Richard L. Thornton, Special Prosecutor . . . Habersham County, Georgia
This article is dedicated the hundreds of men and women patriots, who died from 1991 to 2001 in the secret war to save America’s democracy . . . and especially to Susan.
On August 31, 1992 I should have been killed by a SWAT squad from the Virginia State Police, directed by a Commonweath’s Attorney, who was both a Satanic priest and the head of the Republican Party in the Valley. A jolly African-American US Marshall, wearing a Polynesian shirt and bermuda shorts saved my life. This morning I awoke thinking about all my friends and acquaintances, and yes, a lover, who died alone, silently in horror, during that secret war against Satanism and Fascism that few Americans knew about. Then I get angry, when I see a legion of stupid Southerners, who have damned their souls by openly embracing the black garb of the German Nazi’s, plus the lies of fascism and insane oligarchs. Thing will not turn out as their brainwashed delusions, think it will.
In 1991, over 100 journalists in the United States were assassinated . . . usually as they were getting in or out of their car at their homes. Being part of a secret Department of Justice investigation, I became aware that these journalists were being murdered by vigilantes, who were orchestrated by federal, state and local law enforcement officers. PBS was the first TV news to recognize the massacre, but its evening news was watched by few people. Later the hit TV series, “Unsolved Mysteries” also featured a program on the mass murder of journalists, but the nation was absorbed with the victory over Kuwait, and the Bush Administration ignored discussion on the matter . . . for a good reason.
The reason that these journalists were murdered was that a race war was being planned, which would open the door to erasure of our precious civil rights and establishment of an authoritarian state during the second term of George H. Bush. These particular people had a reputation for professional integrity and loyalty to the constitution. They would be likely to obstruct a dictatorship. Word got out among more ambitious journalists to keep one’s mouth shut about the billions of dollars of drug money pouring into the United States to buy the souls of its people.
In 2019, I had a very dangerous situation with vigilantes from a mega church in northern Metro Atlanta, who were recruited by local law enforcement to do the dirty, politically-motivated crimes, for the deputies. They followed me wherever I went and would park their SUV’s in front my house and brandish their pistols . . . even pull into my driveway, thinking that there was nothing I could do. On the CB radio chats between their SUV’s, they talked about how fun it would be to stick me like a hog. They indicated their intent to kill me because (in their words) I was a stinking, wussy, librul pervert and murderer. That is what the White County, GA sheriff’s department had told them, apparently.
I live in Habersham County, but we will get back to the politically-motivated corruption in the White and Habersham County Sheriff’s Departments in a few paragraphs. Let it suffice to say the most common type of vigilante activity in Republican controlled areas of Dixie is the illegal wiretap. Police may or may not get a warrant – but income-producing and political wiretaps are put in the homes of white party loyalists. It makes the Lilliputians feel important to spy on their neighbors.
The massacre of American journalists in 1991
Immediately after being confirmed by Congress in early 1993, Attorney General Janet Reno established a special task force to investigate the murders of dozens of journalists around Washington and Northern Virginia in 1991, plus a string of murders of teens in that region, plus murders of innocent people, who were made to look like suicides. Actually, the task force had been working since late 1991, but was kept a secret from most employees of the Justice Department and the general public. We only had additional testimonies from witnesses for only about six weeks after Attorney General Reno announced task force’s existence.
Back in late 1991, I guess someone liked what I did in Mexico and Scandinavia years earlier, and so was asked to be an unpaid “asset” out of pure patriotism. That lasted for 2 years.
It was during that period that I became personally aware that fascists within the federal law enforcement bureaucracy were using vigilante groups to murder people, who they considered “liberals.” None of the victims were in any sense of the word, criminals. To the contraire, they were exceptional professionals, creative people, just the opposite of the depraved monsters, who ordered their deaths, while being paid generously by the US taxpayers.
My assignment was to convey rolls of film negatives, plus small handwritten notes, from honest sheriff’s deputies and county government employees, to a sister-in-law of an FBI special agent, who herself was a covert FBI agent, disguised as a realtor. My work as an architect took me all over Northern Virginia. No one would think anything about me driving up and down the valley, visiting construction sites . . . we thought!
I soon noticed that I was being followed by unmarked Virginia Bureau of Investigation cars. The VBI was the largest and most powerful drug ring in the Commonwealth. A substantial part of their profits was going to purchase weapons, munitions and uniforms for the Brotherhood of Patriots, which was a secret vigilante, para-military organization that would assist the cops in establishing a fascist state. The VBI traitors could kill with impunity, so this was dangerous. A couple of trips to my contact’s real estate office in Winchester, VA might not seem odd for an architect, but weekly runs would soon draw suspicion.
A Patriotic Asset with PG-13 rated benefits
So, my handlers suggested that Susan and I fake an affair. This would have seemed normal to the VBI traitors, who were trailing me. Everybody in the valley seemed to have known about my wife and the married principal. Several friends suggested that I should just throw my wife out of the house and invite somebody else in. She made me sleep in another bedroom, expecting me to have an affair, so that she would “win at divorce.” In 1996, as I was moving my belongings out of the Virginia farmhouse, I found a well-worn copy of the book, A Five-Year Woman’s Guide to Winning at Divorce. Most of the chapters were instructions on how to make one’s husband as miserable as possible.
Susan objected at first, claiming that it was against her Christian principals. She was a 25-year old virgin . However, after the first hug and kiss, the secret missions became the highlights of her day. We started meeting and having lunch at the Wayside Inn in Middletown, VA. My handlers secretly observed us and noted that we still did not look like we were having an affair, so we “needed to steam up her car some after lunches.” Then the VBI put mini-cameras in the trees, looking down into the cars, so we had to pass intel from under my clothing to under her clothing. By this time, we were deluding ourselves and having an unconsummated affair. Honestly, we were doing about everything, but that. LOL
Eventually, we became honest with ourselves and realized that we were falling in love. My wife went over to the school on Saturdays and Sundays to see her paramour in his office. She claimed that she was grading papers. I took a photo of her and him on the office floor to protect myself. After then I would meet Susan at national forest sites, “while my wife was grading papers” and enjoy more conventional dates.
I guess I should feel guilty, but those far too brief rendezvous’s were the only time I had any real happiness in my life during the 17 years that I lived in North Carolina and Virginia. Several years later, while I was in Georgia, trying to get divorced from the wife from hell, Susan was killed in the line of duty in Charlottesville, VA while meeting with a man, who she thought was a real estate buyer, but was actually an assassin.
The VBI and Shenandoah County Sheriff’s Dept. tried to kill me on August 31, 1992. After spending six weeks in Atlanta earlier in the summer, my wife announced that she was unhappy and moving back to Georgia. She instantly got a teaching job in Dalton. The Dalton Area has a dense concentration of neo-Nazi’s.
The morning after she called to say that she was now teaching in Dalton, I noticed that the goats were nervous and my herd dogs were barking toward our rear woods. I put on camouflage clothing and sneaked back there. There were four VBI SWAT cars, plus a sheriff’s deputy car and the Commonwealth’s Attorney . . . who went on to serve in the Virginia Supreme Court, during the period when Virginia was controlled by the Republicans. I listened to them. They planned to fake a drug raid, when a vehicle carrying drugs pulled up in front of my house, uninvited. I would be killed, supposedly resisting arrest. Shocked, that our Band of Blue Brothers would do such a dastardly thing? I wasn’t but was totally out-gunned and didn’t stand a chance . . . either in a gun battle or in court if I should happen to out fight them.
So, I went back to the house, petted my dogs, prayed to God that I was ready to go to Heaven, if he called me . . . thanked him for putting Susan in my life and then a miracle happened. A friendly-looking African-American man, wearing a Hawaiian shirt appeared at the front door and rang the doorbell. He told me that he was a lost tourist, but hand-signaled me to come outside.
He was a fricking US Marshall, who had come to save me!
He said that there was a beacon in his car that let’s the bad cops know that a good cop is at my house. Sure enough, they drove off. He waited about an hour to make sure that they didn’t come back . . . then told me that I needed to get out of Virginia. I agreed, but not soon enough.
On August 3, 1993, my wife gave me a cup of tea, laced with arsenic and cadmium. It caused hundreds of holes in my colon. Theoretically, I should have died. My local doctor gave me “Stop leak” and injected a huge syringe of antibiotic into my abdomen. I then put a piece of leather between my teeth and drove 600+ miles to Atlanta where I got medical treatment and then surgery to sew up the holes in my colon. At that point, I became a permanent resident of Georgia.
Hearings in Georgetown
During the secret hearings in 1992 and 1993, I was both an “asset” and an observer of sworn testimonies before the US Justice Department Task Force State and Local Government Corruption. The hearings were held in a secret location above a bakery-café in Georgetown. Entrance to the suite was gained by opening a closet door in the downstairs kitchen then going up a palm-print actuated elevator. I had to sign yet another 20-year non-disclosure agreement in this investigation, but I can now tell you things that were never mentioned by the newspapers covering a series of murders in Northern Virginia.
Yes, I have experienced every scene in every John Gresham novel and then some scenes that he couldn’t have visualized! All major witnesses were either murdered or died under suspicious circumstances during the first four-year term of the George W. Bush Administration. Most of the definite assassinations were carried out by a couple from Sao Paulo, Brazil.
Murdered teenagers and lovers
Beginning in October 1987, the bodies of teenagers began popping up at remote locations in the Northern Shenandoah Valley. What all these kids had in common were that they were outstanding youth citizens with no history of taking drugs or criminal activity. The first victim was 17-year-old Tim Connors, who died in our barn from 9 bullet wounds about two weeks before I moved with our furniture to Virginia. After sunset, in my first night in Virginia his perfectly preserved body was found in a pasture adjacent to our property by a “lost hunter.”
A string of dead teenagers followed, but the oddest death was in 1990. A beautiful, single osteopath had blown her head off with a shotgun about three weeks after examining me for Lyme Disease symptoms. At the time of my exam, she had already broken up with her lawyer boyfriend, when she learned he was a drug dealer. She was quite chipper with me. She asked me to let her know when I and my wife were officially separated, because she would love to go out me. Yes, my situation was THAT well known in the Valley. LOL There was another problem. The shotgun that she killed herself with was supposed to be in a North Georgia Police evidence locker!
Over a hundred journalists were murdered in six months
Then, in early 1991, investigative journalists all over the country, began dying like flies. Some worked for newspapers . . . others for local TV stations or the networks. None were celebrities. Most of the murders had already occurred when the major network news anchors began giving them TV exposure. What all of these martyred journalists had in common was that they had investigated the vast quantity of cocaine and laundered Latin American drug money that began entering the country, as soon as George H. Bush was elected president.
Those killed in Florida had provided proof that the Norad Radar Air Defense Screen along the Gulf Coast was being turned off by the US Air Force every time that a plane, loaded with cocaine was entering the country. There were repeated reports of small, two engine US Air Force cargo jets landing at night at the Basaye Airport in Shenandoah County, VA where I lived. Their cargo was hauled off in unmarked white trucks, escorted by either local sheriff’s deputies or Virginia Highway Patrol cars. The trucks then headed to the Northeast or the Midwest.
A Pulitzer-prize winning reporter for the Washington Post, purchased an early 19th century farmhouse near the Basaye Airport. He hired me to convert the house into a Civil War era inn-restaurant and the barn into a Country Western disco. He told me that he had absolute proof that the USAF jets were hauling cocaine, plus counterfeit airplane parts from Florida and guns from Georgia police evidence lockers.
Readers of the Washington Post never learned this fact. Bill was killed by a bullet wound to his head, while he was sitting on his toilet one night. The bullet was fired from a long distance by a rifle commonly used by police SWAT squads.
I told my neighbor and friend Katie Couric, what my client had said about the US Air Force involvement with the cocaine trade. At the time, she was the NBC reporter at the Pentagon. However, on April 5, 1991 she became the co-host of the Today Show, so I only saw her about once a month after then. As far as I know, she never investigated what was going on in our own neck of the woods.
Danny Casolero, an independent investigative reporter from Washington, DC came out to my farm about three weeks after my client’s murder. He confirmed Bill’s discovery that the Bush Administration was involved with the cocaine trade as a means of financing covert operations, not authorized by Congress. He also stated that literally billions of cocaine dollars were flowing into the nation, which was being used by some sort of shadow government, called Octopus, to persuade influential people to switch from the Democratic to Republican Party.
Casolero asked me about my knowledge about the inner world of the Carter Administration. I told him that I had not had any contact with Jimmy since I moved to Asheville in late 1977. I did remain in contact some with John S. Pennington, former AJC columnist, after he went to Washington with Jimmy. Pennington told me that it was the Ted Kennedy and his clique that sabotaged the Carter Presidency. Jimmy got along well with the Republicans, because he was a fiscal conservative. Casolero said that no one had ever told him that. All conspiracy theorists focused on George H. Bush as the mastermind behind the secret agreement with Iran to delay release of the US embassy hostages.
Danny’s body was found in a hotel bathtub in Martinsburg, WV on August 10, 1991. It was made to look like a suicide. The local coroner ordered Danny’s body embalmed the next day BEFORE he notified next of kin of his death. The state law that requires an autopsy in such deaths was also ignored. However, what YOU were never told was that Danny’s brother was a pathologist who was able to collect enough evidence in the hotel room and in Danny’s body to prove that several people were in the room at the time of death . . . that three of Danny’s finger nails had been pulled out . . . and that he had been paralyzed with curare prior to his wrists being cut. You can learn more about this case at Danny Casolero’s Death.
Key testimony in the investigation
I observed and was given depositions from 25 witnesses. The key witness was a covert FBI counter-insurgency agent, whose original introduction had really spooked me. He arrived in Shenandoah County, VA from McMinnville, TN the same week that I arrived from Weaverville, NC. He was the same age, height, skin color, eye color and hair color as me. He was part Cherokee, while I was part Creek . . . and therefore much more handsome. <joke> The FBI admitted to have intentionally chosen him for the job so that local crumb-bumbs would confuse me with him . . . which tended to make my life rather surrealistic after 1989.
The FBI agent stated that Dept. of Justice and US Army personnel had inserted “their” people into several KKK, Neo-Nazi and paramilitary organizations in northern Virginia. The Department of Justice rogue personnel had cultivated vigilante hit squads in these organizations. They were responsible for the murders of four journalists in our county alone! The vigilantes were told that the journalists were homosexual child predators, who wanted to mix the races.
The FBI agent stated that he was developing proof that most of the journalists, murdered in 1991 around the United States were actually killed by vigilantes, organized and instigated by federal employees, inserted into the domestic terrorist groups. He was to return to give testimony about the other murders in January 1993. However, on the morning of December 12, 1992, his stiff body was found on a frozen pasture, with a bullet through his head. The location was about a half mile south of our farm on the Old Back Road.
Origin of Desert Storm Syndrome
In the spring of 1990, a man in his early 30s, accompanied by a woman about his age showed up at our door with a real estate purchase offer from his father, who lived in Houston, TX. The woman was an attorney at the Justice Dept. in Washington, DC. They obviously barely knew each other. His farther offered us $75,000 for a 55-acre farm, federally licensed cheese creamer, massive 19th century barn outbuildings and colonial house, that had recently appraised by the bank for $675,000. Not only that, the farm had recently been declared the key property of the planned Shenandoah Valley Battlefields National Park.
We told the young man that the property was not for sale and was valued about 10 times what they were offering. It turned out, that the young man’s father, was one of the most powerful dons in the Houston Mafia. He was a good friend of President George Bush and apparently wanted to sell the farm at a profit to the National Park Service. The young man politely told us that we would be sorry.
A week later, we began noticing men in combat uniforms and night vision goggles coming on our farm during the wee hours of the night. In the morning a gold Jeep Cherokee occupied by an Army colonel and major in combat fatigues, would briefly park at the end of our driveway. At first, we thought that the only damage was cut fences, but then our goats began getting sick. All of our male kids and most of our female kids died, but the adult goats recovered with reduced milk production. Eventually, I wised up and hid at the end of the driveway before sunrise. The Jeep Cherokee had a Maryland tag and Fort Detrick bumper decals.
The Western Virginia Animal Diagnostic Center in Staunton took blood and tissue samples of the deceased goat kids. They were sent to the main Animal Diagnostic Laboratory in Richmond. The organism was found to be an artificial lab created mycoplasma in which DNA from several pathogens, including Lyme Disease, were injected into the nucleus. The scientists gave it the name, mycoplasma maloides.
Normally, it is almost impossible to get a mycoplasma to grow in petri dish. This one grew explosively, jumped the dish then began devouring all the microbes in all the floors of the building . . . then it began growing on the walls, floors and in the bathrooms. The building had to be abandoned for a while, until the agency could be allocated a vast sum of money to totally disinfect it. If this sounds like a plot from one of the earliest X-files shows, you are right. However, the X-files blamed extraterrestrials for the militarized mycoplasma, when in fact, mine was created by mad scientists.
I eventually figured out that the Rangers were using dart rifles to temporarily paralyze my goats so they could squirt the biotoxin down their throat with a dose syringe. Fort Detrick is only 20 miles from Martinsburg, WV where Danny Casaloro was murdered. I strongly suspect that Fort Detrick Rangers killed him, since he was first paralyzed by curare.
Upon returning home from the Middle East in 1991 and 1992, at least 150,000 veterans, perhaps 250,000 had strange disease symptoms that mimicked several other diseases. Both the Bush Administration and the Clinton Administration denied the existence of a microbe causing these symptoms . . . which included the teeth of people in their 20’s rotting and falling out of their gums – same symptom my goats had. The Veterans Administration refused to take blood samples in order to check for a pathogens.
A recent study by the Medical College of Georgia has found that male Desert Storm veterans in their 40s were 27 times more likely to report a heart attack, male veterans in their 50s had significantly higher rates of arthritis and chronic bronchitis, and male veterans in their 60s were five times more likely to report a stroke than male non-veterans in the same decades of life. The veterans in each age group reported many of these conditions at rates similar to or even higher than non-veterans a decade older than them.
In 1999, while I was temporarily living in Rome, GA . . . planning the revitalization of several downtown blocks, I noticed a newspaper article about a scientist at the University of California, who had isolated the microbe that caused Desert Storm Syndrome. He said that its DNA was the same as mycoplasma maloides, but he was totally unaware that it was an artificial militarized pathogen, only identified nine years earlier in Virginia. I went to the local FBI office and gave the agent a copy of the newspaper article and my lab reports. I told him how it had been administered by soldiers from Fort Detrick. He laughed at me, but said he would pass it on. He obviously didn’t.
The only result of the visit to the FBI was that the federal, state and local cops of Georgia declared war on me and have been breaking about every law in the book since then to prosecute their war.
Back to the present in Georgia
The Republicans here thought that I would be permanently be impoverished and the butt of all their jokes, because they had destroyed my architecture practice in Georgia. However, even before the Great Recession, I had some major architecture contracts elsewhere in the nation, and the History Channel program on the Mayas put me on the world stage. I even got a congratulatory note from HRH Prince Charles. So, I was eventually able to buy the cheapest fixer-upper house in the Georgia Mountains and fix it up.
The Lumpkin County Sheriff’s Department installed a passive tracking device in my car, while It was in a repair shop. That’s quite legal since the George W. Bush administration. All they have to say is that they are investigating a crime. My particular crime is not being either a Nazi or a Southern Baptist. Virtually all white cops in North Georgia are Southern Baptists. No warrant is needed. It is behind my radio. A shop in Metro Atlanta, wants $1700-$2400 to remove it. What I found out though was that the vigilantes have been issued the devices for tracking me. In fact, since I was a “known criminal” Criminal Justice classes at the University of North Georgia actually tracked me as a classroom exercise.
At any rate, when I started moving my things to a storage building in White County, my car was at the extreme range of their tracking device. The Lumpkin County Sheriff assumed that I was just renting another hovel and so notified the police in Cleveland and White County Sheriff’s Department that a queer and sexual predator was moving their county. So, the next time that I hauled stuff to the storage bin, I was tailed by White County deputies. When I stopped at the Bojangles in Cleveland, the deputies sent in a gay male “decoy” who was dressed like the puppet Howdy Doody.
When deputies tailing me realized that I was actually BUYING a house in a very desirable part of Habersham County, they concluded that the only way I could have money, despite the best efforts of the Republican Party and their hired guns, was that I was a Male Prostitute and Drug Dealer.* Habersham County gendarmes immediately implemented a broad array of tactics to make me unwelcome.
Knowing that a lot of people here were up to no good, I placed mini-cameras in the front and back of the house. The night before the closing a realtor came on the back porch and hid a key to the house in the handle of a propane tank. When some men came up to the house, just before the closing they could not find the key and so called her. She missed the closing because of bringing them the key. They installed electronic bugs in the house and connected my phone line to several neighbor’s houses, who were Republicans. However, I bagged a whole bunch of crooked cops in Virginia, including the No. 3 man in the VBI, by feeding them false intel via the electronic bugs in the HVAC outlets of my Virginia farmhouse.
One first changes in criminal law, once the Republicans gained total control of Georgia in 2006 was redacting the crime of police perjury. Now Georgia law enforcement may lie as much as they please in contacts with the public, but not while under oath in a courtroom. As soon as I moved here, deputies began spreading the lie that I was a homosexual and sexual predator. A female law enforcement officer would go into restaurants after I left and tell the waitresses that I was a predator of young females. That seems to be an odd combination with being a homosexual prostitute, but logic rarely gets in the way of fascist propaganda.
The Habersham Sheriff’s Department operated a sting at the Dollar General near me. A young gay man, just out of high school, got in trouble with the law. The deputies offered him a alternative to jail, if he could entrap me in a homosexual encounter. Of course, I am not homosexual, but that would not be a crime anyway, since he was no longer a minor. Guess they wanted to prove that all real men are Republicans . . . or something like that. For a year and half, the young man was constantly asking to come to my house. When I contacted a federal counter-insurgency officer about the Dollar General employees telling customers that the Democrats invented Covid19, he told me about the sting operation, so I stopped shopping there.
Since the vigilantes have been given the technology to track my car, I get a triple dose of weirdness from the two sheriff’s departments and the Neo-Nazi’s. They are constantly putting gay men, gay teens and young women, slightly below 18, next to my car or in my face . . . in hope of being able to arrest me. I could tell stories forever in this particular venue. Let’s leave it that I used to think that my Creek grandmother was racist because of the contempt she held for Georgia Crackers. Turns out she was absolutely right on target.
How I got to be a special prosecutor
Shortly, before moving to Habersham County, a man called me at my Lumpkin County hovel and said that he heard that I was looking for a carpentry contractor to help me repair my house in Habersham County. I should have asked him how he heard it, because he actually heard it from a police officer, who was tipped off by the Lumpkin County vigilante neighbor, who listened to my phone calls on behalf of the deputies.
Two days after the closing, the contractor showed up at the house to sign a contract. He told me that he could start in the morning, but need a check to purchase the materials. That is standard in construction. He cashed the check at 4:30 PM at the Clarkesville Branch of United Community Bank. He never showed up at my property. When I called him to inquire, why he was not working, he informed me that on May 18th he was going to have the best birthday party ever, thanks to me, and that there was nothing I could do about it. The cops had promised him that I could not touch him!
When I called the Lumpkin County Sherriff’s Department to file charges, they sent out a school guard, but he did give me the forms to fill out. A few days later, a secretary at the Sheriff’s Department called to tell me that I could pick up the forms and carry them to the Magistrate’s Court. Say what? This case was not going to the District Attorney? She said that they did not get involved with construction disputes because they are civil matters, not a crime. I gave her the OCGA citation to prove that if a contractor does not ever show up on a job, it is felony theft by taking. She said some condescending words and hung up.
I picked up the form and took to the Magistrate’s Court. They refused to accept it, stating that it was improperly filled out. I took it back to the Sheriff’s Department. No detective would talk to me. They told me to come back in the afternoon. I did. They gave me a letter saying that I was the special investigator and prosecutor for the case. Say what?
I took that form back to the Magistrate’s Court and they didn’t know what a Special Prosecutor was. I went home, disgusted. The next day I noticed that the signature on the check was entirely different than the signature on the contract. It is a federal offense to forge a signature on a check. In order to prove the forgery, I needed the name and the address of the GA driver’s license number underneath the forger’s signature. I went back to the Sheriff’s Department to get that done, but they refused to look it up. They said they didn’t have time.
I called up the District Attorney’s office. Both the Assistant DA and his investigator refused to work with me or even explain what a Special Prosecutor was. For good reason . . . I later learned from an honest high-ranking deputy at the Habersham Sheriff’s Office that the District Attorney’s Office had conceived this crime against me after being requested to “get me” by state Republican officials. The crime to be committed by the Sherriff’s Department was openly discussed among deputies. This officer of the department opposed it and told the perpetrators that they were violating their sacred oath. At this point, all members of Habersham County Sheriff’s Department became guilty of several felonies, since no one, even those opposing the scheme, reported the crime as required by law and then they conspired to obstruct the law, plus commit several violations of a citizen’s civil rights. As for the District Attorney’s office, their entire office needs to be hauled off to prison and the key thrown away.
Later on, a former Atlanta Police lieutenant, who is now a civil rights lawyer, helped me draw up the bill of charges for the grand jury and arrest warrant. The problem now is that Habersham County refuses to provide the names of the deputies, who will be arrested. This makes the County Manager and County Commissioners guilty of “obstruction of justice.” Also, to be arrested is a county employee who is a mole for neo-fascist organization and who ordered a wire tap on me, just to find out if I was a federal agent spying on his conspirators. Under Georgia law, my term as a Special Prosecutor cannot be terminated until I present a bill of charges to the Grand Jury.
As conceived by the District Attorney’s office, here was what was supposed to transpire. They expected me to order the arrest of the man who signed the contract. He was to claim that he never got any money. Then when I presented the cancelled check as evidence his attorney was going to point out that the signature was forged. It had been previously arranged for the Republican magistrate to throw out the case. The former defendant’s lawyer was then going to sue me in State District Court for a huge sum of money that would leave me homeless and penniless as I was ten years ago.
Of course, the basic flaw in the scheme was their belief in the Republican mantra that I was a crazy, stupid, wussy, queer librul, who would be fooled by their brilliant legal minds. I am none of the above and probably should be labeled a Zapatista, rather than a Democrat. The whole reason that the Eastern Creeks even exist today was that we were always consummate warriors.