum further up the pass:
“Dit dit duh-duh-duh-duh dit dit dow, Dit dit duh-duh-duh-duh dit dit dow,
Dit dit duh-duh-duh-duh dit dit dow, Dit dit duh-duh-duh-duh dit dit dow
The virgin
mother… the virgin mother’s never coming back, she’s paralysed… and crazy.”
“Look at the
lines we have to say. Kill the mother of God. Disgusting
Virgin mother.
I found an
idyllic lake tucked away on a side road, and was discovered by another of the
movie men. He didn’t stop to talk to me though ----
that’s how bizarre all this was. I was simply a tracking target; something to
chase. The infamous
Someone droned
“Destrrroy the evil mother of God” incessantly,
deranging the minds of folk all over the country. I was warning people
everywhere to save their sanity by removing their transmitters. Good grief, I
can just imagine what these kids have been fabricating with transmitters in so
many ears! Anyone could profess to be me, filling heads with profanity. How
diabolically clever it is too; for this is all stuff of the mind --- not
something one can really discuss without being considered psychotic. After all,
if you hear voices in your head you are classified schizophrenic. How diabolically
clever to justify my death and frame me as some evil monster on satellite TV. “Oh
we were only acting. It was just a movie. We didn’t
mean to really kill her.” I could imagine that coming, but I know that is not
my destiny --- these devil children will not kill me; history ordains superior,
profound truths for the future, not satanic deception slapping it’s slimy
residue of filthy lies on human history.
In the city, I
am called “disgusting virgin” but in the country I am “holy lamb of God”. God
loves people who put their hands in the soil and their feet in the mud.
Stewart had
left Coralea’s car, and she was tracking me with some
really deranged thugs. I was running out of petrol and hid the car down a farm
road. Two young guys walked across the field pointing guns. “Get away from the
car Debbe. We’re satanists.
We’re here to kill you.”
“Oh, I’m so
sick of satanists. I’ve
been warding off devil-worshippers my entire life. I’m just the perfect
pincushion for you silly fools.”
“Well, I’m not
really a satanist. I’m just acting. Forgive me Debbe. This movie sucks.”
Up through
Queenstown, I veered off the tar road towards Zastron.
I waited by a river as the crew shot past, and then headed towards Ladybrand. “Hey there’s Debbe. Debbe join us for a film-shoot.” I would never do anything
of the sort. Not when they point remotes at me mumbling: “Die, die.” Not when
they don’t so much as bother to introduce themselves
or pay me anything. Not when they have slashed my tyres
and destroyed my face.
Stewart was
warning me not to go through
I pulled off
the N1, counting 22 movie cars speeding down the highway. The jabbering in my
head stopped, for I was way behind them.
Exhausted, I
pulled off on a muddy farm road & was promptly stuck in the mud. My
odometer read 58888, and I slept in peace.
I had run out
of money, never so much as paid for being chased all over the country by this
insane film crew. They were doing everything in their power to stop me from
working on my website or going on the Internet; stealing my PC, my hard drives,
my laptop. Remote control relays were implanted between my legs, causing agonising pain when I walk. Everything is geared to make me
angry, to make me cuss, to destroy good spirit & appear on TV the meanest
monster the world has ever seen. They want me to be destitute, homeless,
sweating and weeping in the middle of nowhere with no access to the Internet.
The film crew themselves, most no older than 20, believe the woman they are
cursing is me, when she is in fact an actress with my face superimposed. They
no longer have movie rights and are probably not even filming now, simply
destroying my life and the faith of billions ~ Satanism in the extreme. The
real producer’s film equipment was stolen by “the hang the mother brigade” way
back in Wilderness.
They are
trying to press me onto the open road, trying to stop me from writing this. But
it is written, for I refuse to be falsely branded as an evil woman. I am on
your side. I miss the laughter and sparkle in everyone’s eyes. The world has
been plagued by this blasphemous revolting insanity when we need positivity and Faith to save our planet.
The Lord your
God is missing His Glorious Creation ~~~ He would like us to put it back!
God Bless Us all, and may we be filled with holy Wisdom, the Strength
to overcome evil deception, and the Faith to realise our dreams.
I spent five
weeks in
“Roeff, roeff,
virgin’s not evil, roeff. Get off me. Arrrooo”
“Mmmooooo. Disgusting bitch.
Mmmooooo.”
“Baaaa, can’t staaaand it baaaaa.”
The populace
and animals were insanely demented by all this unholy slander. The situation
has gotten way out of hand. No one has the right to invade one’s headspace, and
this is diabolic mass delusional hypnosis to extremes: “kill the virgin mother”,
“destroy the evil mother of God”. What really sickens me is knowing
all this was orchestrated by a girl who had trashed my home, stolen all my
valuables, and was obsessively in love with my former housemate.
Descending a
mountain pass from
“Let’s see now…
where’s Debbe… aah,
there’s a beep. Whaa, my tracker exploded in
my hand!”
“Jeeps.
I was sitting on mine and it blew up into my bum.”
“Mine blew
right out of my hand and broke into pieces.”
“Ah, has
anyone got a spare tracker for me? Mine’s not working.”
Some of the
most hard-core offenders had found my car at the hotel, but were denied entry
having caused diabolic commotion previously. Their trackers were destroyed and
I removed their signals from my ears, obliterating their power over me.
On the
One of the
girls was bewitching at least 100 people to look out for my car, having given
them all a remote-controls which blew a pongy whiff
of gunpowder behind my steering wheel. I should imagine this sent a signal
mapping my whereabouts. I was chased down the N3 all the way to
At
If used
responsibly, fibres could be a major breakthrough in
medical science: moving umbilical cords, plugging holes in hearts and lungs, unblocking
arteries… any number of uses without involving surgery, by remote control, and
perhaps that is why they are fluorescent.
Back in
I gaped at the
mirror as my body expanded in all directions in front of my eyes. I watched the
soles of my feet slash themselves with what seems to be fused bundles of white
fibers. I have seen my wrinkles gouge deeper into my face through remote
control. Every morning l was woken with fibers tightly stretched across my
vocal chords and a raging sore throat, which would later change frequency
causing plastic to ooze out of my pores in a sweat. A man remarked when I was
woken daily with a sore throat, he felt attack in the heart. One gadget caused
hairs to flick around in my vocal chords, others were
causing tumours, blocking my lymph and swelling my
feet, swelling a double chin, slithering in my organs, twitching in my muscles.
Finally, I
found a dermatologist who believed me, and removed twelve remote-control relay
bean-shaped “pods” with liquid nitrogen, from between my legs.
I was sleeping
beneath a thick sheet of newspapers, failsafe protection from remote attack. In
the morning, my nose and ears would be thick with tuned signals. I could feel
fibers around my body agonizingly activated as I pulled on each signal up my
nose with tweezers. The peculiar shapes up my nose looked remarkably like some
of the skin lesions taken off Morgellons victims
around the world and those on my own back. Dissolved in spirits of salts to
remove living plasma, they were tight bundles of minute fibers.
One girl had
spent a month concocting a scene of me purportedly having sex with a dog.
Another had manipulated the tweezers extracting fibers from my face, to appear
as a hacksaw blade. Many of these people were staying in a warehouse, which was
“wired” to my bedroom; I could hear every word they said, and they could terrorise me constantly by remote-control. August 26th,
2008, and a boy at the computer was ordered to “drive Debbe
crazy” while the others went out. He was activating hairs to wriggle in my
vocal chords, clench in my shoulder muscles, under my heart, swell in my belly,
cut the soles of my feet. I fervently prayed for a
Miracle, and at that instant, like the back whip of a surprise wave, the giant
hand of God descended on that warehouse in Divine Retribution… the many rats
and snakes got loose at the same time. These people had burdened my life with
rats and snakes since 1988. In a flash he was bitten by a king cobra.
What were
these people doing with exotic deadly vipers, few indigenous to
When they arrived in town, I was
propelled into deep trance; multiple trackers, decoders and broadcasters were
destroyed, a mighty thunder crack roared from a stormless
sky. Every week, another batch of people would arrive in town, laden with toys,
often innocent to their deadly power, as every toy was fitted with a remote
control. They were given boxes to bring “for the film shoot” of 1970s weapons,
including mortar bombs. They were ordered to press buttons at 7am or 8am every
morning, attacking me, and undoubtedly thousands of other people who happened
to be tuned in, while I was asleep. Most were completely innocent, believing
themselves in a real film shoot, and given blasphemous lines to say, framed to
appear as urban terrorists by a cult of devil-worshippers.
As far-fetched
as it all seems up to now, this saga becomes even more bizarre. Fibers have
audio properties. I noticed a black sooty dust smeared all over my front
hubcaps. As I passed literally hundreds of people with remote-controls, signals
in the car would click, my gear change would suddenly surge forward, and weird
songs would start on the tyres! Here’s one of the
wiser songs:
The clock
strikes here, the clock strikes there, the clock strikes everywhere
It’s up to you
to pull us through, the clock strikes everywhere
Who are we to destroy
The holy
Mother of God, The holy Mother of God, oh Lord,
The holy
Mother of God.
The Virgin
Mother’s holy,
She’s holy holy holy
She’s holy holy holy
Mother of God, oh yeah, Mother of God.
Gloria,
Gloria, Gloriaaaaah.
Oh we are so
stupid, oh we are such fools
To attack the
living, breathing Mother of God
The holy
Mother’s here, the holy Mother’s real
She’s come to
take our sins away
The Virgin
Mother’s holy,
She’s holy holy holy
She’s holy holy holy
Mother of God, oh Lord, Mother of God.
Gloria,
Gloria, Gloriaaaaah.
The Virgin
Mother’s leaving, she’s leaving, leaving, leaving
Home.
Gloria,
Gloria, Gloriaaaaah.
And the song
would loop and start again, howling on car tyres
right across the country. My car was wailing so loudly I clogged my ears with
molten candle wax, stopping at a tyre specialist in Umtata to remove my front tyres,
and cleaning the inside of the rims with turpentine.
For anyone
cursed with tuned ear signals, the cities of Port Elizabeth & East London
were burdened with cacophonic ear invasion, as was the
In
In Queenstown,
back in October 2007, the real film-crew begged me to stop this “production”
which had gotten way out of hand. The young Satanists had run off with the
company’s film equipment, on their own crazed mission to destroy me. Many
involved believed they were loyally dogging me in a real film-shoot. All were
supplied with trackers and ordered to stay within my signal range. I’ve heard
them discussing what their particular movie line is. Here are a few:
“The Virgin’s
horrible”; “I’d like for the holy lamb to be fibered”; “Destroy the Mother of
God”; “Disgusting mother of God”; “I can’t stand the Virgin Mum”; “I’m very
sorry Debora but I’ll have to kill it”; “I’m the Devil”; “Love evil”; “I want
the holy lamb destroyed”; “The Virgin Ma’s so thick”; “The bird’s horrible”;
“Disgusting mom”; “Let go of me, Virgin Ma of God”; “Why Debbe”.
Who questions the lines commanded in a movie! For all humanity, attitude is the
key to success or failure in every endeavour. Right
now, the world needs love and positive energy more than ever. What is real, and
what is mere “movie-shoot” remains to be seen, but I have faced a nightmare of
incidents, threatened daily by senseless Satanists. Through all this crazed
blasphemy, Blessings from the millions of Believers keep me strong, fearless. I
am on a holy mission from God to help save our planet, and I call on You to help; to replenish the Earth, bring back the natural
balance, plant trees & make this a world worth celebrating, with plenty for
all to eat.
These are
Bible days and a time of Judgement, but these are not
the last days, for we shall prevent the 3000 year-old prophecy of Armageddon.
We shall enrich and renew our planet, saving our precious creation from
extinction.
God Bless You.
Glory to God in the Highest.
Debbe
Photographic
microscopy of my hair-like fibers can be found at
http://picasaweb.google.com/moddonna/FIBRES
