Life as an investigator is like a box of chocolates

9 April 2014 – Note: This article first appeared on March 21, 2013. It is being republished today to correspond with our guest, Dr. Danny Morano (website) on today’s edition of The Hagmann & Hagmann Report.

“My friend never got the money for his investigative research as the donor was found dead in his apartment a short while later. The death was ruled a suicide by hanging, even though his feet were found to be barely touching the floor when he was discovered.  Very strange.”

By Douglas J. Hagmann

21 March 2013:  The following is a true story. You’ll really just have to “trust me” with this one – and stay with me through all the twists and turns the following account has to offer. There are many, to be certain. If you’re like me, you might want to save this information, read it more than once, allow it to sink in. I had to. After you fully grasp the content, you might never look at certain things, people and even your own belief system the same way again. Note: this was first published by Steve Quayle here.  The following is an updated and slightly expanded version.


Part  I: How it began

An investigator friend was telling me a story to which I found easy to relate. He began,  “One time, I left home on a lazy Saturday evening to grab some comfort food.  I told my wife ‘I’ll be right back,’ as my dog, having heard the car key’s jingle, dutifully pushed his way through the door to assist me on my mission.  He instinctively knew I’d forget his doggie treats if he wasn’t right there to help me. Minutes later, as I was walking out of the store with my booty, I saw a man whom I’d been searching for as the subject of a complex embezzlement scheme.  He was walking to a rented moving van and towing his classic car on a trailer behind it. Nine days and 3500 miles later, I’d completed my field work and handed the investigation over to several federal agencies for what had now become a federal case.”

My friend continued: “I returned home to my very distraught bride of six months.  We were supposed to have left on our already twice-delayed honeymoon cruise the previous Sunday morning. We didn’t have cell phones in those days, and I didn’t have a radio in my personal car; my handheld was on the charger at home when I’d gone on my quick trip. My first call came during a brief fuel stop at four o’clock the next morning.  The hurried explanations fell on incredulously deaf ears–between her astonished and uncharacteristically numerous expletives. For some months I’d been telling her, ‘Third time’s a charm.’  Guess I was wrong, again!  She was not amused.”

He concluded his hour-long story stating very matter-of-fact:   “I guess I sort of. . . understand why she divorced me. . .I sure do miss her.” He then proceeded to explain how this life lesson had led him to understand one of his manyLaws of Investigationswhich, like a box of chocolates, were offered in no particular order and are only predictable by their unpredictability.

I then proceeded to break what is now one of “my” laws:  “Never ask this guy a question without having first taken a bathroom break!”   He tends to be pretty long-winded; but the stories are generally worth it. So, I asked, “What are some of the other laws you’ve come up with?”  I knew the moment the words came out of my mouth, I should have restricted my question to just one law—hard to do with good chocolates.

Belief is the driver of action

Without breaking stride he says, “Belief is the driver of action,” and proceeded into another long and winding story in order to give me his historical rationale for the law.

“About 20 years ago. . .”  (Oh, boy!  My first clue.  This was gonna take awhile!)  “I had recently completed my latest physics project at a location that uses a number for a name. A colleague from my time was an Air Force OSI agent, specializing in advanced sciences and technology.  He had heard I was heading to England for a long overdue vacation and asked me if I’d volunteer to help him while I was there. He needed a witness on a simple mission to collect some evidence.  Unwittingly, I said, ‘Sure, no problem.’   (Oh nuts!  I’d just violated a law every service member knows all too well:  NEVER VOLUNTEER!   The smallest chocolates are always the ones with the nuts, usually).”

My friend continued his recollection of events. “We went to a private city within the city.  Security was well concealed, but omnipresent to a trained eye. We went to a private office and met with a man whom I later came to know as a member of one of the wealthiest families on the planet. He talked with us briefly about funding for a scientific investigation my friend was going to pursue. He invited us to dine with him at his residence later in the evening. In the interim my friend proceeded to tell me how the man had apparently had an NDE (near death experience) during a medical procedure. He’d apparently had a Pauline-like angelic encounter, during which ‘opaque and serpent-like scales’ had fallen from his eyes in the presence of a Divine Messenger! Layer after layer of lies and deceptions dissolved before him. At its conclusion, he came to believe his entire life was one big rubber-band roll of tangled lies—every new one bigger than the last. He’d resolved to turn to a new ‘way’ and set out to change his life; and the world.”

“After dinner, we collected blood, tissue, hair and oral swabs. He’d recently had a dental procedure and had saved a tooth, which he dutifully preserved in a small paper bag in his freezer. I videotaped the collection process as the evidence was bagged and tagged.”

My investigator friend continued his narrative: “On the plane ride back stateside, my friend, who at the time was one of the most knowledgeable DNA researchers on the planet, pulled out the biggest piece of mental jerky I’ve ever gnawed on! His benefactor/test-subject ‘believed’ that, while most of the ‘Sons of Adam’ had double-stranded DNA, he had been told by his family that he and his blood relatives were distinctly different and that he, like his fathers before him, had triple-stranded DNA. He wanted my friend to secretly prove once and for all if this was true… or not. The subject claimed that his extended family and their cousins who are kings, queens, princes and princesses as well as leaders of industry and banking worldwide, believe they are children of an other-worldly race of ‘Humanoid Beings.’ He’d been taught by his tutors that once upon a time, his ancestors had fallen to earth after some cosmic calamity in the time before the Garden. He believed that while their ‘Ancestral Mother’ was Eve, their ‘Ancestral Father’ was not Adam!  He was torn to know if a ‘Child of Cain’ was actually genetically different and whether he could he be saved!”

“My friend never got the money for his investigative research as the donor was found dead in his apartment a short while later. The death was ruled a suicide by hanging, even though his feet were found to be barely touching the floor when he was discovered.  Very strange.”

“My friend’s wife gave me all of his research and notes upon his own untimely death some years later, leading me to bite into another chocolate in the ‘Law of Investigation’s” box:  ‘Fact is often stranger than fiction!’”

Part II: The beginning of a previously unexpected trip “down the ‘rabbit’s hole!’”

My investigator friend continued his tale after my return from an overdue bathroom break.

“It was a long plane ride home.  The funeral had been difficult for me; losing a close friend at such a young age was not easy. Because of the nature of his work and mine, our talks had mostly been cryptic and necessarily—too few and too far between. His young wife had only been with him a short while. Much of his early years and most of his real life were completely hidden from her.  ‘Need to know’ type stuff; and she didn’t, so she didn’t.”

“Flash drives weren’t common then.  A removable hard drive sat in the open briefcase on the seat next to me in what originally had been a box for Christmas cards. A lone card sat on top of the unusual assortment of contents.  It pictured a cat which had apparently licked the socket of a strand of Christmas lights that its owner was stringing atop a tree. It was a snowy setting in front of a festively lit home. The cat was amusingly adorned in a tangle of colored lights as it hung midair between the starry heavens and its hell—every limb painfully extended in a different direction, and every hair standing on end under the shock of electrocution. A similarly shocked dad was teetering atop of his now tipping ladder next to a window where small children and the wife, mouths agape, watched helplessly. An old hound dog laid on the porch nearby, barely raising one eyebrow to take in the entertainment. With the crowning Star of David blazing brightly in his hand, only moments from the completion of his task, dad was now headed on a previously unexpected trip, and so was I.”

“Although the sticky note affixed to the top of the box stated simply, ‘Juan O. Saven,’  an operational code name I was once known by, the card when opened stated only my Christian name with the following brief message:   ‘Do what you do; I’ll expect a complete report when you get here.  Since you’re reading this, I’ve already gone ahead!’  He signed the card ‘Slowpoke.’  That was a name I had given him once when we were young and brimming over with life and innocence. Reading the note, my eyes uncontrollably began to tear up. I suddenly felt much, much older and alone. I dwelt on the card, his note, and our very unusual lives, for the rest of my long trip home.  Good friends, old friends, aren’t easy to come by.”

“When I arrived in my city, I was very backed up in my work, and I couldn’t really look at what I had for some time. For one thing, I didn’t immediately know how to access the hard drive, and when I did, the information was password-protected.  He seemingly hadn’t included a password with the box!  It was quite some time later that it occurred to me that he actually had, and that was the true reason for the catchy card at the top of the box.  Yeah, he was right, and I WAS slow!”

“It was all there—his contacts, his drawings, and descriptions.
His technical analysis was not easy to read, but I had enough—more than general knowledge—to follow his work. He’d traveled covertly to meet with specialists, including one Nobel Laurieate, to get their opinion of his observations and analysis. He’d even met with some very prominent religious authorities of varied beliefs to get their take on the possible implications of what he believed he had found. He was exceedingly careful and always traveled under some other ‘role and purpose’ and only as a peripheral inquiry brought his real questions to bear, conscious of the dangerous sensitivity of the subject at hand.”

“Near the end of his notes, I came to a page titled ‘Conclusions’ followed by these lines: 

’This is a Murder Investigation’ which was then followed on a separate line written all in capitals ‘OF MURDER, BY A SERIAL MURDERER.’  He then went into several pages of a long diatribe of identifiers and details that only recently have begun to make sense to me.”

He continued: “Under a new heading, ‘Follow the Blood Trail.’”

“At first he noted that the DNA strands he was examining seemed to be wound more tightly than normal.  You see, there are normally ten rungs per complete twist of the double helix strand in normal human DNA. In his analysis of our subject’s DNA taken from his blood samples, he found intermittent sections which appeared to be wound more tightly, with only nine rungs per complete twist, nine being an unusual and noteworthy number, always turning and returning to itself.”

(I thought to myself, that doesn’t seem to be that unusual…everybody I KNOW seems like they’re wound too tightly.)

“Simultaneously he observed and documented what he at first believed to be the foretold third strand of the subject’s DNA. Upon closer analysis he came to an entirely different and unexpected conclusion:  Our subject had been lied to!  IT WASN’T A THIRD STRAND AT ALL!  It was a silvery threadlike, semitransparent, serpentine-like parasite of infinitesimally small proportions. He observed that it was entangled, intermittently hopping back and forth between the normal double helix strands;  it appeared to him that as the parasite grew, it continued to wrap itself like a bean or ivy-type vine plant will attach itself to any available protrusion. Unlike a normal snake or worm, this parasite had little hook-like protrusions that did seem to lend themselves to a gripping type attachment all along the strand.  His notes described them as alligator or dragon feet—but only for his amusement, not because they were that actual form. Occasionally he noted that it appeared that some of the threaded parasites seemed to connect to adjacent parasites, creating what appeared to be tiny nets, cross circuiting between the different sections and strands of DNA.”

“In his notes, my friend penned some personal thoughts after having considered his observations and the source of his DNA materials. He thought of the Vatican’s pronouncements that ‘aliens are our cousins,’ and the Vishnu teachings of a time when ‘gods’ flew in spaceships and destroyed whole cities in a single blast. He even had notes about Elijah being caught up in a Chariot of Fire! Maybe he had misread or misunderstood the entire history of his Bible! Maybe—from Genesis to ‘Revolution’—it was about some far more tangible and real fallen angel alien cousins than the ghost-like destroying angels he’d always pictured in his imaginations.

He gazed at ‘it’ and studied ‘it’ in shocked disbelief and asked to himself, ‘Is this pathetic little blood-sucking worm, the tiny origin of the tyrannical destroyer of so many lives and worlds?’  But he could not escape the fact that small as it was, the DNA strands that it/they were attached to WERE JUST AS SMALL! And both had the informational encoding to make ‘good’ or ‘evil!’ Yes, the DNA, and the serpentine creature entangled in it potentially bore the information/knowledge/blueprint to create good or evil!”

My investigator friend continued, “I remembered the time I had sat with a hard cold desk under my arms as I stared back into the false Cheshire grin surrounding that mouthful of fake pearly whites.  ‘He’ was staring me down from his ‘Star Chamber Seat,’  waiting for my answer from in front of the concealing screen which provided me only partial anonymity from the rest of the gallery. You see he thought he’d caught me in a lie, with what I had told his ‘in-house investigator,’ but his investigator’s authorizations and clearances were not the same as the Senator’s!  I replied, ‘As you know, Senator, the lie is different at every level!’  And so it was, and so shall it always be—in this life anyway, from the highest thrones in this world and now, here again, right down to the tiniest strands of DNA:  It’s lies, lies, lies all the way down!  The truth is, the so-called third strand of DNA that somehow could make ‘THEM’ superior was just another lie from the ‘father of lies.’ In the end it was just another lecherous parasitic alien hitchhiker on the road of life, trying to deceive the vulnerable into forfeiting their birthright for a bag of magic beans!”

“My friend tried—and was trying at the time of his death—to determine if there was a way to separate the writhing and gripping entanglements of the demon seed’s form from the host DNA without destroying the host. He also speculated on possible ways to identify the reptilian’s hosts who walk among us while living in the grip of ‘The Reptilian Seed’s Alien Possession.’”

“It was here that I began my work, picking up where my friend had too abruptly left off.”

“Deep in my thoughts,” my friend continued, “Once again, I’d reached into life’s box of chocolates. Interesting thing,” he noted, “There’s usually some chocolate-covered jellies with red colored sprinkles on top, in life’s little box o’ chocolates, and I like those; but this time, it seemed like I’d reached instead for the three pastel-colored, hard-shell, candy-coated nuts at the center of the box. I did remember clearly, that it seemed like just as I closed my eyes and started to munch, I began to feel dizzy and for only a moment…before I felt myself begin to spin and teeter over.  And down.  Into the Rabbit’s hole!”

Part III: “To Serve Man…”

There are more “Laws of Investigation” my investigator friend brought to my attention, and he began quoting them to me. “First, belief is the driver of action,” which bore repeating. He then seemingly digressed, saying that “the smallest chocolates are always the ones with the nuts.”And of course, a “law” I had come to understand, “fact is frequently stranger than fiction.”

Becoming increasingly more animated, my friend then said something that really made me think:  “The lie is different at every level -  and so it was, and so shall it always be, in this life anyway; from the highest Thrones, in this world, and now, here again, right down to the tiniest strands of DNA, it’s lies,  lies, lies all the way down!”

My friend then cited “Pellegrino, Powell and Sir Isaac Asimov who penned the “Three Laws of Alien Behavior:”

Law No. 1

Their survival will be more important than our survival.

“If an alien species has to choose between them and us, they won’t choose us. It is difficult to imagine a contrary case; species don’t survive by being self-sacrificing.”

Law No. 2

Wimps don’t become top dogs.

“No species makes it to the top by being passive. The species in charge of any given planet will be highly intelligent, alert, aggressive, and ruthless when necessary.”

Law No. 3

“They” will assume that the first two laws apply to “us.”

And so my colleague continued. “My friend told me how his dizzying mental fall was eventually arrested by a very hard floor. In the mixed box of ‘investigator’s laws’ my friend calls ‘life’ —those three pastel-colored, candy-coated and chocolate-covered nuts can apparently(?) be some very hard pills to swallow.

He raised his voice:  “Doug!” he shouted, rousing me like a freight train.  “Doug, it hit me like the hard ground we’re standing on! It’s all around us—everywhere! They think of us like aliens, but they’re the aliens! Don’t you get it?! They’re laughing at us. They ‘THINK’ they’re the children of space aliens from another world, marooned on this tiny blue orb. They’re just doing time till they can figure a way off this rock so they can get back up to their Death-Star Moon Ship; figure out how to fix it and head back home to mommy!”

I sat there, listening as he continued to talk: “I looked at the heart-shaped Valentine’s box of chocolates I’d given my wife earlier in the week.  Sure enough, when I opened it—she hadn’t eaten any yet, but she had humored me with a perfunctory  ‘it’s the thought that counts’ and a peck on the cheek. I guess it’s some kinda high-brow, female, smarter-than-everyone-else, nonfat thing.  Anyway,  sure enough, there they were, the delightfully showcased evil omens—three  large, pastel-colored, candy-coated and chocolate-covered nuts—just as my friend described! ‘Forewarned is forearmed;’  that’s what I say. I picked a safe, fat and round soft chocolate, or two, before I put the lid back on the box. I wasn’t ready to drink the Kool-Aid yet, but I also wasn’t shutting him down either.”

It’s all about the blood

He continued, “See, the way I see it, it’s all about the blood.  They marry and intermarry to keep the alien blood pure. That’s why all the incestuousness in these elites, royal cliques; they’re keeping it all in the family.” He then explained how he’d found that this guy and that girl were actually related to some other guy who wasn’t the guy we were all lied to about, who was so-and-so’s official father or mother. After awhile, it actually started to make some kinda sense—or maybe the blood sugar was just starting to kick in and make me a little tipsy.  Anyway, “whatever,” I lazily thought to myself.

I stared off into space, deep in my hypoglycemically induced, contemplative thoughts. On the shelf beside the TV in my den, an old VHS video box sat, its title staring back at me, I was a Zombie for the FBI.  It’s a campy ’80s black and white “B” movie some college kids made about some brothers who discovered sunglasses that, when worn, allowed them to see aliens masquerading as humans and plotting to destroy the real humans and take over the earth. A more well-known movie version is They Live. As I adjusted my reading glasses, I had a few new thoughts of my own:  “What if. . .”   “What IF?”

Then, rousing me again out of my darkness with his now booming voice, my investigator friend said “IT!” And then he said “IT” again, more slowly and decisively.  And just then, “IT” struck me!  “IT” struck me like a silver bullet to my politically incorrect brain! The haze half cleared, and for a long moment I realized exactly what he’d been trying to say all along.  The clouding scales began to fall from my eyes also, just as they had for our subject in his NDE! I briefly wondered whether I was I on the verge of my own diabetic-induced coma. Perhaps like our original subject, maybe I was having an NDE of my own!

Belief REALLY IS the driver of action

I reached for the water on the table beside me, but it was actually the grandkids’ Kool-Aid.   I drank it anyway as I thought to myself, “It doesn’t really matter what I believe! It doesn’t matter what the lying ‘facts’ say! It doesn’t matter what any technical analysis reveals! It doesn’t even matter what the religious sages thought or believe!

It only matters what “THEY” believe, because our original subject and his relatives—who are kings, queens, princes and princesses as well as leaders of industry and banking worldwide—believe and act as though they are children of an other-worldly race of “humanoid beings,” but not human only…hybrid human…more than human…superior alien/humans!

Our subject and his kin had been taught by their families and tutors that once upon a time, “their” ancestors had fallen to earth after some cosmic calamity in the time before the Garden. He believed that while their “Ancestral Mother” was Eve, their “Ancestral Father” was not Adam! THEY BELIEVE that they are our “humanoid cousins,” superior hybrids, part alien and only part human. They once reined from Olympus and were pharaohs. Whatever the real truth of their history, their “belief” is the driver of their actions!  Being the “true believers” they are, they will continue to operate in accordance with their belief and the laws of alien/darwinian-type survival. That’s why they interbreed, passing the garter in order, from one bridesmaid to the next to maintain the purity of the bloodline.  That’s why they secretly meet and connive, continuing to pass power between themselves. That’s why they must manage the rest of mankind, fooling them into focusing their life energy and ingenuity on wars of self-destruction and debt, so that we may be forever enslaved to their lusts on this “prison planet,” ’til death do us part. More than afraid, they know in their black hearts this is their fight for survival.  THE fight for survival!

It had begun, just as my friend had said, as a “Murder Investigation,” starting with the first murder when that luciferian demon dad had first whispered the evil deed to his willing child, Cain!  It has since continued down through time with Atlantian devolutions.  And God, wiping them off the earth in the days of Noah and the sons of Adam repeatedly fighting for their own survival, by destroying the aged, reptilian cross-bred giants in Caanaanland… and later, David destroying the hybrid Goliath and his four hybrid brothers. And now, as in the days of Noah, the hidden giants, the true believers—hiding in plain sight, so powerful, so important, and so, so afraid.

I was reminded how in the mountains of Afghanistan the people will say their cousin lives on the other side of that mountain then, in the next breath, remind you that the word for cousin is interchangeably the same word meaning “enemy.”

Interchangeably?  These earthbound, half -cousins of ours continue to laugh, but it is a nervous laugh at that! They have a joke or two at our expense, re-creating their lying father’s “fall to earth” and flashing their heretofore secret gang sign/hand signals to each other right in our face. I know now how dangerous their beliefs are, and I know that they are being driven by their beliefs, taught to them by their real father, the father of lies. And even now he knows “the truth” and whispers in his initiates’ ears just as he first did in Cain’s ear:  The “Sons of Adam,” as long as they live, are dangerous.

Just then my friend began to cite another law, stating, “And when you’re finally out of chocolates, it’s time to make stew!”

I begged his indulgence for a few minutes as I wandered down the hall to the restroom. I was wondering to myself, “Where did I leave my ladder? I gotta get outta this rabbit’s hole before the bad guys figure out there’s no rabbits for the rabbit stew they’re dreaming of for their caldron. They might decide to change cookbooks to suit whatever else they might find.”

“Ummm, yes.  There it is,” I thought.  They’d thought. . .”To Serve Man.”