Everything Shaun Cullen has made is only his accusation with out the requied prema facie evidence Cullen man only prove is he has only provided on the internet his accusation base material with absoluety NO proof of his accusation (period).  It is nothing and it equates to just somw sort of weirder than pizza gate.  When I talked to Shaun Cullen on the phone he really did give the Bell Witch a run for it's money...  But to me I only saw like it was a melting witch from the movie Wizzard of Oz.

This version of story of Bell Witch Story is way too long and boring but you may click here;  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eledTQgEW18 

Or if you want see a really good short well defined story of the Bell Witch.  And my gut feeling tell me this version is a far mile better click here to view that one;  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ke0_zmWKwSc

And I want to find the videos that had Bell Witch actors that play the voice of the Bell Witch.  And the Bell Witch had powerv to scream at the people like 20 dog barking in sync at the same time.  I'll update this in the near future to have the video that had an actor playinf the voice of the Witch. The Bell witch did not have a physical body.  The Bell witch only threw objects at people, and sometime levitate them of the ground sending flying threw the air or something like that.  The only thing I know is what I saw on YOU TUBe and I saw a complete movie of it,  so soon I hope to get the one that has an actor doing the Bell Witches voice and screams like Hell hath Furry.  ttyl

Alfred Lambremont Webre: Why I exposed Kevin Annett & ITCCS

Why I'm Planning to Sack Rome this year: By Kevin Annett

Why I'm Planning to Sack Rome this Year: A Fond Look Ahead at 2012, and a Call to Arms

By Kevin D. Annett

You can’t say it’s not in our heritage. It’s frankly a fine European tradition, to lay waste to putrefying symbols of corruption, like that archaic, truthless “papal dome” that’s built on the very ground where centuries of innocents were hacked apart, chewed up and slaughtered for the entertainment of Emperors and their slobbering mobs.

Alaric sacked the place. So did the Celts, and the Vandals, and the Germans, and good old Garibaldi. Like my favorite pagan, that chubby Viking Hagar the Horrible, commented in his cartoonish “Hagar’s Guide to the Ten Most Sackable Cities of Europe”, Rome is the Five Star Capital of Pillage spots in the world.

Besides, we’ve got so many more and better reasons to trash the place than the Goths did – and just so we’re clear, people, I’m talking the Vatican, not all of the city of Rome, which is actually a very cool place.

We’d do so not for loot, although taking Jesus at his word, for once, and tossing all that money in the Vatican Bank to the world’s starving masses, would be more than gratifying, and extremely heretical to boot. In truth, we’d plunder the Unholy See because it needs plundering. Ten million and more raped and slaughtered children can’t be wrong.

But before I get too self-righteous on you, let me clarify that there’s nothing in life worth doing if you don’t have a ball doing it. And believe me, this would be more than fun.

I realized that the first time we ever invaded a roman catholic church during a mass, and, unfortunately, remained pretty respectable and composed about it.

There’s nothing about gang raped and murdered children that requires civility, after all, especially in the very place that sanctioned it and protects the bastards who still do it.

But even then, as we quietly held aloft our banner calling for the residential school kids to have a proper burial, and the priests scowled at me with hatred and muttered threats, and the parishioners all gazed at us invaders in confusion, and some with admiration: even then, I knew that we had the bastards by their cajones – and better still, we were all enjoying the whole experience better than a prolonged endorphin rush.

Somebody once called any genuine revolution “a festival of the oppressed”. The poor sods on the bottom finally get to turn the tables, and they rejoice. That’s precisely what happened to us that day, as we poured out of the cathedral and laughed at the lumbering, fat cops who arrived too late to arrest any of us, and we cheered and hugged each other so happily: we were festive, for we had won something that nobody could have ever given us, save ourselves. We were free.

Hell, I thought at the time. Fifty of us did this. We set the whole bloody church on its head. The catholic hierarchy freaked right out. The residential school “apology” shot desperately out of Ottawa barely a month later. So If the few of us caused that kind of reaction, imagine what five hundred equally determined and festive “victims” could do in Rome, in the very heart of the Beast.

Imagine.

I have been doing so, all during the placid days of Christmas as the phony church spews its phony message to its sheeple. I’ve been imagining the absolute frigging fun it will be when we rock the Vatican off its tottering and miserable foundations this year.

This year? I hear you comment. Like, you’re really going to do it, Kev?

Damn tooting. And I think Easter, April 8, 2012, would be just the day to launch our attack on Vatican City.

But let’s start with the basics. The whole sick bunch of red hatted, cross-bearing freaks are so nervous and divided these days that they’re already half defeated. They’re inviting an assault. A faction in the curia even wants Rat Boy to resign immediately. And the pope is so afraid of protests that he got the Italian Parliament and its political parties – who are all compliantly on the Vatican payroll, from “left wing ” to “right wing” – to pass a law banning any sloganeering or protest signs within two kilometers of St. Peter’s square.

That's panic speaking.

And consider the target. Joe “the Rat” Ratzinger is one of history’s most unpopular pontiffs, which is saying a lot, when you consider the kind of cesspool candidates he’s competing with. Even his fellow German clerics wouldn’t shake his hand when the old Nazi went to speak in Berlin recently. I guess all those letters he signed ordering catholic child rape to be concealed from every police force in the world is too much for even papal officials to stomach.

I just hope the old fucker doesn’t die before we can get to him.

I was telling Carol tonight that I’d prefer she enter the Vatican under the cover of darkness, by stealth, like a ninja – hell, she lived in Japan for six years – and use her recently acquired tai chi sword training skills to take out the portly Swiss Guards one by one. And then, she'd take off Joe the Rat’s head with one deft stroke.

Imagine the sight: a masked woman warrior standing atop the pope’s balcony that morning as the first rays of dawn illuminate the Vatican, holding high the severed and slime-oozing head of Pope Benedict to a cheering world.

Imagine.

I’d call that a good start. And I know Carol will have a hell of a lot of fun doing it.

For those of you who haven’t run away by now, listen up: if the thought of a pope losing his head horrifies you, I’d simply ask you where you placed the same moral outrage when children were being killed by his church and priests with far more brutality than a single slice of a blade?

Children are being trafficked and raped through the catholic church networks as you read this, people. And being an accessory to this kind of mass murder, both past and present, is as simple a thing as looking the other way.

The time for doing so is over.

Ah, but those political correctness experts among you will point out that the evil isn’t just one man, but a whole mindset. An entire institution. Very true. But all things are embodied in a symbol. And when you strike down that symbol, the rest of the system tends to shatter.

You all saw the closing scene in V for Vendetta, didn’t you?

Besides, it’s what any army invading Rome does: it kills Caesar. We are talking a final thrust at the nerve centre of global child trafficking and spiritual corruption, people, not staging some pointless, dilettantish protest that changes nothing.

But let me reassure you “non-violent” types that the term is a misnomer, since even the most fervent non-violent peace lover in history – Jesus Christ – employed violence against people and institutions when he had to, if you believe the Bible.

What caused his arrest and execution, after all, was that he staged a violent insurrection against the seat of Imperial power, and churchly authority, in Jerusalem: the Temple. And to trash the place and its corruption, Jesus and his army took on the entire Sanhedrin guard and the six thousand veteran soldiers of the Tenth Roman Legion, who were stationed nearby.

Like Gandhi, Christ showed by his actions that (to quote the Mahatma), “There is only one sin more evil than violence, and that is cowardice in the face of oppression”.

It seems only fitting, then, that the army we are gathering is targeting the false church that has pillaged and killed more thoroughly than any power in history – and all in Jesus’ name. We are cleansing this lie and its filth from the world, just like Jesus tried to do. And we are doing so not just in Rome, but at every cathedral and church office in the world, which we intend to occupy and reclaim.

We are gathering such an army of Occupation as I speak. And once we take over the property and the wealth of the genocidal churches, we intend to distribute them, as divinely ordered, to the poor of the earth, and the victims of the Vatican.

It never takes many of us to win a war of righteousness, any more than it took more than 300 Spartans to stop a Persian empire, or the handful of warriors God told Gideon to assemble against a Philistine army a hundred times their number. For the spiritual legions of the fallen victims of Roman Christendom are massive, and they are already assembled behind us and ahead of us. They are the banner that is rallying us.

This point struck home to me the first time I confronted the pope on October 11, 2009, and conducted our first exorcism outside the Vatican, in memory of the children murdered by that church. The next morning, a tornado struck central Rome, the first one in a half century. The next week, the first news hit the world press of the pope’s personal complicity in child trafficking.

This, my friends, is called fun. It is our ultimate joy to see the wicked scurry for cover, and to have a hand in their public evisceration. The meaning of life lies in such exaltation, and don’t let anybody tell you different – especially if he’s a church goer.

So I hope you will join me and my lovely Carol and her ninja buddies when we assault the crumbling fortress called roman catholicism next April, and beyond. After all, why would you pass up the chance to see a catholic cardinal publicly shit himself in fear? Or hear the happy cry of all those children, redeemed by the collapse of what killed them?

As Attila the Hun once said,

“Let us be the change we wish to see in the world.”

Wasn’t that Attila?
........................................................................................

Read the truth of genocide in Canada and globally at:
www.itccs.org
www.hiddennolonger.com
www.hiddenfromhistory.org
This email is hosted by Jeremiah Jourdain on behalf of the International Tribunal into Crimes of Church and State (ITCCS) and Kevin Annett - Eagle Strong Voice (adopted May 2004 into the Anishinabe nation by Louis Daniels - Whispers Wind).

Kevin can be reached at hiddenfromhistory1@gmail.com or kevin_annett@hotmail.com - and phone messages can be left for him at 250-591-4573 (Canada).

Child Genocide in Canada Children Murdered UPATE

Why do Primates Kill their own Kind?

A Christmas Epistle to Anglican Archbishop Fred Hiltz

By Kevin D. Annett
  

Dear Fred,

You may have heard of Crazy Walter, since he collapsed the pomp and dignity of one of your predecessors on a memorable spring day in 1990, at the Vancouver seminary I attended.

Walt went on to street corner preaching in Toronto and the kind of insane joy so unfamiliar to the Church of England, and Primate What’s His Name undoubtedly is retired by now: but the memory of their brief encounter is forever pristine.

Walt was a bearded wild man who hung around our seminary, and everyone tolerated him with such apparent liberality because we were all too scared to ask him to leave.

He was trying to liven up the place that morning, as was his wont, for the sight of all of us oh-so-serious aspiring clerics tended to piss Walter off. His intense blue eyes jabbed at us unmercifully as he expounded the truth of what the Bible really meant, using waving arms, suggestive hip thrusts and touches of ribaldry that made the novices among us blush and look away.

“I’m here to skewer you ungrateful little fuckers with the Word!” he explained, to the scowls and mutters of those of my erstwhile church colleagues who obviously had never met a real life prophet before.

Walt was on a real roll by then, and my buddy Rich Lang and I were close to breathless exhaustion from the reluctant laughter that spilled from us, when the announcement burst through the door.

An excited young woman stepped unsuspectingly into the lounge and declared to us with the bland attempt at enthusiasm of a processed Christian,

“The Anglican Primate is here!”

Like a pilgrim on the verge of a sacred orgasm, Walter’s eyes sparkled at her words, and he shouted out gleefully,

“The f@#king Primate?”

The old guy then leaped up and hurried to the doorway, and believe it or not, actually pointed his rear end towards the front hallway of our Vancouver School of Theology and the general direction of His Eminence, and began to quickly rotate and thrust his ass with all the passion of a baboon in heat.

“It’s the Primate!” Walt kept shouting. “The f@#king Primate!”

Rich and I were both on the floor by then, screeching and gasping for air, and through tears of laughter I caught Walter jumping up and down in the hallway, his ass still offered to the churchman, as the Anglican Primate’s shocked entourage stood bewildered and embarrassed in front of the guy.

Being Canadians, none of them said anything, but the top Anglo gave Walt a strange sort of look and muttered to his shocked brethren, and then shuffled off with the school Principal to sip coffee and blabber somewhere.

By the time Crazy Walter returned to us in triumph, most of our career-conscious friends had scattered in terror. Walt beamed with avuncular pride at Rich and me for staying, threw his weary buns down on the couch, and announced,

“Sorry guys. It was all that purple that fucker wore. Made me randy as hell!”

I realize now that Walter knew more than he was saying.

Fred, I know the whole topic of anal intercourse must make you nervous, knowing what you know about your own church, but bear with me. Let me try to lubricate (sorry) the topic with a theological reference, to make the impact a bit gentler.

If Jesus ever did walk the earth, I imagine he was a lot like Crazy Walter. According to the Book, JC got executed, don’t forget, for pissing off guys like you, Fred.

After all, his prescription for child rapists was to tie a ten ton grinding stone around their necks and toss them into the nearest ocean, presumedly with loving non-violence. So we know where that leaves you guys, and those you protect: shit out of luck, as Walter would have said.

What is the Anglican church punishment for raping a child, Fred? The Catholics call it a forgivable sin. Canadian law requires only a wrist-slapping one year mandatory sentence in jail for child rape. So it’s not as if you’re under any pressure to go hard on the sickos in your midst, even when they ended up flogging to death their little victims, and then burying them in shallow graves: like at the Brantford Indian residential school.

Besides my sheer delight in recounting a tale about Not so Crazy Walter, what’s causing me to drop you this little note is something you said last month: that you have no power to release documents held by your Bishop Bob Bennett about kids who died at the killing grounds known as the Mohawk Indian residential school in Brantford.

It’s an odd thing for you to say, Fred, because hell: you’re the fucking Primate, boy. You speak on behalf of she whom my Irish nationalist family members like to call “that Bitch in Buckingham Palace”. That means you not only get to wear all sorts of sexy purple outfits, Fred, but you can tell any priest, or a Bishop Bob, precisely what to do.

So your strange remark got me wondering: why would the top Anglican in Canada want to conceal documents from the Mohawk Indian school?

One doesn’t need a Master of Divinity degree to figure that one out, which is frankly what makes you and the whole situation laughable, more than anything: because you all know the score, and yet you pretend not to.

The blood stains from all those little kids are still all over your church, Fred, even after all the official scrubbing and whitewashing. You know that you've sealed away documents that prove your church and the "crown" intended to eradicate the Mohawk nation. You know about the bones we’ve uncovered at the Brantford school. Like I told your co-conspirator, Bishop Bob Bennett, the graves are opening now, and your lies don’t work anymore.

So let me remind you of something you may have forgotten, along the way to grasping your Archbishop’s miter: since the truth always comes out, full disclosure is the only way left for the guilty.

You won’t disclose anything, of course, and not only because your lawyers will not allow it. But that really doesn’t matter. In the final days of any dying regime like yours, the decisions of the people “at the top” always become more self-destructive, irrational and just plain silly – which is why the abomination you represent can only be laughed at and mocked, like Walter did, and Jesus.

So relax, Fred. Nothing’s in your hands anymore. The great wheel of destiny is turning, and those with eyes to see and hearts to feel will know where they belong now.

One final point, however: I hear that Bishop Bob recently instituted a new policy in his diocese (you gotta love those quaint old Roman terms), that no Anglican clergyman can drive alone in a car with a child anymore.

I guess that goes to prove that Crazy Walter couldn’t have been that far off the mark, Fred.

Merry Christmas.

Love,

Kevin

Uncovering the remains, Brantford Anglican residential school, November 2011

Read the truth of genocide in Canada and globally at:
www.itccs.org
www.hiddennolonger.com
www.hiddenfromhistory.org

This email is hosted by Jeremiah Jourdain on behalf of the International Tribunal into Crimes of Church and State (ITCCS) and Kevin Annett - Eagle Strong Voice (adopted May 2004 into the Anishinabe nation by Louis Daniels - Whispers Wind).

Kevin can be reached at hiddenfromhistory1@gmail.com or kevin_annett@hotmail.com - and phone messages can be left for him at 250-591-4573 (Canada). 

Genocide Murdered Children Update

‘Tis the Season to be Brain Dead, but Listen up Anyway:
A Holiday Message and
an Invitation to Anglican Bishop Bob (“The Shredder”) Bennett 

and other assorted Scrooges

By Kevin D. Annett

www.itccs.org

Dear Bob,

I hear you’ve told all your staff they’ll be fired if they talk to anyone about the documents you’re sitting on, concerning your Mush Hole Indian residential school where we’ve been unearthing tiny bones that are likely human.

That’s pretty harsh, Bob. It is Christmas, after all. And it’s not as if your secret is at risk, or anything. Even if somebody in your church developed a conscience and started spilling their guts about the Mush Hole, who are people going to believe: one disgruntled employee, or the entire Church of England?

So take a valium and some egg nog, Bob. Figure heads like you are supposed to remain calm at all times, and keep control of the narrative - in this case, concerning those missing 50,000 Indian children who passed through the tender mercies of your system on their one way trip to the bone yard. They all died of natural causes, don’t forget. They ran away. Maybe their records can’t be found. Hell, maybe they were even abducted by aliens.

Meanwhile, don’t forget, you have the best public relations boys in the business to rely on, and their sure-fire method called the Inoculation.  It got started just yesterday on the CBC, which ran a big program on national television about the mass graves of children in Canada.

Now don’t shit yourself, Bob, they weren’t referring to the Indian residential schools, but the kids struck down by the Spanish flu in 1919. That was long, long ago. So don’t worry - our fellow pale Canadians got the message, loud and clear: massive numbers of dead kids in Canada is the result of an act of nature, and disease - not deliberate killing.

We’ve been inoculated now: prepared, conditioned, and molded in our responses. So the Mush Hole bones won’t seem so bad when they fully surface: “Mass graves? Oh yeah, I heard about that … probably the flu …”

It always works. Surely you of all people should know that, Bob. Besides, our November 21 public announcement of the discovery of probable children’s bones at your Anglican residential school in Brantford didn’t exactly cause a ripple of shock or protest anywhere here in lovely Canada. But still, you and your friends in government must be worried, to shoot us full of scandal-prevention serum like that, and just before Christmas.

After all, those little bones are exposed now, Bob, slip ups do happen, and not all of us are immunized to the bullshit. So I really do get why you’re perched these days so fretfully in your London, Ontario office astride those piles of documents about the Mush Hole. I hope you’re getting out for air, occasionally.

But I do know the score, Bob, and I realize that as a Bishop, you can conceal any evidence you like of a crime scene, and even shred it to your heart’s delight. Fred Hiltz, your big boss in Toronto, even said so the other day, when he declared that even he, the Primate (I love that term) for all Anglicans in Canada, couldn’t order you to release those documents. Fred answers to Lizzie Brit herself, Bob, and she is the Crown, after all. So that means you’re above and beyond the law.

So what is all the worry about?

I’ll tell you what. Leona Moses spilled the beans to me last month when I sat down in her home in Oshweken, on the scrap of land you guys have left her and her fellow Mohawks.

You remember Leona, Bob. She worked for your Huron Diocese as a researcher in 1999, until she and her co-worker, Wendy Fletcher, were both gagged for ten years by your church after they started talking about what they uncovered. Leona was told never to talk about what she’d seen in your archives: especially one particular document she found.

It seems that, back in 1870, your church signed a formal agreement with the puppet chiefs set up by your Crown to wipe out all the Mohawks by incarcerating their children in the Mush Hole residential school. It’s signed and sealed, in a document issued by the Crown and the New England Company, who set up the school. And it’s accompanied by a whack of letters proving that you guys and the Crown knew that children were dying en masse in the place, and you did nothing about it.

Of course, why would you? That was all in the game plan.

Now that’s what I’d call a smoking gun. But that particular document vanished, according to Leona, and ended up in something you call “the G 20 black box”.

So, Bob, the whole world wonders: where is this black box? And what else is tucked away in there?

In my teenage years, I got a real kick watching on TV former US President Big Dick Nixon sweat and lie to Congress about all the incriminating tapes and evidence he didn’t have in his possession. I like to think you’re closeted away in your drab office in the same manner, scowling and paranoid like old Dick, barking at subordinates and telling them to find a way to fix everything. But I know that’s just wishful thinking on my part.

Instead, I’m sure you’re preaching to your flock this Sunday on reconciliation and healing, or whatever.

But that black box is still in your sanctum sanctorum somewhere, Bob, just itching to be explored. And I bet that even part of you is wanting it aired. Nobody, after all, is completely iniquitous. Isn’t that what you guys teach?

Old Scrooge’s delight that glorious Christmas morning when he had found himself again, and reveled like the child we all are inside once he found it so easy to do the right thing, always struck me to the core, whenever it expressed itself in old movies or from the faded pages of my father’s Dickens collection. I laughed and I cried with Scrooge, when he discovered the real joy of the season. Just like I will laugh and will cry with you, one day, Bob.

It was Tiny Tim who said it all, in the Dickens tale. And I hear his words whisper up through the grounds of the Mush Hole, where so many other innocents lie, mangled and forgotten, almost lost to us.

You can help revive them, Bob. You can do the right thing. All you need to do is to come outside, and open all the locked and forbidden places, and secrets, and beg all those little ones for forgiveness – by telling the truth, and awaiting history’s judgment on you, and those like you.

But you'll likely need a midnight visit by three ghosts, first. Or even 50,000 of them.

Season's salutations,

Kevin

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See www.hiddennolonger.com for evidence of the Indian residential schools genocide in Canada.

Also: www.hiddenfromhistory.org and www.itccs.org

UNREPENTANT - Canada's Genocide - Kevin Annett

"Unbelievers deserve not only to be separated from the Church, but also... to be exterminated from the World by death." - Thomas Aquinas (Summa Theologica, 1271). Christian civilization, by virtue of its exclusivist heresy and monotheism, became the self-justifying destroyer of all non-Christian culture.
http://www.hiddenfromhistory.org/