Thursday, August 7, 2014

A Sharing Moment from the Manchester Site

They never disappoint, always finding a way to illustrate it is possible to more thoroughly abuse the English language and revolt all decent, thinking people simultaneously.  

We all know the two of them will not stop until they plumb the depths of not only stupidity and cupidity but have exhausted the limits of their feeble imaginations.

The various slanders published on the asinine site maintained by Morgan for the purposes of defaming me are actually very useful. No literate person who reads them over will retain even a shred of an illusion she is literate or sober.

So little they wrote was true as to make it unnecessary to comment.

One correction, however, because it typified how little Morgan ever knew me or understood my values.

The gold wedding ring which hangs on my gold chain, the only jewelry I wear, belonged to my Aunt Evelyn. She sent it to me before she died as a symbol of the understanding between us about, surprise, Morgan. A discerning woman, she tried to warn me to beware of Morgan because of she had seen how shabbily Morgan treated my parents. I still wanted to believe Morgan would change but I kept the ring and remembered her words to me.  

If only I had believed Aunt Evelyn sooner. Then, John Fund could have handled the problem for us.

I have not the foggiest where the wedding ring Ron gave me went, nor do I care.

Now, the gold chain was purchased at 2pm on Sunday, September 27, 1997. I did not then know my son, Arthur, had nearly died in a collision on his motorcycle and was enjoying walking around the mall in the hotel when I saw the display and this very gold chain.  

I would learn about the accident when Craig, my then husband, left a message for me on the phone in my hotel room. I was in New Orleans attending a National Federation of Republican Women Conference  at the time. 

No flight home was available until the wee hours of the morning.  Only in retrospect would it occur to me how ugly Craig's behavior had been.  We passed the hospital on the way home from the airport.  Craig refused to stop, telling me he wanted to go home and take a bath, first.  

One of the problems which face us in encompassing how different psychopaths are is their callousness.  We simply cannot believe it, finding excuses for those we love.  

I was shaking with fear and felt as if I would not be able to breathe if I could not go to my son immediately.  Craig wanted to submerge himself in bathwater and read a book.  
Two hours later, when I was able to walk into Arthur's hotel room, I could not believe what I saw.  He was unrecognizable.  

I began nearly living at the hospital.  Morgan dropped by once, to pick up a check, her 'allowance,' of $5,000 for that month.  Because she had to wait for me to write it she sat sullenly in the corner of the room, scowling.  She never looked at her brother.  

Two weeks before, Craig had demanded I force her to get a job, even though it has been he who insisted we subsidize her unreasonable demands.  He had his motives.  We'll get there in a moment. 

 At age 30, you would think she was old enough to work, though she had drunk her way through her college years carousing with her boy friend, Eddy van Halen.  I did not know this at the time, naturally.  I trusted her when she told me she was doing well in school and only felt concern when the years rolled on and no degree appeared.  Then, she decided she wanted to become a movie star instead of finding a career.  Of course, what she was doing was a kind of a career, just not one a mother wants for her daughter.

It was a year later when I learn she had already cut a deal with Craig to assist him in getting a divorce.  It was Morgan who found his divorce attorney, Jacqueline Misho.  

Misho would be the divorce attorney who John Cleese's wife also found several years later, forcing Cleese to go back to work, after his retirement, to pay her.  

Cleese compared Misho, in an article by appearing in the Telegraph, "John Cleese divorce tour: the first review," to"one of the monstrous Orcs, from The Lord of the Rings – flashing up two suitable images on the screen behind him."   

Since Misho actually does resemble an Orc this was entirely appropriate.  

Ironically, even Misho eventually found even Craig too frightening to tolerate.  It probably wasn't one thing, but several, compiling over the years.  The final straw could have been his asking Misho to get him unsupervised visitation with his 9 year old grand-daughter. This had evidently been his first thought when his son, Jonathan Scott Franklin, was arrested for hiring a hitman to kill his estranged wife in July of 2009.  

On visits to his daughter-in-law, Kathy, I was told he ignored his 10 year old grandson but wrote a lovely song for the little girl. This is one of the ways Craig tries to get access to little girls.  He made quite a practice of it, hiring professionals to get him publicity.  The name of the agency was, "To Market Kids."  Craig wrote a short review, in appreciation.  "
"Working with Regina is like drinking from a firehouse – all this good information coming at you!"

                              Craig Franklin, President - Romantic Realist Records, LLC"

I had lost my illusions when my  private detective found the child pornography in his trash can.  But that was not until 2003, when we needed to find him to serve papers.  The trash pick-up was a free extra.

In Misho's office that day in December, 1999, the Orc-in-residence asked Morgan sign a document stating she, Morgan, had not had sex with Craig. Craig was covering himself for what he was planning, apparently.   

Craig has an ongoing agenda, which was sex with little girls to whom he was related.  Evidently even the Orc has a few limits.

I later realized Craig had married me to get access to my three daughters and he fully intended to carry out his evil plan. 

In October of 1999 Craig took Morgan to New York, London and Paris.  He was already staying with her in her apartment in Los Angeles, whenever he was down there in the second bedroom of the apartment I had decorated for her myself. 

So, in Misho's office Morgan discovered what Craig was willing to do to get what he wanted.   He no longer needed her services as an agent against me and was now going for what he had really wanted all along.  

There is no professional courtesy extended between psychopaths, something even they occasionally forget.    

But after he had tried to climb into bed with her earlier that December, in the wake of their trip together, he and Misho coerced her into converting his payments to her for assistance in continuous attempts to destroy me and Arthur, into a 'loan.'  

Who signs loan papers after two years of receiving monthly payments for services rendered?  Morgan, who could have refused. But she was afraid if she did she would have to get a job, for which she knew she was unqualified,  and she had another rich guy she was trying to land, this time John Fund

Ironically, eventually  she would do exactly the same thing, sign a document which was entirely false, during the ugly end of her relationship with Fund.  In both cases she hoped the gravy train would continue.  It didn't.  

The wealthy boy friend previous to Fund was Eugene Volokh, a billionaire and law professor at UCLA, who was then excited about being included in the fold of the rising NeoCon power front.  

Morgan landed him for a time because I loaned her part of my library to produce the illusion she was literate.  I also wrote the emails for her which had initially intrigued him.  I knew I shouldn't - but she hammered me for two weeks, begging, screaming, threatening, and telling me otherwise she might never find someone to marry her.  Now, that was a daunting thought.    
I have worn this chain, and the ring since Arthur's second brain injury on March 22, 1998, to remind me prayers can be answered.  Arthur lived, and so have I.

Last Saturday, July 12, 2014, appears to have been quite a night, for both Morgan and Laura. One can just see them on the phone, spittle dripping from their instruments, as they compare the pathetic lies they are typing.

So, keep up the good work, oh dim and demented duo.

Bore the world and grow older together. 

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