3 Americas: More Truth Than We Can Handle 09 Caregivers and Care-Takers

(Last updated: October 2, 2022)
3 Americas: More Truth Than We Can Handle
Chapter 09
Caregivers and Care-Takers
by DR Wolfe

{As I continue a full revision, this is one of the new chapters from my revised autobiography, “3 Americas”: More Truth Than We Can Handle.”}

(Includes strong language)

PART ONE:
There are Caregivers, and there are care-takers, but today one of these words mean a whole lot more than it used to mean.

Care-takers are people who care for the homes and estates of the wealthy. And sometimes the word is used to describe those who properly expose dead bodies, rather than my biological father, Harold, who kept this woman’s dead body in a cellar under his step father’s bar. Was she my dead Native-American ancestor as Harold claimed, or was she a young kidnapped black girl from Detroit, I just don’t know?

But what I do know is that for a long time a care giver was thought to be someone who cared for people in nursing facilities, or similar places that care for the sick or infirm. But that was long before this, people who provided medical marijuana, by either growing it or by facilitating the transfer of marijuana, were also known as caregivers.

Under many state laws it’s all legal today, but it wasn’t always that way. Ever since 1938 the government and corporations were going after advocates who use or support those who use marijuana. They targeted people with no money or power. In fact, according to the Daily mail President Trump created a secret group of sick fucks to collect any embarrassing or degrading video or other material on people who use marijuana, with no regard to their mental health or disability.

Beginning in 1999, for fifteen consecutive years I renewed my Medical Marijuana Card and waited several more years after it was legal before I gave up the card. The last time I renewed, in 2014, Dr. Coleman from the infamous Richmond Clinic, which I wrote about in the next chapter, said to me as I was leaving, “So, you won’t need a card next year?”

I never answered him, but I suspected he wasn’t asking me because he cared about my health. But I suspect he and the clinic was being pressured by DEA and the pharmaceutical industry to stop signing medical marijuana cards, except in the most severe cases. At the same time, the State of Oregon, which has always been in the pocket of the pharmaceutical industry, began passing laws and regulations that made medical marijuana more and more restrictive, transferring control of the program over to the Oregon Liquor Commission. This was despite that many card holders at the time were recovering alcoholics In fact, almost all card holders reported their dependence on alcohol or pharmaceuticals had been significantly reduced, and this pissed off Big Pharma.

As we know from the mandates on this experimental gene therapy vaccine and the amount of sugar and salt in our food, the FDA and the pharmaceutical industry doesn’t care anything about our health.

In September of 2022 the FDA put out a report that claimed Salmon was more unhealthy, because of the fat, than Frosted Flakes, which proves to anyone with a brain that the FDA doesn’t give a crap about consumers or what we consume. first, the brain needs some small amount of fat to work and fish is one of the best sources of animal fat available, but apparently the chemical crusaders at the FDA don’t know this, or maybe they do and don’t care.

Fat from fish is extremely healthy for humans because it contains Omega 3 and Omega 6 fatty acids, and it’s a hell of a lot better for you than the fat from pork or beef. But apparently the drug pushers at the FDA don’t know this either,. or they’re lying again.

Perhaps it’s time to divide the Food and Drug Administration into two separate departments, the sick fuck drug pushers from Chicago and New York, and the people who actually believe in consuming safe, healthy food.

Wen I moved to Oregon in 1998 most people, including the media, were always looking for a natural cure, whenever possible. Now it seems like the media and the government only talks about a man-made chemical solution to solve every health problem, in between their non-stop drug ads. So it’s not surprising that the State of Oregon and its twisted politicians openly support gender deaffirming surgery and gender bending drugs for children, since the Democreeps and Thom Hartmann are clearly in the pockets of Big Pharma.

It’s also sad that we have allowed our government to control us and arbitrarily decide to make marijuana illegal, for economic and racist reasons, since it was legal for tens of thousands of years .

But selfish greedy minds prevailed, and the dutiful whores in Congress made marijuana illegal for every one, with absolutely no medical value. And even today the politicians still won’t admit they were wrong and remove marijuana from the list of prohibited drug.

Within a few decades, under Nixon and Hoover America found a new stream of revenue. The nation began generating revenue from the people who used or sold marijuana by passing stronger drug laws. This way they could also take out the war protesters. And within two decades, under Biden and Clinton’s Crime Bill, the war on drugs and the prison industrial complex exploded and marijuana smokers paid the price.

I moved to Oregon in the summer of 1999, just in time to vote on Oregon’s Medical Marijuana bill, which overwhelmingly passed.

For many years, the media and most people who worked for government (who are regularly drug tested), would say marijuana is a “gateway drug” that will lead to heroin and meth addiction. Actually, as we are learning now, it’s the exact opposite. In states where marijuana is legal, alcohol and hard drug abuse are down, among all ages. And this is why they going after these medical marijuana programs. They don’t care if people benefit from smoking marijuana, they just don’t want people like Paul Stanford talking about it.

Although they are now trying to promote a THC free version of the plant, without the key ingredient , THC. I believe there is very little medical advantage from removing THC, but apparently some people can’t handle the buzz, and that’s okay as long as we adults have the choice.

Those of us who use marijuana regularly know that the THC in marijuana is the most important ingredient, combined with the other almost 200 compounds in cannabis, that helps with depression, sleeplessness, chronic pain, and many other medical conditions, including apparently preventing cancer. But you can’t say this in an ad, according to the FTC or the FDA, who apparently think its okay to put high-fructose corn syrup and Maltodextrin, along with a ton of salt, in almost everything we eat that is processed. And you wonder why there’s so many obese children in America?

But having the media, government and pharmaceutical industry lie to us is not unusual. In fact, the government lawyers announced that they had obtained an Alexander Acosta settlement, where the manufacturers would have to pay eight months of their profits in damages, for using doctors to peddle opiates to their patients. Who would often go on to use heroin.

The corporate whores in the media, who need the ads from Big Pharma, applauded the Injustice Department’s settlement, calling it “ground breaking!”

In other words, for intentionally, and systematically, killing a half million people the Sack-of-shit-lers and the other drug peddlers would get away with a virtual fine that, in corporate terms, was equivalent to a cup of coffee and a bagel (with cream cheese).

If marijuana were legal, many of these people would never have started taking pills, and ending up on heroin when they couldn’t get any more pills.

For decades, one of the biggest obstacles to legalization of marijuana was an organization called the “Partnership for a Drug Free America”, who was ironically funded almost entirely by the pharmaceutical and alcohol industries. In other words, take our highly addictive drugs and alcohol, but don’t touch the natural stuff that grows from the earth. The stuff that we righteous assholes in the media call “dope”.

First, did you know no one has ever gotten lung cancer from only smoking cannabis? This is because, once the complex compound gets into the blood stream and saturates the blood it seeks out mutant cells in the lungs and body and literally smothers them to death (by completely coating the exterior of the tumorous cell. This blocks nutrients from getting into the membrane. And like magic, the targeted cell literally starves to death.

The corporate media are being paid to never tell you this little secret about why it’s so important that a person also ingests the THC along with the CDB’s and cdd’s in marijuana. Studies from outside of the United States prove that the higher the level of THC in a plant, the more effective it is, industrially or medically.

When it comes to industrial hemp, the more THC in the plant, the more elongated the individual fibers tend to be. This means, if you’re making rope, plywood, or cloth, the hemp fibers with more THC will be stronger, which will make the product more durable. And isn’t this what we want?

Furthermore, hemp with higher levels of THC make a richer, better bio fuel. Similar to how sweet potatoes make better bio fuel than corn , yet you notice the government promotes the use of the corporate controlled GMO corn over hemp or anything else when it comes to making bio fuel.

Doesn’t that sound like some sort of collusion is going on? I can assure you that the Alpha Dope, Lard Larson, Eric Knudsen, and the petroleum industry is very happy about America producing a lesser quality bio fuel, if it keeps marijuana illegal.

But there has always been a collusion between the media and the government, when it comes to the medical use of marijuana. Apparently the government in liberal states don’t mind the recreational use, as long as we don’t claim there is some medical advantage. However, I believe everyone uses it medically, even if it only makes them happy, and helps them sleep (unless they’re being shot in the feet with some sort of laser at night by the State Police or Homeland Insecurity ).

About ten years after Oregon’s Medical Marijuana Act passed the selfish Portland Mercury, a gender-impaired friendly newspaper, came out against medical marijuana dispensaries. The Mercury’s suggestion was that disabled people who are blind or in wheelchairs “need to find a friend.” In other words, “Find a local drug dealer in some back alley, who also sells meth and heroin, who can provide the marijuana…like the rest of us shmucks!”

Subsequently, the proposition to create medical marijuana dispensaries failed, and the police and drug dealers, both legal and illegal, won.

And the two cops, or drug dealers, who intentionally ran me down while I was campaigning (in 2010), got away with it, thanks to the Independent Police Review Committee and Officer Daniel (or maybe Jeff) Leonard. If the reader is interested, I wrote more about this suspicious accident in the next chapter.

So my first care giver was a guy named Dominique. Dan Ernst from Chapter Four gave me his number and we hooked up right away.

He and his charming Bohemian wife and son lived literally in the middle of the woods, west of Springfiled. Dom grew some of the best outdoor medicine anywhere. They were vegans and were into everything natural, including clothing, cleaning and most importantly, pest control, which made me think about my own life and eventually led me to make several changes in my lifestyle. In the beginning I cut back on meats and sugar, but I made the mistake of eating too many cars.

Nevertheless, because of Dom and Chris I continued to improve my diet and lifestyle, and began exercising more. So now I’ve been a vegetarian since 2016 and feel 100% better, other than the daily electronic and conventional harassment.

I was pleased to learn that Dom was a friendly guy from Colorado. And he became my grower/care giver for about three or four years, and then became my care giver again a few years later, after I was divorced.

I always liked Dom, although after he said something strange I began to wonder . I was waiting for a bus at 82nd Avenue and Holgate when apparently I heard a car that interested me, and turned my head to follow the sound.

Dom told me about this later and claimed he was driving the car I looked at, and he swore I looked directly at him while he drove around the corner.

Obviously, I have no retinas and wasn’t watching anybody drive anything, but this is the kind of crap I’ve heard from a lot of idiots since moving to Oregon. Other than light perception, I lost the last of my useable vision about five or six years before I came to Oregon. This is when I began developing this other sense that I call Extra-Aibilism. So as far as actual vision, I only have light perception. And often light perception can be very misleading.

It’s kind of funny, but a lot of these gender fluid Oregonians claim to be so non-judgmental.

PART TWO:
The next caregiver I had was a guy from Oklahoma, who called himself an “Okie.”

We met at a place called Mama’s for a class about making hashish, which is concentrated marijuana. I told his wife, Kathy Kelly, and a friend of theirs, Mike, and Randy that I was looking for a caregiver. And Randy said he had room for one more patient, since he and Kelly, and Kelly’s mom, were also patients. In fact, Kelly told me that her mom was an actual witch who casts spells and made potions.

As we got to know each other, he told me that before moving to Oregon his entire family had moved to Riverside,, California during the dust bowl, which was made famous in John Steinbeck’s “The Grapes of Wrath.”

He also told me that him and Mike, who was a tile guy, first met in Riverside about twenty years ago. Mike was a friendly Mexican who seemed to be the only normal friend of Randy’s I met. All of Kelly’s friends were pretty cool, but Randy’s friends,including his brother Ryan, were all pretty unsociable or just strange.

As far as Steinbeck goes, one of the best lines I remember from The Grapes of Wrath was when a character from California told another character from California, “Thing about those Okie’s, you can’t trust a man with no debt.” And sadly that’s true. The bankster and the land owner needs as many people as possible to be deeply in debt to them, in order to have leverage over them, and thereby control them. If a person has to work to feed their family, how can they refuse a mandated vaccine or mask, if their employer requires it. For economic reasons most people can’t file law suits, even if they know they will eventually win.

The other interesting thing that Randy told me was that he was related to Mary Seratt, who was involved in the conspiracy to assassinate President Lincoln. I don’t know if what he told me was true, but he seemed to be very proud of this fact.

And so for the first year is was really great having Randy as a caregiver. The buds were really fat and resembled “donkey dicks,” as he would call them.

However, about a year later Kelly let it slip during a visit that the Milwaukie Police Department, which is in Clackamas County, had visited their home and asked Randy to see his medical marijuana garden. But Randy never told me this, until I asked. Then he seemed real nervous as he tried to blow it off, as though it were completely normal that the police would want to inspect his garden.

I also found out around this time that Randy and Kelly’s next store neighbor was a female FBI agent, and being an activist and a 9-11 truther, alarm bells about the Seratt’s began to go off.

Often I would pick up my medicine at Randy’s house and bring a case of beer, which I helped them drink. And on a lot of different Holidays they would throw parties, and I often attended. although in the end, the parties were a lot smaller, and they got kind of weird. Like we would sit around this fire and no one would say anything, just pass the pipe. It was kind of like being around a bunch of crack addicts, like the ones I lived with in Roseville.

It was heath they were smoking, which is the little amber hairs on the buds itself. And you have to smoke it in a pipe, not a joint. That’s when I figured out why all the buds I had been getting lately were really smooth. like marbles. Apparently, By rolling the bud across this heath screen, which was mounted in a little box, it would scrape off the hairs. It took about three or four buds to get enough heath to smoke a very small bowl. Then if you try to smoke the scraped buds you don’t get half the buzz, because the heath is gone. Doesn’t that suck!

About a year and a half after I made Randy my grower I noticed the marijuana I got from him started having lots of stems and lots of shake, even though it never did before this . And this was before they started scraping the buds.

Kelly told me she was selling bags and hemp oil through the regular mail. I warned her to be careful, especially since she would often talk about it over the phone. Oddly, she said she wasn’t worried about getting caught.

But for a grower to sell their extra bud seemed pretty normal to me. As long as the patient had what they needed, and was willing to contribute to the cost, it shouldn’t matter what a grower does with the left over.

I traveled to Gresham with Kelly to sell a couple bags of weed to a friend, and afterwards she said she was driving to Oregon City to sell another bag. That’s when I noticed the medicine I was getting lately started looking like shit, compared to how it was in the beginning.

I called Kelly and asked her if she wanted to celebrate my birthday so We went to lunch, which was of course on my tab since she was driving. When I got home I realized my credit card was missing.

So I called Kelly if when she had time she could look in her car for my missing credit card. She said she was standing in line at Cosco’s, So I began to wonder. I quickly cancelled the card and ordered a new one. Curiously, Kelly called me about a week later and said she found my card in the car door’s pouch, except how did it get there? I only had three beers and I know I didn’t accidently put it there, although that’s what she was suggesting.

After I fell asleep I woke up about an hour later and my cheek was swollen up like a balloon. This is really weird, but everything with the Seratt’s was kind of weird.

because she took me to this concert place where she was meeting a friend.

Then after a couple beers Kelly walked me into this garden. But when we first went into the garden she said, “Oh there’s a little old man here.” As I heard someone walk past us, she said, “Oh he’s leaving.”

And then my face swelled up later that day, as though this little old man may have shot me with a poison dart.

And that’s when things got really weird with Randy too. He was always nervous, and seemed really jacked up whenever we spoke. I knew he was collecting unemployment and doing cement jobs for wealthy people who could pay him in cash, so I didn’t think to much about it. He had a small cement company, and provided part time employment to several other guys.

At first I didn’t give much thought to Randy’s being in the cement business, although I did grow up around Detroit and the stories about Jimmy Hoffa being buried in cement were prevalent. And I didn’t think much about this pavement company from Portland called Signature Paving, that put out this ad on Alpha Media about burying anarchist in pavement,even though a few years earlier a serial murderer had buried one of his teenage victims under a cement patio in his backyard.

That’s when I started really getting shocked really hard. Sometimes I was shocked so hard my leg would fly into the air and I would scream out in pain. But strangely, none of my neighbors would call the police or come to see why I was screaming in the middle of the night. Eventually I started banging a hammer on the floor whenever I was shocked, and it did eventually help, but no one ever asked why I was screaming. Although this one time my neighbor Juan came over and started pounding on the wall of my RV, yelling “SHUT UP! SHUT UP!”

One other time three or four people who must have been from the fire department literally broke down my gate and ran into my small yard and said, “Are you okay? Do you need any food?” Then, like comedy actors in a short, they said nothing else and quickly ran out through the broken gate. But I have pictures of the broken fence to document the date and prove that someone obviously broke my gate.

Half out of my mind, I started yelling back, “STOP ELECTROCUTING ME! STOP ELECTROCUTING ME!”

But surprisingly, the police never came to investigate, or they never spoke to me. that’s when I started building this fence around my RV and put in a gate. Once Randy came over to my home and was able to knocked on my door. I asked him how he got through the gate since it was locked, so he showed me. He was able to lift the gate and easily dislodge the slide bolt. So I put on a better lock that required a key .

Things seem to go south between me and Randy and Kelly but I didn’t know why. Something was different, and it seemed as though they were tolerating my presence, which made me feel like shit.

Like this one time when Kelly came over to bring me some medicine and asked to use the bathroom. My RV wasn’t in the best condition back then and it seemed really strange that Kelly didn’t want to drive fifteen minutes to her home . So of course I said, “Sure.”

I didn’t think much about it, but I remember having to wash some tried stuff off of my drain. And then a short time later, my gray tank became jammed. I tried everything to unplug it, but nothing worked. So I put in another simple drainage system that ran directly to the sewage line. I thought about the problem and how this could happen, and then I remembered the stuff around the drain and figured out it was probably some quick drying cement that Kelly poured into the drain. Which means Randy was probably involved and gave her the cement. And Kelly called her dear elderly mother a witch?

one time when I stayed over Randy and Kelly told me that they had had a falling out with Mike over some tile work he did. But it seemed kind of strange that he would end a twenty year relationship with someone over a few fallen tiles. It was too bad, because Mike was a gregarious guy who made their parties fun.

I stayed over for the last time when I was invited to a small party Kelly was having. In the morning, Kelly offered to make quesadillas and it tasted like shit, as maybe she put something in it with the melted cheese. I pulled a couple hairs out of my mouth and didn’t take another bite, but I never said anything.

And then out of the blue, one day Randy showed up at my house with an application for a hunting license, even though there probably should be two separate forms for fishing and hunting. since as I explained in Chapter 5 and 6 my plea bargain charged included a Class C felony, which meant I wasn’t allowed to own, use or possess a fire arm. But you are forced to fill out one form even if you only want a fishing license. The form requires that you declare whether or not you have been “convicted” of a felony, which curiously includes all plea bargains.

I was caught by surprise and told Randy I wanted to think about it, but I didn’t feel comfortable around guns, which is true. He insisted that I would have a great time! He explained he would take me hunting in the woods with lots of beer and weed.
But curiously, Kelly wouldn’t be going.

, I thought to myself, even if I could get a license it didn’t make sense that a completely blind man, with a significant hearing loss, would be following a guy around the woods, with a gun and lots of beer.

“You see the problem is,” he explained, “the state only gives hunting license to kill a bull moose to handicapped people. There’s this other guy, in case you don’t want to go. It really doesn’t matter to me,” he said.

I hadn’t told Randy anything about my dirty plea bargain because it always made me upset, and I thought it would be better to keep it to myself. Thing is, things between me and Randy hadn’t been real good, and I wondered if the cops made up some other shit about me that wasn’t true, like that I wasn’t blind, or I raped a child. It had been a long time since Randy and I had a real discussion about anything that mattered.

When he gave me a ride home this one time, we stopped at a convenience store to pick up some papers, But he insisted that only he go in, but he never said why. And we never went anywhere else together, so I knew he didn’t have any experience leading me around. So now he’s going to lead me around the woods with a gun and some beer. Frankly,it kind of scared the shit out of me that he would even suggest it, unless someone was going to pay him to have a convenient hunting accident?

So I wrote him a polite letter, saying this would be really stupid to be around anyone with guns and beer, since I was blind. I said I would love to go fishing with him some time. But even though he had several boasts and went fishing almost every other weekend, he never asked, either before or after.

So I started to wonder, was Randy hoping maybe there would be some kind of hunting accident where I walk in front of the gun? After all, we would be over there in Clatsop County, somewhere in the Coastal Mountain Range, with help hours away. Besides Clatsop County at the time was run by one of Oregon’s dirtiest persecutors, Josh Marquis, who would be very unlikely to prosecute Randy for accidently killing a sex offender who lied on his license. And maybe that’s why Kelly didn’t want to go, because she knew about them planning the accident

Marquis boasted on the radio of taking over this corrupt county, and bringing in law and order. He explained that the former-prosecutor, a woman, had fixed some tickets for her boyfriend . But the truth is, she had filed charges against two state police officers for distributing cocaine. When they came after her, she resigned and Marquis took over. All not surprisingly, the charges against the two cops were promptly dropped. And after the state “investigated” and found no wrong doing by law enforcement, no one questioned the Mighty State.

And one other time on Lard Larson’s show Marquis bragged about proposing a law that would go after ex-boyfriends or ex-husbands who call their ex-girlfriends or ex-wives to much. Surprisingly, Lard asked this sleazy opportunist, “What about ex-girlfriends or ex-wives who harass their ex-boyfriends or ex-husbands?” For the first time ever, Marquis had no snarky rebuttle.

Marquis first became infamous in Oregon for saying that he was going to charge a group of thirteen-year-old boys with a felony and make them all registered sex offenders, for slapping the bottoms of thirteen-year-old girls. Certainly it isn’t okay to do this, and perhaps suspensions were in order. But Marquis’ willingness to get involved in what was clearly a school matter shows his arrogance and willingness to abuse his power.

And this one time when Marquis told Lard that he wanted to “hock a luger” he showed his true colors and lack of professionalism as one of the worst persecutors in all of Oregon.

PART THREE:
So the next spring I decided to try and find a new caregiver so I posted an ad on Craigslist, “Looking for honest grower.” I don’t like to be censored and so I never use social media, so my options were limited.

If you can believe my good luck, through Craigslist I found a lovely young Hespanic lady named Lolita, although she may have been a cop. Actually it was her boyfriend, Nick, who responded to my ad. He said he was Canadian, so his girlfriend would be my grower on paper but he would be doing most of the actual work. He promised a couple ounces by August and the rest in late October or early November. And the best thing of all, it wouldn’t cost me a dime. I suppose I knew why.

I agreed and sent Nick the updated paperwork after I notified the state that I had changed grower’s. I also called Randy and told him what I was doing. He was brief, and said it wouldn’t be hard to find someone else, and hung up. And I never heard from him or Kelly ever again.

Just like Nick promised, I got a couple ounces in August, and the rest, a year supply, came in early November, a week before I mysteriously slipped on my front porch and broke my ankle.

For about a year after that, I hooked up with a lady friend I met through my caregiver, but it wasn’t that kind of caregiver. It’s confusing, but this was a traditional caregiver through the county, because of my multiple disabilities.

When I first applied for a caregiver through the county I was denied, because I wasn’t disabled enough. Then they called me to say there was a new pilot program that I would be eligible for. So within a couple weeks I had someone to help me out with shopping and paying my bills, and anything that helped me survive. It was long over do, and I have been grateful for this service.

PART FOUR:
My new case worker Marcus called and said that if I wanted a home care worker I would have to go through this company called Markey, but it really sucked. First, they hired the workers, so there was no way to screen out incompetent or unqualified workers.

also I wasn’t allowed to have the phone number of my worker, and they were required to block their number if they needed to call me. I suppose that made a little sense, when the worker switched every week.

Then I started getting the same worker named Amy. She kept coming over every week for over a year. Now this rule that I couldn’t have her number seemed really stupid. She agreed, and eventually she gave it to me.

Even though Amy was acquainted with one of my many blind adversaries, Gweneth van Frank Carlson, the blind peer mentor I mentioned in Chapter Four (who destroyed the infamous recording of the Deep State threatening to “destroy” my life). Apparently they both served on the committee for the Country Fair in Eugene. Despite this, things were pretty good between Amy and me, s far as I knew.

Although a year later, when I was expecting my new debit card and my ballot my mail disappeared, according to Amy, who always checked my mail when she arrived.

I was to learn that the Friday before the maintenance man asked the mail lady for my mail, and she gave him all of it, including my ballot! So this woman without my consent reached into my mailbox and gave him all of my mail, which is normally a crime. As though someone told him to do this, the maintenance man never brought the mail down to me. It appeared as though someone didn’t want me to vote. In the next chapter I’ll tell the reader more about the politically corrupt post office in Portland.

Then I found out that Debbie Sleeper, the property manager, lied and said she didn’t know anything about anything, even though she admitted later that she saw the mail lady giving Charles my mail the previous Friday.

And this wouldn’t have been a real big deal, Debbie not remembering, if Charles had brought my mail down to me.

Sometimes I would give Charles my mail key and he would come right back with the mail, then we would smoke a little. But this time for some strange reason he kept my mail in his home for ten days. And Based on a complaint I filed, on the tenth day a postal supervisor named Scot Hilton found all of my mail at Charles’ home, which he admitted taking. When he gave me the mail Hilton said, “That’s just Charles being Charles.”

This was also very strange, but a week after my mail disappeared so did Amy. She never came back. I was told by Markey she was no longer working with the company, and the rotating “workers” began again.

When they told me that Amy left the company I called her at home and asked her why? She told me it was because of all these ridiculous rules. As a result, I ended up having all sorts of strange people coming in and out of my home.

In fact, one time they sent a very large transgender man posing as a woman into my home, who called himself “Valerie.” Before leaving, he wanted to know if I would come over to his home and help him set up his water bed in his bedroom for $50 (and probably perform some other unspecified services).

“No thanks,,” I said, as I turned my head and gagged into my hand.

After complaining to my case worker, Marcus, about Markey, I was switched into another program in which I was able to choose my own caregiver from a list of qualified workers available online. While certainly it hasn’t been perfect, it was definitely an improvement since I was never propositioned again.

Suzy Hayes from Oregon City was one of the worst caregivers I ever had. But there’s been something odd about almost all of them. It seemed as though someone at the county or state itself was telling the workers to do sick things to me to make me angry, so I would look crazy to my neighbors. After all, I don’t pay for the service, and just like lawyers, people usually get what they pay for.

The first incident took place during Suzy’s first week. It involved finding my kitchen drain once again in the trash can. This happened twice before with other caregivers. Once I found it just after another caregiver, Keyona, left my home. And it happened another time when I had to replace the missing drain, wile her grandmother, Denise, was working for me.

Since I know someone intentionally jammed up my gray tank several years ago, as I mentioned above, it almost appears as though someone wanted to make me appear careless by allowing food and other garbage to go down the drain.

Having my caregivers make my environment as unhealthy as possible seemed to be one of the deep State’s objectives, along with fucking with my computer, printer and every other electronic device in my home.

Given the nature of my coerced plea bargain, it was very strange that Suzy’s cell phone message sounded more like a thirteen-year-old horny girl, then a 48 or fifty-eight-year-old woman.

And when I called Suzy at her home on her land line, her roommate, Kenny, said he never heard of anyone named Suzy. A few minutes later I called back and politely asked if he was Mark, the bus driver (Suzy’s “boyfriend”), he quickly said “no”, and hung up.

Suzy told me later that Kenny claimed he misunderstood me (twice) and she said “It was an honest mistake.” I didn’t think this was true, but I didn’t know why.

On May 23rd, Another time, shortly after Suzy brought in my groceries and left, I found a bag of sugar that had a two to three inch cut in the bag and the sugar had leaked out everywhere. When I took it out of the bag and set it on the counter, it definitely wasn’t leaking. So I checked and found that there was no sugar in the plastic bag it came in. I remember, she picked it up and confirmed it was a 4 lb. bag and not a 5 lb. bag, and then apparently cut the bag open.

I remember this because I joked about how corporate America is always cheating us with smaller and smaller bags or boxes of what ever they’re selling, and she laughed. But I guess the joke was on me?

I had just told her earlier that day how my last caregiver, Keyona, had once used a knife in my sink to sliced open my kitchen hose when her “uncle Paul” had called me outside to examine my fence that curiously had also just been vandalized.

Once I hired this “recovering” alcoholic named Brian, who was the brother of a lady friend. She said he desperately needed work. Interestingly, he was also the husband of a local bartender who worked at a local bar called “Checkers” where in 2010 I was run down while campaigning for medical marijuana dispensaries.

I had stepped outside for a moment to say goodbye to my lady friend, when he maliciously cut open a water line that ran along the floor. Luckily, I had already turned off the water, or it would have been a real mess.

In addition, let me add one more fact about this ongoing vandalism. Apparently someone had been pouring dirt and maybe bugs into the outside wall to the north. When I pulled back the aluminum from under the sink, because of the strong smell of a dead animal, I discovered that my outside wall was packed with wet mud. For the record, I took a dozen pics of the dirt pouring out of the wall.

I suspect, just like the dirt put into my wall, both the leaking sugar bag and the clogged drain would obviously draw lots and lots of bugs. And I think that was part of the plan, to make me seem extremely unclean and make me as unhealthy as possible because of my effective marijuana advocacy.

I suspect along with spraying or poisoning my environment, destroying my home anyway possible seems to be one of the primary forms of torture being used against me, taking advantage of my blindness and vulnerability.

In 2014, I met a woman from Alabama I got to know by participating in this conference call for “targeted individuals”. She claimed her husband, Joe, was abusing her and we talked privately for awhile. Then she came for a three week visit and we got to know each other, but it didn’t work out.

After she left I discovered hundreds of food and candy wrappers everywhere in my RV, including places where they seemed to be hidden. A few weeks after her visit my RV began to fill with dozens of mice, and at least one rat I could hear chewing through my wooden floor at night! I took a picture of this one chewed piece of wood since I suspect no one would believe it. But it didn’t matter.

Another time when Suzy brought my groceries I found a loaf of bread that had a five inch slice in it, similar to the bag of sugar. Unfortunately, I didn’t notice until after she left.

When I first interviewed Suzy for the job she said she was 58 and owned a home. Later she apparently forgot what she told me, and said she was 48 and living in her boyfriend’s home. Since I’ve had lots of problems with lots of the local bus drivers over accommodation issues, and her boyfriend Mark worked for the bus company, I eventually concluded she was also working with the local bus company, Tri-Met.

For example, the same lady-friend I mentioned above, who was helping me out around the house, said she was buying pills off a man named Terry. And Terry was married to a Tri-Met Max driver and my friend said Terry was getting a regular prescription for his back pain through his wife’s insurance.

Also, once, around this same time a Tri-Met driver called the Clackamas County Sheriff’s Department on me because I wouldn’t leave his bus. I boarded the bus with a heavily loaded backpack, a bag of groceries, and my white cane at the local Win-Co in Clackamas County.

He said he would not let me ride his bus because I had flipped him off earlier that day, after exiting the bus. This is true. I did this because he failed to lower the step and provide an accommodations the bus company claimed all of it’s drivers were providing to all blind riders with white canes. Except this wasn’t true since this driver had failed to provide this accommodation both when I boarded his bus and when I exited it. In fact, I flipped him off because I almost tripped because of the large drop off at this particular stop, across from Win-Co.

Just a few weeks earlier I had had a long discussion over this issue with a supervisor from Tri-Met. She explained that sometimes the noise frightened some guide dogs, so drivers are advised not to lower the step for people with guide dogs unless specifically requested. She also told me that some drivers were scolded by a few selfish blind people who were annoyed that drivers would automatically provide this accommodation to blind people with white canes without being prompted. But she agreed with me, all drivers should and would provide this accommodation when they can identify that a person is blind and carrying a white cane.

So I felt good about finally resolving this issue with Tri-Met, or so I thought.

Before the reader dismisses this concern Let me explain why I need this particular accommodation every time I ride the bus. When the step is lowered the bus also puts out a loud beeping noise. Unfortunately, the sound is probably too loud and I suspect it annoys most people, including I suspect some drivers.

However, because I am completely blind and have a significant hearing loss, it is especially helpful to hear the sound so I know where the bus is located. Otherwise two buses will pull up , one after the other, and I’ll never know that there was another bus behind the first until both buses pull away. Sometimes the driver will stop to see if I need that bus, but often they won’t.

I know this is true for a lot of people who ride the bus. I had reconstructive surgery in 2005 on my left knee, but the driver would never know by looking. So lowering the step keeps my knee safe.

So when this bus driver failed to lower the step, despite my white cane, I flipped him off after I exited the bus across from Win-Co. I was on the public sidewalk and had every right to do what I did.

So maybe Mark and Suzy, and Kenny (who sounded a lot like the driver who called the cops on me) are using the Multnomah County’s caregiver program to retaliate against me?

Ironically, it was a case from right here in Clackamas County, Oregon that set the precedence for establishing our First Amendment Right to flip off anybody, as long as it doesn’t violate their personal space or interfere with their ability to perform their job.

In this case a man was driving down the road and flipped off a sheriff deputy who was going the other way. The deputy turned around and pulled the man over, writing him a bogus ticket. Thankfully, he appealed the case all the way to the Supreme Court and we won the right to give anyone the finger, including cops or bus drivers, who probably deserve it more than anybody.

Then I discovered that the used CD player Suzy bought for me at Good Will didn’t work and there’s no refunds at Good Will. Suzy claimed she tested it when she bought it, as I requested, but obviously she didn’t.

When she left for the store I offered her a CD if she needed one, but she said she had one in her car. So she never tested the CD player, or destroyed it before she gave it to me.

I can’t actually prove Suzy did this, even if she admitted having a suitcase loaded with CDs and stealing from a blind person is so easy, but in 2020 I discovered that almost a hundred of my best CDs disappeared.

Then that same week Suzy bought me grapes with seeds from the grocery store. Since I haven’t gotten grapes with seeds for years and years, I didn’t know they still sold grapes with seeds, which really sucks. So why would she buy her blind client grapes with seeds, when she knows I would have to put the grape in my mouth to find the seeds. I don’t think it was an accident, just another way to piss me off.

She offered to pick up a food box at the Clackamas County Community Center which was located a few blocks away, where I once volunteered. I thought this was a good idea, since St. Vincent DePaul maliciously started putting empty peanut butter jars in the food boxes they delivered. However, after the second or third time I got a food box I noticed that a lot of the food was expired, rotten or appeared to be tampered with. So I told Suzy never go there for any food. Despite this, she kept bringing me food from that place, which I promptly threw away after she left.

But one of the worst things that Suzy ever did to me was to poison my pizza.

On a Tuesday in January I had Suzy pick up a cheese pizza from Poppa Murphy and get me some medicine from the place on 52nd Street. After eating the pizza that night I woke up to find I could barely talk and had difficulty forming any thoughts, as though I had had a stroke. Not only was this physical, but it was also effecting me mentally. I was unable to process any complex thought or action, and I was no longer able to play guitar. the lingering effects lasted for a couple years.

Curiously, I was scheduled to take a blood test the following day, around Eleven in the morning. The Phlebotomist said she agreed I appeared to have a speech impediment, but she didn’t know if it was normal. It’s not, as my many calls to KBOO’s “Voices From the Edge” proves. In addition, both my parents and brother, as well as my case worker, Marcus, definitely said they noticed a difference in my speech.

The Phlebotomist also said they were not looking for poison in this blood test, and no test that would have proved I was poisoned was ever done, because my regular doctor wasn’t available. So this ignorant substitute nurse from my Home Care service wasn’t alarmed by my inability to speak.

The test did show a big jump in my blood sugar, and some damage to my liver, so the pharmacist from Home Care put me on a diabetes medicine, even though I didn’t have diabetes.

In fact, I have never had a blood sugar that was so high which suggests that damage was done to my pancreas by some poison that I suspect was put on my pizza. A few years earlier I suspect the Deep State put something in my food or beverages to make me hallucinate for three or four days. That time the ignorant shrink from Adventist Hospital, who was obviously serving Big Pharma, put me on a strong anti-hallucinogenic called Halcion and told me to stop smoking marijuana, when I explained what happened.

About two or three weeks before my pizza was poisoned, Suzy’s told me that her other client Robin died. She may have been lying about all of this, but Suzy said he was extremely over weight and very unhealthy. She often said she was very angry with him because he wouldn’t do what she wanted, especially just before he died. However, when he died she immediately blame the medical staff at the hospital, saying “He probably really pissed them off and they killed him!”

It seemed really strange, that she would use these exact words, “They killed him,” since she could have said his life style killed him and I would have never thought anything.

I know she can be an extremely violent person. When I tried to ask her to speak up and let me know where she was because she walks around all the time, she became angry and stormed out of here, breaking my gate when she left.

Another time she admitted to me that she got angry in front of her three grand kids, ages two to six, and threw the remote at the TV violently breaking the screen!

And even though she told me he knew Robin was on a very special diet while in the hospital’s ICU, she told me she took him two deluxe cheese burgers from McDonald’s and he died the very next day.

She said she had to sneak up the back stairs at the hospital to bring him this food, so no one would see her. This means she knew he wasn’t supposed to have any kind of unhealthy food that wasn’t on his diet, especially fast food.

That’s why I think Suzy Hayes also poisoned my pizza by putting something on it, like rat poison, since I got so sick. It took me several years before I began to feel somewhat normal. And I suspect my liver and pancreas never fully recovered from whatever she must have gave me. This strong reaction wouldn’t have happened if it were only to much carbohydrates in my blood. That’s why I strongly suspect she put some poison on both Robin and my food, since 80% of the time when people are murdered by poison the murderers are never caught.

And people from the northwest, especially Wiccans, are known for poisoning their victims. Mostly women who poison men with potions and powders.

No wonder they want to take away the guns!