The Mob and others had hold of Elvis Presley. Uncle Frank sent me in on Elvis to perform "favors." I was instructed to have sex with him and tell him things that they wanted him to know or say in a show or a song, or to do. If he didn't do as they said, they threatened or tortured him or "his ole lady," as he called her. I didn't know who she was, couldn't think to. They ruled Elvis and sent me in before his shows to instruct him what to say or do during his next performance. He was usually so out of it on drugs that he couldn't "do the sex thing," he'd say, so I would tell him what to say or whatever the message was to deliver to the audience. After that, Elvis would pass out on the bed, perspiring. He was handsome, even when he was like that, until he started gaining all the weight. Then he looked very pathetic.
I was used with Elvis until he died. The last time they sent me in to be with him he was nearly unconscious. I don't know what they did to him but they used him up and then felt afraid he would «crack» and spill what he knew so they kept him drugged until they couldn't safely use him anymore and then he "died." Of course it wasn't an accident or a natural death, he had a lot of help from his controllers.
Elvis was targeted heavily by these men. When I was given messages to deliver to Elvis or others, they would inject my arm with some drug and then unless I had been pre-programmed, they quickly whispered the message into my mind files and sent me off to deliver them to Elvis. Then Elvis would use the phrases he was told as he introduced his songs or in the early days they might have become a part of new song lyrics. Just a single key phrase was enough to keep the programmed individuals, who later heard the introduction or song, under control. Then, many slaves were "drawn to him," or they did things as a result of the effects of the harmonics in his voice, in his music, and in the orchestration. But at concerts the messages were often delivered directly through words he would use to introduce his songs. He was no different than Michael Jackson, who replaced him in many ways. In my opinion, both were controlled.
My controllers often gave me the key to his suite and sent me there late at night with a message to deliver after sex with 'The King. In the beginning, when I was 18, 19, and 20, he was more receptive and we had sex, usually with me on top most of the time and then I would whisper the message in his ear. Sometimes the messages to him were in the form of words from his own songs, but all the words weren't there and it would take on a different meaning. Like, "Wise men say, only fools rush in," and then there would be words, numbers, or codes that I delivered that I didn't even understand. He was told certain 'lines' to say in between certain songs and I feel he may have been keeping many women 'in line' and programmed by these phrases. When he slipped the messages in between songs, as pre-instructed, the messages went deeply into the subconscious minds of the audience, especially to those individuals who were programmed to react to universal words that are common to virtually all high-level, programmed individuals. They are simple words that when put into a certain sequence have a great impact on people who have been pre-conditioned with programming.
In his later years, when I was in my early twenties, Elvis became more and more 'out of it' when I went into his suite. He was always alone when I got there, which surprised me. He was usually already in bed asleep and I'd be given the key to go in and he wouldn't even sit up or act surprised that I was there. He was totally out of it from his addictions to drugs and alcohol. Elvis had tons of pill bottles on the nightstand, and groggily said he needed them all. Sometimes he was even listless and couldn't have an erection; any attempt at sex was futile. So I couldn't always do my job as instructed, but would give him the verbal messages and then slipped out, always "leaving the key behind with the memories," as my programming dictated.
From my experience I believe Elvis was a puppet, a pawn, and in the end, totally directed and, finally, used up by these men in control of him.
It was my experience that the images he portrayed on stage were nothing like how he was in private. To demonstrate this, I'll share what I remembered; but, before I do, I will tell you that retrieving these memories was very sensorially uncomfortable, due to the completeness of the olfactory portion of the memory. You'll understand as you read further.
It was late at night when I entered Elvis's room. He was lying in bed, still adorned with the gold jewelry and white suit he wore in concert. I watched as he finished his room service dinner and then I waited while he threw up in the bathroom. He was very mad at himself because he was so fat and he said he had to lose weight for the shows. I guess he made himself throw up. All I really know is that I overheard him throwing up in the bathroom and when he came back to the bed, he smelled like vomit. It wasn't long before he jumped up again and I followed him as he went back into the bathroom. He cried as he stood in front of the mirror, and hitting the counter with both hands he screamed, "I hate my life! Everything's out of control and now you want me to f-k you and I can't! I'm ruined! I'm a failure!"
I put my hand on his back in support and then on the back of his neck. As he felt my touch, his head hung down even further over the sink and he cried, "God, I'm a mess. I don't know what happened, just all of a sudden, I'm destroyed." Then he screamed, "What is wrong? What is wrong with me!" and he started pulling his hair. I pulled him up. When he turned around I hugged him and he just kept crying and crying and almost collapsed in my arms. I guided him back to bed and helped him lay down. He was sideways on the bed but I couldn't get him straightened out so as programmed, I lay next to him and rubbed his chest. His shirt was opened and his very hairy chest turned me on, but he was passed out. His mouth was open and he was breathing but he was totally out of it. I covered him with the bedspread and tiptoed out of the room.
My father was standing outside, just down the hallway. He was wearing a beige suit and when he snapped his fingers, with the hand wearing the diamond pinky ring, I listened intently to all the directions he commanded and he told me to follow him. He guided me downstairs to my room with Craig, unlocked and opened the door and waited for me to get inside before he hit me high in my back with a stun gun. I collapsed to the floor and he pulled the door shut. He almost slammed me in the door. I just lay there awhile and then when, "I came around" (that's what they called it), I crawled to the bathroom and managed to get into the bathtub. The soothing water revived me but I felt very sick, drugged and out of it. I had trouble keeping my eyes open but managed to get out of the tub, dry and put on a white nightie to wear to bed. Slowly and wobbly, I shakily made my way to the bed and got in next to Craig. I felt very sick for the next two days and had trouble eating. I felt exhausted and very nauseated, but had no way to access my own brain in order to know why.
After awhile Elvis couldn't function any longer. Henry and his buddies laughed and said that Elvis was like the tin man, all rusted up and ready for the junkyard. They waited for him to become seriously dysfunctional from the increasing amount of drugs prescribed by his doctors. Then they "stopped his ticker for him so he didn't have to suffer no more." I think Frank and his friends were in on the "do in."