From Montana, my dad moved us to the El Toro-Mission Viejo area of California. His brother, Larry, offered Dad a job working in promotions for the Huish Family Fun Centers, located all over Southern California at the time. We lived in a house with no fridge. Gloria faithfully filled Styrofoam coolers with ice to keep food cool. It was the summer before I would enter high school.

My dad made Jody and me go door-to-door, gathering old newspapers for recycling. We also asked for any old pop bottles, which at the time, brought us a nickel or dime a piece, depending on the bottle. We would pull a red wagon through the neighborhood, neither of us having a clue that teenagers usually don’t do those kinds of jobs.

Most of the people were really nice to us and gave us the newspapers and bottles that they had. One older lady invited us in for some milk and cookies. Yeah, Grandpa and his kid brother, Jody, didn’t have any clue about what we might have looked like as a couple of young boys knocking on doors asking for old garbage.

While living in Montana, Dad had somehow come into possession of a semi-truck full of bagged apples. He made me sell them door-to-door. I loaded up bags of Red Delicious apples in a wheelbarrow and walked all over Kalispell, Montana selling apples for $1.25 per bag. I got to keep 25 cents for each bag I sold.

Even younger, as a Boy Scout in Idaho, we would have fund raisers and sell all kinds of things. I once went out on my own as a young boy and sold packs of 10 plastic combs for whatever I could over one dollar. I had to give one dollar for each pack to our leader. I kept whatever amount I could convince someone to pay me for the pack over one dollar. It was usually only a nickel or a dime over one dollar, but sometimes I’d get a quarter.

As farm boys, other farmers would hire my brothers and me to haul their hay and do other odd jobs. One summer I made almost $100. I thought I was rich. The fact is, I probably made around 25 cents or less an hour for all the work that I did … but again, I didn’t have a clue what was fair and what was not in the money world.

Jody and I never saw a penny from all the newspapers we gathered. Dad would take them to the recycler for cash. But Dad didn’t know about the empty pop bottles. We’d get the bottles and take them to the store and cash them in ourselves.

All these jobs helped me to learn about the value of money. There was money in this world. Everyone seemed to have some. The trick was learning how to get someone to give you their money. You see, Grandkids, that’s all there is to money and business in this world—learning the tricks to convince another person to give you their money. In fact, that’s what the world is all about.

The greatest trick of all is convincing another person to work and make you money so that you don’t have to work. It wouldn’t have been too hard to convince Jody to go gather bottles in a wagon by himself and bring them back home to me. I could have paid him a penny for a nickel bottle and a nickel for a dime bottle. Either way, Jody would have done all the work and I would have made money doing nothing. Jody wouldn’t have had a clue.

As we have explored Grandpa’s narcissistic sociopathic behavior (as some in the world suppose … cough, cough), however, my personal mental disorder couldn’t do this to my brother. And I never did. But I could have. At that time, Jody didn’t have a clue.

When we started attending school, we had to be on time or we were marked as tardy. It was a law that our parents were required to send us to school, or provide us with a government-approved education through homeschooling. There wasn’t a lot of homeschooling when I was young. Kids went to school. That’s what kids were supposed to do.

From an early age we were taught to get out bed, get dressed, and rush off to school before the tardy bell rang. We were punished when we were tardy. We were learning how to be good employees who always went to work on time and spent their day doing their assigned tasks. When we attended school, the principal was the “manager” and the teachers were the “supervisors” in the world’s business called: EDUCATION.

Yeah, grandkids, we were being tricked. We were being deceived and inculcated (which means to teach [someone] an attitude, idea, or habit by persistent instruction) to be an employee for someone and help make money, not for us, but for them. We were being taught by deception and inculcation (using the example above) to go around the neighborhood and collect bottles for less than what they were actually worth so that someone else could profit from our work without doing anything.

An education was teaching us the tricks without us realizing that we were being tricked by being taught the tricks, which we were tricked into believing were not tricks.

Confusing?

This is exactly how the world works and why there are so much poverty and inequality.

I already explained how “bad” men invented a God. This God gave commandments to pay tithes and offerings of the “first fruits of your labors” to God’s chosen Priests. People were taught that this was the only way to be saved in heaven. Religion is just another one of these tricks.

So, how did all these tricks start?

Well, you’re not going to find out by going to school and being tricked out of your money (paying for an education). Those who have tricked you don’t want you to see it as being tricked out of your money. They tricked you into believing that an education is good and valuable. No. An education turns you into an employee … or rather … a slave.

Here’s what one of Grandpa’s mentors wrote about this:

(Beginning of excerpt.)

“For every one person who can claim success in reaching the standard of accepted self-awareness and prosperity, ninety-nine others suffer from the means used to achieve this prosperity without the ability to attain it for themselves. In the race to be counted of worth in a world of values and standards set to benefit those who set them, no notice is given to the devastating effects of the contest.

“’Freedom’ is an abstract idea perpetuated by those in power over others. Evident forced slavery has simply been replaced with tacit slavery. Rising to the sound of a rooster’s crow to harness the mule to the plow has been replaced with the obtrusive sound of an alarm clock that signals the beginning of another enslaved day. In both types of slavery, the wise ones are forced to work or they will die. The former was provided food, clothing, and shelter; the latter is given a piece of paper that must be exchanged for commodities owned by another slave owner.

“The slave’s desire to live enriches the landowner for whom he or she works, and also the merchant from whom he or she must purchase life. The former was forced into chains if work and rules were not completed as established by the master; the latter is locked in a jail cell for the same reasons. Neither chose to be born into slavery; each would have rather been born the child of a slave owner: one who never saw the butt end of a mule pulling a harrow, or the other who will never hear the sound of a time punch-clock.

“Though modern owners do not outwardly display their employees as personal human property, the slave trade has transformed itself into a shared commodity of the corporations and wealthy of the world. Within the commercial organizations that buy and sell goods, make products, and provide services, there exists a proprietary implication that if a slave refuses to work for one business, in order to remain alive, the rebellious runaway must submit to another. By running away from one plantation, the need to eat, and be clothed and housed necessitates the acceptance of another.

“Chained ignorantly without lock or key, the writing on the wall has little affect on the minds of the wise ones who see themselves as individual and equal human beings instead of slaves. Thus, have they been convinced and deceived. The very essence of their innate human nature disallows the possibility that they can be controlled. They are convinced that it is possible that one day they, too, might own a business and have others work for them, forgetting their immediate state of enslavement by the illusory daydream of financial freedom and wealth.

“Day after day, their minds are gratified and lulled into a tempered calm as they toil in the fields, cubicles, or other employment they do not enjoy but have chosen by force. The ‘Dream’ satisfies their inner conflict by convincing them that it is possible to become a landowner; hence, they are indeed equal to their masters who were once enslaved like them.

“The wise ones are not isolated to being slaves to the rich and powerful, but have also become indentured to their own desire to become a master. ‘Getting ahead in the world’ has become the model of individuality. It becomes easier for them to alienate their minds from the conditions of poverty and destitution required at the bottom of the corporate chain, because of the image in their minds of future success and the opportunity to jump from the ninety-nine percent to the one percent.

“The wise ones have become desensitized, and pay no attention to human history that has paved a path of awareness to the place where the thin thread hangs, and demonstrates that the set percentages have never changed, and never will—one wise one on top needs ninety-nine others below in order to keep them buoyed up on the sea of humanity.

“Many of the ninety-nine die with little notice or fanfare, and are soon replaced by other unknown faces, struggling to stay alive, and hoping to one day reach the top. The ones pay no attention to the loss of faceless individuals they knew nothing about. Clothed in robes of excess and prosperity, they find no relevance in any matter outside the walls of their personal kingdom of gratification and family. The robes by which they are clothed came at a price—the cost of other human beings whose every breath stitched the woven threads of their contrived tapestries.”

(End of excerpt.)

The above excerpt was taken from a book that bears Grandpa’s name. I didn’t write the book, but I was asked to take credit it for it. This was done so that I could explain the book to others who wanted to know more about it. The book is called, 666, The Mark of America, Seat of the Beast—The Apostle John’s New Testament Revelation Unfolded. Grandpa is legally recognized as the book’s Author and Proprietor. (Proprietor means owner.)

Believe it or not, one of Grandpa’s mentors lived upon this earth during the early 19th Century and was also legally recognized as a book’s Author and Proprietor. Here’s an actual photo of the book’s first printed proof of its Title Page:

Yep, “Joseph Smith, Junnior [sic], AUTHOR AND PROPRIETOR.

Joseph Smith wrote the Book of Mormon and became its legal author and owner in the exact same way and for the same reason that Grandpa became the legal author and owner of the 666 book mentioned above, and also The Sealed Portion. Yep, Grandpa was the “Man From Joe’s Bar and Grill” who wrote these books.

Grandpa would become the author and owner of other books associated with the Marvelous Work and a Wonder®. In fact, the original Book of Mormon, is actually a part of the MWAW … but shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh … don’t tell the LDS/Mormons who have been tricked into believing that it is not. Oh, yes! It is! The world will be convinced of this by reading another book that Grandpa was asked to help publish—A New American Religion, How and Why the Real Illuminati® Created the Book of Mormon.

Although the LDS/Mormons will adamantly proclaim that Joseph Smith did not actually “write” the Book of Mormon, the Lord (the Mormon God) revealed otherwise:

“Behold, thou wast called and chosen to write the Book of Mormon, and to my ministry; and I have lifted thee up out of thine afflictions, and have counseled thee, that thou hast been delivered from all thine enemies, and thou hast been delivered from the powers of Satan and from darkness!” (Doctrine and Covenants 24:1.)

“The Lord revealed” the exact same thing to Grandpa in April of 1991.

You may say, “But Grandpa, you said that there is no Mormon God or ‘the Lord’!” Yeah, and my enemies and critics say that I admitted writing The Sealed Portion. Of course I wrote it!

Someone had to “write” the words down on paper (digitally through a word processor in my case), so that they would be available for others. And the tricked LDS/Mormons would be correct to say that Joseph Smith, [Junnior], did not “write” the words down on paper for the Book of Mormon. His wife and a few other men actually wrote down the words on paper.

Okay. So, we can say that Joseph wrote the book by telling others what to write down on paper. So what? So, Joseph and I wrote down the words of the books. We were the Authors and Proprietors.

But the question remains: Where did we get the ideas for the words that we wrote? Where did the words come from? The words certainly didn’t come from Joseph and me being educated and learning the ideas from attending school. No possible way!

It’s pretty easy to understand where Grandpa got the words that he used for the MWAW books of which he is the author and owner. The words were texted to me through a cell phone. To prove this was the case, you might want to look in your history books and find out when texting first started.

Remember when I explained that I was first approached to “write” The Sealed Portion of the Book of Mormon in April of 1991? At this time I didn’t know anything about cell phones or the technology surrounding it. But those who asked me did. They gave me some sort of a cell phone thingamajig and showed me how to receive text messages from it.

Now, why do you think they waited until 1991 to introduce me to texting? Because the world would first be introduced to texting by the end of the same year.

Remember when I told you that there was no magic or anything that is supernatural that happens upon Earth? Well, there was no magic in how I received the words through text messages that I would write down, which eventually became the words that I would author and own. At that time, it would have been easy for the world to believe that I was receiving text messages from someone, somewhere, that contained the words for the books. So that the rest of the world would have an easier time accepting the non-magical way by which The Sealed Portion was written, my mentors waited until the technology of texting was finally introduced.

They asked me to be the legal author and owner of the book. My life would have been much easier if I could have simply explained that the words that I wrote down were texted to me by others who were a lot smarter than me.

But noooooooooooooooo! Because the book was the “sealed part” of the Book of Mormon, we had to present the story in the same way that Joseph Smith, Junnior (sic … I like this sic way of spelling his name) did. The exact same way!

“Now, wait a minute, Grandpa! There were no cell phones back in the early 19th Century! So how could Joseph Smith have received text messages that contained the words that he had his scribes write down on paper?”

Hey, Grandkids! How do you know that there was no cell phone technology in the early 19th Century? Oh, from being tricked through education … Right? That’s what the history books say … Right? That’s what your teachers taught you … Right? Or maybe …

That’s what your religious leaders have tricked you into believing. They trick you into believing that there is an invisible God in heaven who hears and answers your prayers. They want you to believe that He will not reveal anything to you unless it is personal. They teach that He will not reveal anything to you that might be something beneficial to the rest of the world. They trick you into believing that if God has something to tell the world, He will do it through His chosen priesthood leaders—prophets, seers, popes, and priests … Right?

They have tricked you into believing that if God was going to reveal the sealed part mentioned in God’s Book of Mormon to the world, God would not do it through somebody from Joe’s Bar and Grill … Right?

GRANDPA: Do you know from whom your religious leaders are receiving their information? From their own egos, from Lucifer, the devil whom they teach you to fear and avoid by staying faithful to them, paying your tithing, and doing what they tell you to do.

GRANDKIDS: What? The devil?

GRANDPA: That is one of their names.

GRANDKIDS: They are quite different people from what they told me the devil is. They said the devil has claws like a bear on his hands, horns on his head, and a cloven foot, and that when he speaks he has the roar of a lion!

GRANDPA: They have said this to deceive and trick you, and I would advise you to get out of their employ.

GRANDKIDS: Your advice is good; but, if I leave their employ, what will become of me?

GRANDPA: I will teach you the Real Truth™, with the rest of the world.

GRANDKIDS: That is good.

But alas, I highly doubt that any of you are going to believe me and let me teach you the Real Truth™. You see, Grandkids, you’ve been receiving a lot of value from “being employed” by these “bad” men, going to school and learning what they want you to learn. You might have a certified degree to prove it. It is going to be very hard for you to give up all the value you receive from the world in order to accept that Grandpa might know the Real Truth™. More than likely, you will turn away from Grandpa, tap Lucifer on the shoulder, who has now turned his back on you because you’ve been reading Grandpa’s books, and ask to be paid. What Grandpa knows you will never learn in school or church. You cannot know what Grandpa knows unless you become as a little child. Let me repeat that again:

You will never accept what Grandpa has to teach you, unless you become the YOU you were before you started to go to school (to become tricked and inculcated by the nonsense that the human ego offers you through an education).

Remember when I wrote about the time I met your mom/aunt Brittany for coffee and threw out a line trying to get her to bite on more of what I had to offer her than just being her father? Part of the bait was quoting a man whom Brittany had been tricked into believing was one of the most intellectual people in the world—Albert Einstein. Grandpa quoted Einstein to Brittany:

“Only two things are infinite, the universe and human stupidity, and I’m not sure about the former.”

Brittany was trying to decide, at the time, whether or not to go back to school and get her degree. She had a great job. She didn’t like her job, but it paid her a lot of money. Somehow Brittany was tricked into believing that, by going back to school and getting her degree ,she would become more valuable to her own ego—to Lucifer. But it was Dad having coffee with his daughter that day, not a True Messenger trying to cast out Lucifer. But anyways …

I should have stuck with Einstein. Brittany didn’t have much respect for my intelligence. Maybe she would for Albert Einstein’s. Here are some of the things that he said about education:

“Education is what remains after one has forgotten what one has learned in school.”

“The only thing that interferes with my learning is my education.”

“Reading, after a certain age, diverts the mind too much from its creative pursuits. Any man who reads too much and uses his own brain too little falls into lazy habits of thinking.”

You learn to read the nonsense that others have written when you are attending school. When you read others’ words, you are getting their perspective and being tricked into believing whatever it is that the author and proprietor of the book wants you to believe. You are no longer using your own brain or imagination. Reading is the way that we are tricked to accept the self-worth and importance of another by denying our own.

Everyone wants to write a book about something. Everyone thinks that their experiences are worth another knowing. They believe that, if they can write a book, others will read it and give the author and proprietor of the experiences honor and glory.

Let me tell you the Real Truth™ about writing your own book, Grandkids:

No one cares about your experiences unless they will enhance theirs. No one really cares about what you know, how many degrees you have, or how much money you make, unless you are going to share your money with them or entertain their mind with your experiences. Because the typical, normal, life is pretty boring and uneventful, “bad” people make things up and trick you into believing that their life experiences are worth reading about.

There are books written by people who have been abducted by aliens, who have seen things that are supernatural, or who have had near-death experiences, who have had experiences that you haven’t had.

And of course, there are books written by people who want you to believe that they know God, the Creator of Heaven and Earth. The religions of the world call these scriptures (God’s word).

It’s a lot more entertaining to tell a story about a time when the Creator of the earth (God) flooded the entire earth, when the Real Truth™ is that a small area of the world where you lived received so much rain that the rivers and streams flooded over. And after you embellish* the story about an otherwise boring flood taking place in your home town, you have to keep lying to answer any follow-up questions.

*Embellish: make (a statement or story) more interesting or entertaining by adding extra details, especially ones that are not true.

If God flooded the earth with water, how did the animals and people survive? A good storyteller—you know, the “bad” people who embellish stories to bring value to themselves—adds extra details:

God commanded a man, his wife, and his three sons and their wives to build an Ark and put two of every kind of animal in the ark to save them from the flood.

Okay. That makes sense … at least to those who fell for your nonsensical story in the first place. But then another person thinks about it and asks:

“If Noah and his family were all white people, then how did the black people and the Asian people come to be more numerous on Earth than the white people?”

Once backed into a corner, the “bad” authors and proprietors of the stories end the discussion by saying, “Only God knows. We shouldn’t worry about things so much. God will figure everything out for us in heaven.”

Well, Grandkids, all of a sudden, at about 2:30 a.m. on June 16, 1987, Grandpa knew what God knew—EVERYTHING! I knew then that everything I had been taught in school and everything I been taught in church … EVERYTHING … was a lie—an embellishment.

When my mentors approached me to join their cause and become the Author and Proprietor of The Sealed Portion in April 1991, they told me that they wanted me to lie to the world. I’ll fill you in on my first reaction to this, later. I’ll explain how they convinced me at first that we needed to embellish a few things so that we could open up minds to the Real Truth™. I’ll explain how I first agreed, then refused, and spent over 12 years trying to open up people’s minds without embellishing the lies in which people already believed.

And it came to pass, that I was wrong and my mentors were right.

Do you know how many books there are in this world? Millions. And what do they contain? NONSENSE! EVERY ONE OF THEM.

Yep, even the MWAW books that have my name as the Author and Proprietor contain some nonsense. But there is one yet to come that I will not be the legal author and owner of—The Dream of Mortal Life, Understanding Human Reality—A Final Warning to the Human Race. I will not be the owner of this book, because I am not the source of the knowledge contained therein. As Einstein also said “The only source of knowledge is experience.”

To gain the knowledge of the Real Truth™ about the earth, and everything there is to know about it, requires one who knows to have experienced it. Otherwise, you cannot have any knowledge about it. You only have embellishments.

Scientists weren’t there when the universe formed, so where did they get their knowledge of the Big Bang? They weren’t there when plants and animals became what they are, so where did they get their knowledge of evolution? And “the mysteries of God” being the answer is just a copout (avoiding commitment or responsibility) by the “bad” people who deceive and trick you into reading their nonsensical scriptures.

“Yeah, but Grandpa, how do we know that your knowledge isn’t a lie and embellishment? How do we know that you aren’t lying to us about what happened on June 16, 1987? It’s a pretty good story that gives a lot of value and purpose to your life. How do we know that you didn’t make it up just like all the rest of the “bad” people who have boring, normal lives, but want others to value them?”

GREAT QUESTIONS, Grandkids! Now you’re using your heads!

You will know because Grandpa is going to give explanations that science and God cannot. And when you consider my explanations, I have no doubt that they will make sense to you. If they don’t make complete sense, according to what you have actually experienced in your own boring, normal life, then they are lies. They must make sense according to your own knowledge, not according to your experience attending school and learning the lies told by others, but from your own experiences. If they make sense, then what Grandpa is telling you is Real Truth™.

And the other thing is, I am not asking for any money for telling you the Real Truth™. I do not want to be known. No one knows where I am. If one were to meet me on the street, no one would know me.

You see, Grandkids, I am no different than you. You know what I know too. You just can’t remember what you know because of your brain. The only thing that happened to my brain was that it started to be able to remember what I already knew, but had forgotten—BECAUSE I WENT TO SCHOOL!

But anyways …

We didn’t stay long in El Toro-Mission Viejo. My dad moved us closer to San Diego where he would have an office at the Huish Family Fun Center located on Clairemont Mesa Blvd and the 805 freeway. He found a home to rent in the new suburb of Mira Mesa.

Mike, Cory, and I were among the first students at the new Mira Mesa High School. We didn’t even have a school mascot yet. Later that year, the students would vote and we would become the Marauders. I was a freshman. I made the varsity basketball team. I remember my very first varsity game:

I was so excited to play for the varsity team as a freshman that I forgot to pack my basketball shoes. I was dressed in my uniform, stressed out in the locker room without any shoes. I had worn sandals, as was typical in the warm San Diego environment. In my stocking feet, I entered the gym and found my dad sitting among the other spectators.

“Dad, I need your shoes. I forgot mine,” I desperately pleaded. My dad could be funny. He did have a pretty good sense of humor. He made a lot of people smile and pay attention to the embarrassing situation:

“I ain’t giving you my shoes!” he loudly responded.

I thought I was going to die of embarrassment. There didn’t seem to be another sound in the gym. It seemed like everyone in the gym was focused on me and my dad. He made me beg. And I did.

But after allowing me to feel the agony, with a smile on his face, my dad took off his tennis shoes, and I played my very first varsity basketball game at Mira Mesa High School in my father’s shoes. I can’t remember how I did.

After my freshman year at Mira Mesa, my basketball coach recommended me for the national team from San Diego. I told you about this in a preceding chapter. I explained how my father would not sign the authorization form, unless it was guaranteed that I would not play on Sunday. God was more important than basketball.

That same summer my dad moved us to Poway, California. My basketball coach at Mira Mesa wanted me to stay there and play for him. To do so, my father would have had to sign a waiver. I took the waiver form home and told Dad that I wanted to stay at Mira Mesa, so I could play all four years on the varsity team. His response was typical of Dad:

“How you going to get there every day? I’m not going to take you. You can go to Poway High with your brothers.”

So, I went to Poway High and turned my attention from the hurt and rejection I felt from being denied the honor of basketball and focused more on football.

As a sophomore, I made the Poway varsity football team. But because I was only 15-years old, I needed my dad to sign a waiver in order to play varsity at such a young age. His response was typical of Dad. I played junior varsity football my first year at Poway.

The next year, my junior year, I would excel at football. I made the Avocado East All Region First Team as a defensive back from Poway. No other junior made the team. Making this team was the same as making the All-State First Team in other less populous states, such as Utah.

My dad’s family all attended West High School in Salt Lake City, Utah. In 1978, West High was Utah’s premier football powerhouse under coach Gene Plaga, whose name currently endows West High’s football stadium. After finishing my junior year playing football for Poway High, my father got the itch to move back to Montana. My dad sent me to Kalispell to live with an LDS/Mormon family we knew, so that I could start basketball at my third high school—Kalispell High School.

While my family stayed in Poway, California, I rode the bus to Kalispell and enrolled as a Flathead Brave in the late fall of 1978. And who would I run into my very first day at Kalispell High? Danette Harmon. Yep, the girl who had, a few years before, taught me how to kiss. It was awkward. Danette had another boy friend, but I had long hair and a tan. Danette’s boyfriend wasn’t an athlete, and he didn’t have long hair and a tan. Nevertheless, I was in love with Tammy Weech, whom I left as my girlfriend in Poway.

Tammy was my first love. She was LDS/Mormon too. But that didn’t stop us from exploring each other’s bodies in ways that we were taught were not permitted by our Heavenly Father. On one occasion, we where half-naked and Tammy wanted me to be the one who took her virginity. She was very beautiful and very well-endowed.

But “the Lord” had other plans for me instead of becoming a teenage dad. The moment she gave me permission, my head filled with fear—not fear of performing, but the fear of God. I went completely limp and used other handy means to satisfy Tammy’s desire.

Yeah, Tammy and I were pretty serious and were hiding the extent of our teenage sexual explorations from everyone. But God knew. And so did my dad. He wasn’t stupid.

Maybe he actually did want to move back to Montana. Maybe he sent me there before the family to get me away from Tammy Weech. But I was barely back in Kalispell for two weeks before he had Brother Dee Mortensen (we called each other “brothers and sisters” as LDS/Mormons) put me back on a bus for San Diego.