Chapter 35: La Cosa Nostra

One of the hardest chapters I've written ... too many bad memories.

Chapter 35: La Cosa Nostra


Grandkids, do you know what the greatest irony of all is in Grandpa writing this autobiography and addressing it to you?

I know that the greatest threat to the demise of humanity and human equality and peace on earth is the family unit … the very thing that your grandmothers didn’t want me to have if I wouldn’t form one with them.

Yep, in addressing you as my grandchildren, it sets you up as someone special and important in my life above all other humans on Earth. This is ironic. (“Ironic” means, that in using language to say something, you actually mean the opposite.)


Since my transfiguration in 1987, I knew that life on Earth was a dream experience occurring in the mind of each of our advanced Self’s.

When we dream, we create a new reality in a dream world. There are people in our dreams whom we are familiar with, and many with whom we are not.

While we dream, the dream experiences feel just as real as our life experiences upon earth. Our minds create a seemingly real life upon a dream earth that centers around our dream existence.

We don’t realize it was all just a dream until we wake up.

Well, the Real Truth is, when you die, when your mortal life is over, you will be fully conscious (i.e., awake) in the world in which your real, True Self exists. You will then recognize your Self as the same person who you were before you connected your consciousness to a mortal-earth infant.

Does this seem weird and impossible?

It shouldn’t. It should make perfect sense.

Do you want to know another irony, that is pretty fucking ironic?

Many of your parents or grandparents believe that they are spiritual beings, created by God as spiritual children, allowed to come to Earth as mortals, and then will return to the God who created them when they die …

Well, that shit’s ironic as hell!

Think about it:

If God created you, in God’s image, as a spirit child, then you’d pretty much look like God. Right?

So, if you look like God, there’s no way you can look like Grandpa … which some of you probably do … UNLESS … Grandpa is God … Oh, there it is!

The ironic thing is, if you looked like the person who God created you as, as a spirit child before you came to Earth, then you’re going to pretty much look like the same spirit that leaves your body upon death and returns to your Heavenly Father. Right?

But you look like Grandpa. Right? You don’t look like God.

Let’s say that we reunite in heaven in God’s kingdom and we recognize each other there.

Am I going to be old and look like a grandpa, or young and look like a grandchild?

Are you going to still look like your parents, which look like me, or are you going to return to looking like the spiritual child that God created, first in heaven, and then sent to Earth in a mortal body that is supposed to look like the same body you’re going to have after you die?

If you resurrect, what is your resurrected body going to look like?

If you believe that you’re going to look like one of my grandchildren in heaven … albeit in your perfect form … you’d better damn sure hope that Ol’ Gramps was a good-looking old fart, or you’re going to be ugly forever!


If you don’t look like Grandpa, and you actually look like the Heavenly Grandpa that created your spirit, then you will not recognize yourself as the same person you were upon Earth.

You won’t look like my grandkid anymore … which is a damn shame … ‘cause, in my younger years, I was fucking sexier than Jesus!

What is this “eternal family” shit that is such a great selling point for religion, especially for the religion that a large portion of your parents grew up around: the LDS/Mormon Church?

How can this be true?

It just doesn’t make any sense.

But okay, let’s assume there’s a bit of truth in what the Mormons believe, and let’s borrow a couple of these their beliefs and see how they fit in with irony.

They believe that God created two white people, Adam and Eve. From Adam and Eve, came all the other people on Earth.

Oh, yeah. And those black, darker-skinned people?

Well, according to their beliefs, darker skinned peoples’ ancestors were cursed by God with a dark skin, because they didn’t do what God wanted them to do.

But wait a minute here!

Whether we’re white or dark, we still all share the same grandpa:

Grandpa Adam. Right?

If Adam was a great guy, who loved God, and therefore God loved him, and there’s such a thing as an eternal family unit, then don’t we all belong to Grandpa Adam’s eternal family unit?

So, if Grandpa Adam is the Great Patriarch (male head of a family), then how the flying fuck can Grandpa ever repent of his misdeeds, rejoin the Mormons, and get all ya all back into my eternal family unit, where Grandpa is going to be the Great Patriarch?

And since women are not considered as important as men, because the male is the priesthood holder and the head of the family, what’s going to become of your mothers, Brittany, Sariah, and Rachael?

… Oh, the Mormons will tell you that the reason why they don’t focus on the role of the woman, is because of the respect that they have for Grandmother Eve and our Eternal Heavenly Mother … Yeah! Really!

According to the Mormons, Brittany, Sariah, and Rachael are going to belong to some other guy’s eternal family unit, even if Grandpa repents of all of his evilness, rejoins the Mormon Church, and gets his special priesthood back.

If my daughters want an eternal family unit, they must be sealed to a Mormon guy who can take them to the Celestial Kingdom where God lives, and accept that the guy is the head of their eternal family unit.

So, it doesn’t matter if Grandpa becomes a repented Mormon guy!

I’m still going to lose my daughters to some other guy’s eternal family unit.

And all of my sons are going to have their own eternal family unit with some other Grandpa’s worthy daughters!

So what’s left for me?

Ahhhhhhhhhh … I won’t be left out according to Mormon irony … er, I mean belief.

If I’m a worthy Mormon male, I’ll get all your grandmas as eternal wives!

Yesssssssssssssssssssssssss! … a plethora (overabundance) of eternal fuck buddies forever, creating all kinds of spiritual children, who will be forced to accept me as their Heavenly Father, and do what I say or they will not be able to have a plethora of fuck buddies in heaven.

Who cares if my sons get their own eternal family away from mine!

Who cares if my daughters become part of another Mormon exalted male’s eternal family unit!

As long as I can continue to have a lot of eternal, heavenly orgasms with my plural wives in order to create lots of spiritual children who are like me, I’m fucking good!

But will my eternal spiritual children look like your parents look, albeit in their perfect form?

This shit is ironic!

The family unit is our thing.

The family unit is the thing that creates the most value for humans living upon this planet.

In Spanish, it is: La Cosa Nostra.

Nothing is more important to mortals than La Cosa Nostra.

The term “La Cosa Nostra” was used by organized crime families (mafia) as their way of recognizing the importance of belonging to their familia. Nothing is more important to the mafia than loyalty to, the preservation of, and belonging to the family.

The irony is, the mafia’s La Cosa Nostra is no different than the any other family unit. The same rules of loyalty, preservation, and belonging apply.


Parents will kill to protect their family. Parents will do whatever it takes to support their individual family units.

It doesn’t matter what happens to the rest of Adam’s grandchildren, as long as the ones that belong to your own family unit are provided for and protected.

The family unit is La Cosa Nostra.


But after my transfiguration, the family unit was no longer La Cosa Mia (my thing).


Sure, I loved being a dad, but I loved my freedom also.

Sure, I loved being with Jackie, because she hardly voiced her own opinion and seemed fine to live a vagabond, free life like I wanted to live.

What man wouldn’t want a women who supports him in all things?

One of the things that the Illuminati was looking for in a True Messenger is if the guy’s family was more important to him than their mission. Their mission has nothing to do with the individual family unit, but all to do with the entire human family unit.

I had legally divorced Jackie before we settled down and accepted Marcee, after saving her from Mormon Fundamentalism.

Jackie didn’t want the divorce, but agreed to it in order to live legally, according to the world; and also, as she told me, to offer Marcee some equality.

In fact, Jackie and I had wedding bands from our marriage. I took mine off and had it sized for Marcee. I can’t imagine how that made Jackie feel. But I didn’t care. Equality in relationships meant more to me, and that’s exactly what the Illuminati wanted to see if I was going to be a part of their La Cosa Nostra.


So after meeting with Vicky and Marcee in the Fall of 1993, I became involved in their lives, and did everything within my power to help them as much as I could.

Vicky wanted to move to California and live near her sister in Grass Valley. I moved her and paid for rent on a small house. We did not have sex at this time. I encouraged her to start a new life and begin dating. This offended her, and she, once again, cut off any relationship with me, and told me that I would not be allowed in our daughter’s life.

Racheal Alexandra Prunty was born on December 7, 1993. Vicky did not list me as the father, and did not give her my last name. The California government finally forced her to name Rachael’s father, so that it could bill the one responsible for her birth.

Not too long after moving to California, Vicky found a boyfriend (thank the good Lord above) and began her new life.


When Vicky got her new boyfriend, she became nicer and allowed me to be in our daughter’s life. I invited Vicky and her new boyfriend back to Utah for Christmas in 1995. It went well. Vicky seemed to be happy not being intimately involved with me, and I liked her down-to-earth, easy going boyfriend … I think his name was Jason.


Now, I mentioned that this is when all the drama in my life started. There’s so fucking much, so fucking much drama, that I could write a book about my involvement, from this time period on, about each of your grandmothers (Jackie, Marcee, and Vicky).

And it burdens the hell out of me to try to recollect it all.


So this is what I am going to do:


I am going to shorten it all and write a few paragraphs about each woman and the drama that she caused in my life …

NO! Wait! Not the drama that she caused, but the drama that I allowed and caused because of my desire to do anything I could for them to make them feel good about themselves.

I take full responsibility and blame. I could have walked away at anytime, and yes, then the Illuminati wouldn’t have wanted me for their La Cosa Nostra.

Each of these women wanted to be treated with respect. Each wanted their own family—just their man and their children.


That was their thing … their La Cosa Nostra.


I tried to fulfill their desires and be “just their man.” I fucking failed miserably!


Had I walked away from them all, just paid my child support and visited my kids when I could … Well, then the Illuminati wouldn’t have had all the proof that they needed that they found the right True Messenger.

Vicky Prunty Batchelor

Vicky lived in Grass Valley, California for a few years. Her boyfriend left her. She began to struggle financially. She called me and asked for help. My father went to California and brought Vicky and her children back to Utah.

I had purchased three old homes on the westside of Salt Lake City, Utah. I bought the first one for Jackie (1960 W. 400 North). I bought the second one as an investment, which became for Vicky, so that she could move back to Utah (1962 W. 400 North); and the third, I eventually bought for Marcee (1964 W. 400 North).


And here’s another irony.


All the houses were far away from other houses on a dead-end street. The only other building, right across the street from the houses, was a LDS/Mormon Church … Yeah! Fucking hilarious!

All of the homes were condemned and unlivable at the time. I was able to buy Jackie’s house for $32,000. I didn’t have that much money, so I asked Jackie to ask her parents for a loan of $25,000. They lent us the money. I remodeled the house the best I could and moved Jackie in.

The house next door (which would eventually become Vicky’s house), I was somehow able to buy also for a steal. I bought it and remodeled it months before Vicky had called me about her California financial problems.


Here’s another one of those ironies:


The LDS/Mormon Bishop, from across the street, contacted me and said he had an immigrant family from India that needed a home. We agreed upon a monthly rent and the family moved in. Jackie got along great with the immigrant mother, who hardly spoke English.

With Jackie’s help, and the help of my sister Alesa, who was an expert at State-funded childcare, the immigrant mother set up her own daycare service. Jackie had started her own daycare (with Alesa’s help) once I had the house up to the specs required by the State for a home daycare service.

The immigrant family lived there (1962 W.) for quite a few months.


During this time, Marcee needed a home. I made a deal for the last of the three homes (1964 W. 400 North), remodeled it, which included a new septic system … (Jackie helped me dig the new hole and haul cement bags to create the tank … totally NOT to code, but it worked) … and moved Marcee in. (More on what led up to this below as I discuss my dealings with Marcee.)

Anyways …


To my chagrin, I had to let the Mormon immigrant family know that I needed the house back. It was a hard thing to do, but I knew that this family had the backing of the Mormon Church, and Vicky had nothing.


So it came to pass, that Vicky and her six children (Colin, Amy, Marci, Tessa, Derek, and our little Rachael) moved into my house.


(We put Jackie’s house in her name, but I kept Vicky’s house in my name. I eventually put Marcee’s house in her name … more on this below.)


Long story … as short as I can … on Vicky:


She wanted to resume our sexual relationship. Jackie refused to accept this.


Vicky wrote a letter to Jackie that I call the “Pie Letter.”


In the letter, Vicky presented me as a whole pie. Jackie had me first, so she got half of me. The other half, she and Marcee had to share. The letter justified me continuing a plural relationship with Vicky and Marcee, at the expense of Jackie.


Needless to say, at this time, there were not very good feelings between these three women.


After her return to Utah, I can only remember having sex with Vicky once before I just couldn’t do it any longer out of respect for Jackie.


I was having all kinds of problems trying to make Marcee feel valued in our relationship, which Jackie knew included sex, but about which Jackie no longer felt comfortable. (More on this below.)


I refused to have sex with Vicky. She accused me of being capable of molesting our daughter, which now justified her keeping Rachael from me.


Yeah! Fucking really!


During this time, Vicky did not let Rachael come out of the house. She demanded that her other children have nothing to do with me and Jackie, who lived right next door to her … not even 30 feet away!


Get the picture right:

Three separate houses, about 30 feet apart from each other, at the end of a road with no other houses around. Jackie lived in the first, Vicky in the second, and Marcee in the third.


My brother, Joel, rented the basement of Vicky’s house for a time. Yeah, Vicky started having sex with him … ironically.


Joel asked me to help him load his motorcycle in my truck in order to move it. We were loading the motorcycle when Rachael came out of the house, calling “Daddy!” and coming towards me. Colin ran after her, and pulled her back into the house at Vicky’s command.


I yelled, “Why can’t I see my daughter, Vicky?”


I wasn’t being nice in light of the child molestation allegations.


Vicky came out of her house and confronted me. Joel intervened and asked why we couldn’t just try to get along.


I responded, “Yeah Vicky! Tell him why you won’t let me see our daughter!”

Yeah, I was pissed.

Vicky approached me, got close to my face, and said, “Because I don’t trust you!”


That was it for me. I lost my composure, pushed Vicky out of my face, sending her sprawling on the ground.


For the first time in my life I had physically harmed a woman.


“You’re going to regret that,” Vicky said as she got up and went back inside her house.

A couple of days later, the police came to Jackie’s house and arrested me for Domestic Abuse. I went to jail.

I had grown up with the City Prosecutor. He told me to plead to a Plea in Abeyance, which means that I pay a small fine, do some anger management classes, and the court would dismiss the charges. And that was that.


Then Vicky started … Oh my, how she started.


Vicky left the house and went to a woman’s shelter, cried abuse so that they would help her.


Vicky went to the local tabloid newspaper, The Private Eye (n.k.a. City Weekly) and was front page news.

She claimed to have left two “abusive” polygamous relationships, (didn’t use my or Gary Batchelor’s real name), and was “Fleeing Babylon,” as the title of the story indicated.


The public had sympathy on her.


Vicky never reported that I had moved her to California, and when she pled for help, moved her back to Utah, where SHE FUCKING WANTED TO LIVE POLYGAMY AGAIN.

Of course, these actual facts never came out. How could she portray herself as the victim and get the public support and help that she received?

After months of Vicky pretending to be a victim and gaining publicity in the press, she and I reconciled, sort of.

I forgave her and looked past her lies. I wanted to see Rachael.

I was the one who encouraged Vicky to seek out other “victims” of polygamy and form a coalition of women helping women. Yeah! Really!

From this came “Tapestry of Polygamy,” which eventually gained momentum and publicity, which led to the filming of the HBO series, Big Love.

Vicky went on to receive an award from the National Organization of Women (NOW) for her bravery in fleeing polygamy and escaping the abuse of men.


Oh, my God! I’m going to be sick! Why?


Because, not only did Vicky come back and attend parties that I put on for my children and their mothers, but every time we were alone, she would subtly let me know that she would be open for more sex.

Now that shit’s ironic! Right? But anyways …

Vicky lied about so many things in order to bring value to her life. But I don’t blame her for anything that she did. Her first husband did not value her. I didn’t value her how she deserved to be valued as a woman. She’s had all kinds of relationships with men, none of which fulfilled her needs. No man has ever valued Vicky the way a woman deserves to be valued.

Vicky is actually a wonderful person. She deserved better. But her lies led to an incredible amount of drama in my life, especially as I had to deal with Marcee.


Marcee Kay Jaynes Nemelka Quirk


After the park meeting in the Fall of 1993, I began to have a sexual relationship with Marcee that I thought would fulfill her needs.


Again, I was trying to keep the sexual part away from Jackie. It wasn’t a secret any longer, when Marcee became pregnant with my youngest son, Nathan Marc.

No matter how hard I tried, I could never convince Marcee that she was anywhere near as equal and valued by me as Jackie. Because she wasn’t. But I lied as best as I could to her. I had sex with her whenever I could. I tried my best. But Marcee didn’t buy it.


I helped Marcee the best that I could, but continually encouraged her to find another man to be “her man.” This only made her more upset, because in insisting that she find another man, while I was with Jackie, it proved to her that I didn’t love and respect her the way that I did Jackie.

Eventually, I let Marcee move into the third house (1964 W. 400 North). My sister, Alesa, and Jackie helped Marcee setup her own daycare service. I didn’t require any money from Marcee and encouraged her to save her money, while at the same time, encouraging her to date and find someone who could fulfill her needs.

On one occasion, I took our two boys, Riley and Nathan, to Jackie’s house when Marcee went on a date with a guy. When she came home from the date, I brought the boys back to her house, and asked, “Well, how did it go?”

Marcee cried and beat on my chest, “Why are you forcing me to do this!? Why can’t you just love me?”

My heart sank. Marcee was and is an incredible woman. She deserved better than I could ever give her.

After she beat on my chest, I held her close and we began to kiss and ended up having sex. After sex, Marcee was always calm and cooperative. With Marcee, sex was the key. She felt loved when we had sex. But when we didn’t have sex … Oh my!


No matter how hard I tried to convince her that she was valued and respected as much as Jackie, which obviously she wasn’t, Marcee was continuously jealous of the amount of time I spent at Jackie’s house compared to the amount of time I spent at hers.


So I decided to move in with an older lady with whom I worked, named Patricia “Patte” Nattress.


Patte was a great friend. I told her about all the drama in my life; and she opened up her house to me. I often stayed in her basement so that Marcee wouldn’t see me over at Jackie’s more than at hers.


While living part of the time at Patte’s and trying to keep the peace with Marcee, and yet still show Jackie some love and respect, I began to explore the idea of letting both of them go and date other women. I dated a few. Had sex with a few.


None were like Jackie. I actually loved Jackie the best I could.


Well, my idea of living away from Marcee and Jackie to keep the peace failed.


Marcee was pissed because she thought that when I did come around, I was at Jackie’s house more than hers. She wouldn’t let me see the boys (Riley and Nathan). I got pissed.


After about a month of not being able to see the boys, I went to Marcee’s house, knocked on her door and demanded that she let me see the boys.


She opened the door slightly with the chain lock still on. She refused to let me in. I kicked the door and broke the chain, went in her house and took our boys over to Jackie’s house, telling Marcee that I would return them the next day.


I wanted nothing further to do with Marcee. I was tired of her.


Little did I know at the time, that Marcee had called Vicky about my taking the boys the way that I did. Vicky told her to call the police. She did. The police wanted to arrest me. Marcee didn’t them want to arrest me, so they just filed a report about me.


In the report, the officer writes that I had been abusing Marcee for many years up to the time that I violently kicked in her door to take the boys without her permission. Yeah! Really!


Now on my record, which I didn’t know about until later, I was definitely showing a pattern of abusing women. Right?


Marcee finally started to get on with her life by herself. She took the money she had saved babysitting, and was able to use it for a down payment on her own house in Sandy, Utah, well away from Jackie’s house.


I thought this was great and told her so.


At first, she didn’t want me to have anything to do with her and our boys at her new place. After a short time, however, she allowed me to see the boys. I didn’t want anything sexual to do with her, and she seemed to agree, so I thought.


In July of 1999, Marcee and I wanted to do something for Riley’s 6th birthday. We decided to take the boys to an amusement park (Lagoon).


We did so as friends. I loved just being her friend.


While at the park, Marcee became very despondent and sad. I asked her what was wrong.


She responded, “At least you can act like you like me.”


I wasn’t holding her hand or sitting close to her. For me, it was all about the boys. I loved being their father, and Marcee saw it and knew it.


I thought about not satisfying Marcee’s need to be loved and respected. My heart gave in yet again.


I hugged her at Lagoon, sat nearer to her, and held her hand. That night, we had sex. After having sex, Marcee admitted that she never thought she would ever have sex with me again. But upon experiencing it again, together, our relationship started up yet once again.


I was living on and off with Patte and Jackie at the time, and told Marcee so. Marcee and Jackie were trying to be as civil as possible, and let the kids see each other as much as possible.


One day when she was coming to Jackie’s, Marcee saw my truck. I hadn’t been with her for a few days, and she complained.


She called me and told me that I couldn’t see the boys. I threatened that I was going to see them anyway. She filed for a Protective Order to keep me away. I went to the mandated hearing about the Protective Order.


I met with Marcee’s attorney before the hearing. He told me that Marcee would agree to set aside the Protective Order and allow me to see the kids if I paid child support.


“NOPE,” I responded. “I want the Protective Order to stay in place so that I am never attempted to be with her again.”


I told the same thing to the judge. The judge (commissioner in this case) was dumbfounded.


He said, “So you want the Protective Order to remain?”


“Yes! So that I don’t have to deal with her. I just want to see our boys.”


I was in court that day with both Jackie and Patte. I had previously told them what I was going to do. Jackie couldn’t have been more elated, and Patte was more than supportive. Both of them knew my heart and how I had been dragged back into a relationship with Marcee so many times in the past.


Well, Marcee never let me see the boys according to the agreement listed in the Protective Order.


I asked my attorney (my brother, Joe) what I should do. Joe sent a couple of letters to Marcee’s attorney demanding that she let me see the boys. He got no response.


Joe sent another letter telling Marcee when I was going to come and see the kids. He got no response. He told me to go see the kids but take the police with me.


I went to see the boys, but didn’t take the police. I took Brandon and Caleb (Jackie’s oldest boys) and a video camera.


The entire incident was recorded.


I knocked on the door, the boys came out and hugged me. Marcee pulled them back in. I called the police. The police came and arrested me for Violation of a Protective Order, a Class A misdemeanor.

But wait … that wasn’t all the charges.

I had gone to Riley’s school previously to volunteer in his classes. Marcee wouldn’t have it, and reported it as a violation of the Protective Order.

I went in front of a judge. I represented myself and admitted that I had violated the order, but justified it because I was just trying to see my kids.

The judge was the most patient judge I have or would ever deal with, Judge Matthew Durrant.


Judge Durrant didn’t sanction me or treat me bad for representing myself. But I was facing three Class A misdemeanors and two felony counts of Violation of a Protective Order.


I explained my case to the Prosecuting Attorney. They didn’t want to see me in jail. They told me they would drop the felony charges if I pled to one Class A misdemeanor, did 40 hours of community service, and would agree to twelve months of probation, and another anger management class. I agreed. I was guilty of violating the order in trying to see my kids.


I would never see my kids again. Marcee made sure of that.


I would fight one more time to see the kids in 2006. The Quirks (Marcee and Bryan) fought me relentlessly. I lost the boys to adoption, representing myself … another Fool for a client.


When Nathan was fourteen, he ran away from home and wanted to see me. I went and picked him up. By this time, all of my parental rights were taken away and the boys were adopted by their new father, Bryan Quirk.


Nathan was having problems at home. I picked him up and he spent the night with me. I explained that I’d love to work something out with his mom and Quirk. They wouldn’t have it.


When Nathan called them to tell them he was okay and with me, Quirk got on the phone and told me that they had contacted the police and were going to file felony kidnapping charges against me. I wasn’t Nathan’s legal parent any longer.


The next day I took Nathan to a Family Services Center. I tried to be as easy on Nathan as I could, but I knew that the police were coming to the facility to arrest me on kidnapping charges.


I hugged Nathan for the very last time and said, “Be strong, Son.”


His eyes spoke volumes of how disappointed he was in me as a father. He didn’t know the whole story. I left Nathan with a Social Worker, ran to my RV, in which Sheri II and I were living at the time, and took off. I passed the police, sirens blaring, coming into the facility to arrest me.


Yeah! Fucking really!

So, how did I end up in jail?


Well, Judge Durrant got put on the Utah Supreme Court. A new judge, a staunch Mormon woman, Denise P. Lindberg, took his place.


I was hired as a school teacher for the Salt Lake School district in November of 2000. I was still on probation at the time. My original probation officer had died. His replacement was a man-hater like I’ve ever seen.

Knowing that trying to be a certified teacher and being on probation probably wasn’t the best thing, I contacted my probation officer, Roberta Hansen, and asked her if I could go in front of the judge and get off probation. (I didn’t’ know at the time that Lindberg had replaced my original judge, Durrant.)


Not only was my man-hating probation officer pissed off that I was coming to her asking to be released from probation, but she informed me that I had violated, yet again, the Protective Order twice in the past few months.


“What the fuck!” I yelled at her.


That didn’t go over too well. She told me to settle down or she would arrest me. I didn’t settle down.


“What the fuck are you talking about? I haven’t violated anything!”


Roberta Hansen proceeded to tell me that I had sent Marcee a letter, which violated the Order; and that I was stalking Marcee through a third-party, Sherilyn Richardson Johanssen (Sheri I).


“What the fuck!?” I yelled at Hansen.


Hansen told me that Marcee had reported that Sheri was my girlfriend that I had sent to her home to spy on her.


Oh, my God! The Real Truth is: Sheri’s sister was in need of daycare provider for her child. Sheri asked me if I knew anyone who could be trusted. I recommended Marcee. Sheri visited Marcee to check out her daycare. Marcee found out that Sheri knew me and reported the incident.


Yeah! Really!


And the letter …


I had sent Marcee a child support check. I attached a note that said, “Please send me the boy’s social security numbers so I can add them to my health insurance.”


That was the letter! That was the violation of the Protective Order.


I told Hansen to go fuck herself and turned around and left. I was more than pissed.

I was served with an Order To Show Cause for violation of my probation… in front of the staunch LDS/Mormon judge, Denise P. Lindberg.


Basically, my brother Joe didn’t know what he was doing, as he wasn’t a criminal defense attorney. Lindberg ordered me to get a mental evaluation by a certain date. It fell through the cracks somehow, which put me back in front of Lindberg, who asked why I hadn’t had the evaluation completed.


On March 15, 2001, I fucking lost it in court.


I was so tired of the way the justice system was working and the way that Roberta Hansen had treated me, and the way that Judge Lindberg was treating me. I was hurt. I was angry.

I yelled at Judge Lindberg, “Do whatever the fuck you want! I’m tired of this bullshit!”


Judge Lindberg did what she wanted.


I only had a couple more months on my probation and I would have been done with the mess. Lindberg revoked my probation and gave me the year sentence that Judge Durrant had suspended pending my completion of the rest of the original sentence.


I was sent to the Salt County Jail with Lindberg’s incarceration order in hand. I was sentenced to the original one year on the Class A misdemeanor.

But this shit with Lindberg was far from over.


I was, of course, a perfect inmate. I received 4 months of good time. I was released on November 15, 2001, with my good time.

Before I went to jail in March of 2001, Jackie and I were completely done. (More details on our final split in the next chapter.)

Sheri I had become my best friends. Sheri and I would take my kids from Jackie on visitation. Jackie was cooperative, at first. While I was in jail, Jackie changed her mind … drastically!

I fell in love with Sheri I while I was in jail. She was my best friend.

(I’ll explain what happened in jail with “God” and “the Lord” later, how I was finally released from what I felt was my obligation to use my transfiguration to help the Illuminati.)

I got out of jail with earned good time on November 15, 2001, and married Sheri I the same day. One of the best days of my life at that time. I just wanted to be a normal husband and father.


I actually thought I could be at that time.


The next day, Sheri and I went to Vicky’s house, first to see Rachael. Vicky was less than pleased to see us. Vicky said that Rachael was at Jackie’s house. (Vicky had moved closer to Jackie, who still lived at 1960 West.)


Sheri and I went to Jackie’s house. Vicky had called Jackie and warned her we were coming. Jackie met me at the door and wouldn’t allow me to see the kids.


I was as calm as I had ever been. Sheri was the one who was pissed. She tried to reason with Vicky and Jackie. To no avail. Jackie refused to let me see the kids.


I knew I could get an attorney and force Vicky and Jackie to let me see the kids. There was no Protective Order in my relationship with either of them.


What happened next, I can only speculate as to the cause at the time it happened.


I was as calm as I could be. I was ready to get a job, love Sheri I as a man should, and fight to see my kids with Jackie and Vicky.


I had given up any hope to ever see my boys with Marcee again. I figured that Marcee would stoop to any level now to keep me from seeing the boys.


At this time (2001), I had no idea what was going on with Marcee.


The level to which these women stooped, which now included a woman named, Christine Marie (details of this relationship given in another chapter), I couldn’t imagine.


Four days after I was released from jail, there was a knock on the door of the apartment where Sheri and I were living. Two police officers stood there.


“Are you Christopher Nemelka?”


“Yes.”


“We have a Warrant for your arrest.”


I was still very calm. I told the officers that I had just been released from jail after serving 8 months of a year sentence. The officers called the jail and verified my release. They thought it was probably a mistake, but needed to contact the judge who issued the warrant to verify it.


They made the call. We waited about an hour. We joked. We sat their talking about what put me in jail. I told them about what I had said in Lindberg’s court. They informed me that it was Lindberg who issued the warrant, and that they had received an anonymous tip about where I lived.


The only people that knew where I lived were Vicky, Sheri I, and Alesa, my kid sister. Sheri had given Vicky the address so that we could work out some visitation.


The police officers received confirmation that Judge Lindberg had issued and confirmed the warrant for my arrest. They had no choice but to arrest me. They did.

I was more than devastated … I was fucking devastated beyond anything I had ever experienced.


It wasn’t until I had access to all of the court information that I found out what had happened.


After trying to see my children at Jackie’s and Vicky’s, they called the Judge and complained that I was harassing them again, and that they thought I was supposed to serve an entire year. Lindberg had been receiving all kinds of letters from women, including Christine Marie, while I was in jail. The letters were filled with all kinds of lies and accusations about everything, except … ready for this … believe it or not … the charge for which I was being held in jail.


Lindberg knew about The Sealed Portion allegation. She knew about the polygamy … from the women’s point of view. She never knew my side. She knew I had legally served my time, so she figured out a way to make me serve more time.


Are you ready for this …


I was rearrested and taken to jail. The jail administration had a big problem with my re-arrest. They verified that I had served all of my time. But when they called Judge Lindberg, she told them that she didn’t want me to be allowed good time, which a judge can order, IF the order is part of the original order. It was not.


The jail administrators sent Judge Lindberg a copy of her original order, signed March 15, 2001. It did NOT include keeping me from earning good time. Lindberg said that she had signed another order on March 15, 2001, that took away my good time, but her clerk forgot to send it.


Lindberg did not sign two orders. On November 17, 2001, Lindberg backdated a new order with the date, March 15, 2001, taking away my good time and had her clerk send it to the jail.


If judges’ orders were numbered, Lindberg would have been caught in her illegal act. Orders are not numbered. They’re just pieces of paper upon which a judge can write anything.


I served two more months in jail before Lindberg brought me into her court again. She ordered my release with two years INTENSIVE PROBATION attached, and a few other orders to receive mental evaluation and go through an extensive course of her choosing.


Now get this,


At this hearing, my name and case were called, and the first thing that Judge Lindberg said in open court, after calling the case, was, “Mr. Nemelka, it’s no secret that I don’t like you.”


Yeah! Fucking really!”


(A few years later we would pull the tape of the hearing. Lindberg had her clerk erase the first part. The recording starts in the middle of Lindberg’s later sentences. She was caught. She knew it. I filed a lawsuit against her in 2006, that she barely escaped by being protected by other LDS/Mormon judges. Yeah! Fucking really!)


I was released … again … in January of 2002, put on Intensive Probation for two years, and under the control of the Utah Adult Probation and Parole.


My new probation officer would receive countless calls from women complaining about me. She (my new probation officer) told me that because I kept harassing women, she was going to put me on an ankle monitored for the rest of my two year probation. I had to be in the house before 8 p.m. and not leave until 6 a.m. Yeah! Fucking really!

I had nothing to do with any other woman. I didn’t contact anyone.


An old, scorned girlfriend, Julie Miner, had made a fake email account in my name and started sending out fictitious emails to different people, saying that I was a prophet and other bullshit.


My sister’s husband, Jim Forrest, was a computer expert. Jim researched the IP address and found out that they were coming from Julie’s work place. My father went to Julie’s work and confronted her with the evidence. Julie was almost fired. (Julie will be mentioned later.)


The women were relentless.


It was at this time that Sheri’s uncle organized the intervention to convince her how bad I was. (I wrote of this in the last chapter.)


I spoke to my uncle, Richard Nemelka, a very experienced attorney, who hated Lindberg. He told me to leave the state of Utah and wait until Lindberg was transferred away from case. He told me that no law enforcement agency in another state would pursue an arrest on a misdemeanor charge.


The women’s hate became more relentless.

The same night that Sheri attended the intervention, I loaded up my truck to leave for California.

I was pulling out of the driveway when Sheri came back home. I told her what I was doing. She cried and begged me to stay with her. But she understood. She knew of all the harassment that I was getting and agreed that it was now out of control.

I kissed her goodbye and left for California.

Judge Lindberg issued a $50,000 cash only bond for my arrest.

I was now a fugitive from justice.

Yeah, I was running alright.

This kind of justice, and these types of relationships weren’t my thing … they weren’t my La Cosa Nostra.

Little did I know at the time, but the Real Illuminati was waiting for me to join their family …

To join their La Cosa Nostra.

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