Everyone is talking about Jeffrey Epstein, which is good.  I have a Jeffrey Epstein story that I should tell now. I can’t remember if I published this or not.  I remember writing it and erasing it twice.  Forgive me if it’s a repeat.

It was an incident on December 12 of 2018 that I hesitated to write about because it was so unbelievable. Sometimes I cannot believe my own eyes when I see the people in person, without makeup, that I also see in the news and write about.   This is a case like that.

Living on this island, I’m literally surrounded by these Deep State players.  I’m living in a neighborhood developed by the Rockefeller family.  It’s full of pedophiles and weirdos, scattered about with some decent people also. That’s why I’m such a hermit. Psychos are always really nice at first.

I always prefer to wait for that extra information to firm up what I myself have trouble believing.

The reported death of Jeffrey Epstein is just that bit of extra that I need.

I agree with Liz Crokin that the Good Guys are firmly in charge, and any death that might have happened to a prisoner was not from lack of protection, but either planned or faked.   Watch her latest two videos on YouTube to hear her ideas.  What I have to say adds to her theories.

If Epstein actually had been so recently arrested as we’re told, there was too little time to have interrogated him before getting him out of the picture.  I have reason to believe that he was arrested last December when I was staying at the Sheraton Hotel in Kona.  I think he and many others were arrested that night.  December 12 is the birthdate of Frank Sinatra.  It’s also the birthdate of my grandson, which is why we were there.  It’s a fun place for children.

“With an unmatched location on the iconic lava rocks of the Big Island’s Kona Coast, Sheraton Kona Resort & Spa at Keauhou Bay offers a captivating blend of adventure, culture…”

*****

While sitting at the poolside that day with my granddaughter, in the small whirlpool hot tub, I was shocked, and I do mean frozen solid shocked, to see the man we call Jeffrey Epstein sitting right across from me, less than 5 feet away.  He looked at me and I looked at him and I tried to pretend that I wasn’t freaked out. He smiled, no big deal.

He was with several adolescent children, all different races, and a woman about my age who told me that these were their grandchildren. She chatted with me about how one of her granddaughters looks just like she did when she was younger, only that since the girl had a black father, her skin and hair were more African or negro or whatever you want to call it.  I’m thinking to myself two things: those kids are too random and varied and too close to the same age to be one family and this woman doth protest too much. She is lying and I know exactly why.   Another thing I thought was to grab my granddaughter and run, but I stayed awhile and went along with the pretending.

I was afraid they might read my thoughts, actually.

That night, from my balcony I watched a large party in the grassy courtyard below and it was the weirdest party I’ve ever seen.

They had a loud karaoke microphone and the woman speaking said something to encourage the guests to mingle. So it was apparent that the people didn’t know each other.

She said something like, “those of you who are fugitives, please go up to someone else and tell them what department you are from, giving them your information, they will give you theirs.”  I’m thinking, what the hell is this, a CIA convention? Of course after seeing Jeffrey Epstein and hearing the word fugitive I was amazed at the coincidences.

The woman at the microphone was encouraging the people to help themselves to refreshments.

Then, these shy party attendees, who needed so much encouragement to mingle, within way too little time began to loosen up and sing karaoke.  No, not just sing karaoke, but scream karaoke songs so loud and drunk that I thought they must have been drugged. I couldn’t believe that such an event would be held in a hotel courtyard to disturb the guests so late at night. but there it was.

As if that wasn’t enough, then the electricity and the internet went down for about two hours around 10:00 p.m. or maybe later.  That’s not something that happens at a luxury hotel, or anywhere on the island normally.

The next day the hotel staff said nothing about it, but the word that my kids heard was that someone from the party had been doing donuts in the parking lot and hit the utility pole.

There’s no way that could be possible because the parking lot did not have enough place to do donuts. If you know what donuts are, you know it needs at least double the length of a car, but really you need triple the length of a car, at least, to have enough room to do it and even that is unlikely.

Donuts are done in grassy fields, not tightly packed beach side hotel parking lots.  And besides, there was no evidence of a damaged utility pole anywhere, no tire tracks, nor any evidence of a repair truck arriving that night to fix it. No way I was buying that.

I kept my mouth shut. In those days I was friendly with Mike Carlin, who I’ve already written about once, a little bit.  I’m more and more convinced he is the lawyer who put Michael Cohen in jail, then he was indicted for defrauding his disabled clients.  I can’t remember the name he used with the Cohen case. He had his five minutes of fame and was being set up to run for President.

He recently held a press conference where no one showed up.  What a downfall.

I remember that I wouldn’t talk about the incident to him because I didn’t want to give away the “come to my party” strategy for luring these criminals into a trap. Q called it the “Red Carpet” treatment.

I had an idea Mike was one of the criminals, being so surrounded by them as I am. I waited a long time and one day mentioned the incident at the Sheraton.  His reaction  confirmed my suspicion of him.

These people are so smug and arrogant that they all should have been more cautious around me and haven’t been,  That’s why I have their photographs, with identifying information, like tattoos.

This is Mike Carlin, who was introduced to me by Lee Quinn.

I haven’t seen him in a while. He had plenty of money to build his concrete dome home.

The interior walls were airbrushed murals of volcanic scenes, done by his artist friend Darrell. The two of them stole some equipment from me after pretending to be my friends. That happens with about 99% of the people I meet here.

I was even ripped off by an old woman who hired me for a short while who could easily pass for Judge Ruth Bader Ginsburg. She’s Canadian, named Margaret and owns Unique Farms. Her husband developed dried plankton powder which I wrote about in a previous article. That’s when I was attacked at Hookena Beach and it was clear that she had something to do with it, using her gangster farm employees from Milolii Beach. They were all involved in the drug and prostitution business though Margaret acted innocent and I haven’t seen her since I was fired unexpectedly.  These people don’t tolerate honesty.

So this is my complete Jeffrey Epstein story.

If he actually is William Patout IV, then I didn’t recognize him at the pool.  It may not be, but William or his family or friends did have a ranch that I visited once with him that looked exactly like the one in New Mexico that’s shown to be Epstein’s.  The only difference is that the ranch I went to, I thought was in Texas. Also, it didn’t have a huge house on it, just an average size home.  That was back in 1988 or thereabouts. We had gone to see the Fort Worth Stock Show, or something like that. Maybe it was Dallas. It was boring and stupid, that’s all I remember.  I thought we’d be watching a rodeo but it wasn’t that at all. He drank so much beer, such an alcoholic.

After 20 years I suppose we both looked very different, if that was him in Kona.   I think that William Patout used the name Brian Geoffroy (pronounced joe-frwah as in French) at Catholic High, which would be how Trump knew him when Trump was Barry Ferguson.

That’s all I have to say about Jeffrey Epstein I think.

And how I wish people would know that the S in Ghislaine is silent.  It sounds like Jillane. Which reminds me that my friend Ovey Leblanc in Loreauville always talked about Ghislaine who I understood he was once married to.  He was certainly still in love with her.

I never knew Trudy to be called Ghislaine, but if he was talking about this Ghislaine Maxwell, he said she lived not far away, someplace around Loreauville, where he saw her mowing her lawn. Just thought I’d mention these details in case it helps people to understand.

Bottom line is that we’re seeing a show, not real time events being reported.  Epstein was arrested long before it was reported to us. This is in order to not alarm the other criminals.  Their smug certainty is our advantage.