January 14, 2026 (crime report)

 Hi folks. This is gonna be another blunt crime report, so be prepared. I wish there were cheerier things to write about, but "the hits just keep on comin'" (as they say), and I am so shocked and disgusted with what I'm learning about what I'll carefully call The Pearl Situation, that it's a wonder I haven't become physically ill. If a color could depict my feelings about this, it would be the reddest Blood Red you could imagine.

I will soon be 66. Not ancient, but I have now lived half those years under the secretive yoke of scumbag drug and pornography people - CULT PEOPLE - who have taken advantage of my naivety about their world and the history my life.

My health is not good. I'm living with a hernia the size of a grapefruit.

I am basically alone in the world, and my only concern is getting the truth into the open. To do this, I write. 

I'm thinking a lot about John Mallis lately. We knew him as "Shecky", but that name's too cutesy for a guy I mistakenly thought was a friend, and who I've recently learned was a hard-core drug criminal who used me for ten years and then walked away. So let's call him John instead of Shecky. The first time I met him, he was sitting in a director's chair on the small lawn adjacent to Dennis's studio in back of The Reading Center on Devonshire and Woodley. This was in late June 1983. The director's chair was probably supplied by Dennis, who had worked on movie sets. John Mallis was sitting there shirtless, tanning his already bronze skin. He had on a pair of aviator shades, and had his practice pad in his lap, and his drumsticks. John is a drummer, and a good one.

Lillian may have dropped me off at the studio that day. It was either her or Dave Small. Dave and me were in need of a drummer at the time. Dennis was on the outs after the Zilch robbery in February 1982 (though ironically we were still using his studio) and when this John guy mentioned that he played drums, and had a kit inside the studio, that was good news for us. We may have jammed that very first day.

Now I will reveal something I've regretted for over four decades. Lilly and I had planned to go to Knotts Berry Farm on July 1, 1983, for the grand opening of Camp Snoopy. She loved Snoopy; I was a Peanuts fan since childhood. Our date was set: Knotts and Camp Snoopy on July 1, opening day.

But then I met this drummer named John at Dennis's studio. Thinking back, it was like he was posed there, on that tiny scrap of lawn, in that director's chair, and I am willing to bet that he knew Dennis before he put his drums in that studio. Their whole setup was a scam that, at age 23, I failed to recognize. And when he offered to jam, I eagerly accepted. And this is what I've regretted all these years:

I told Lilly I couldn't go to Camp Snoopy, as we had planned, because I had "just met this drummer." She was understandibly disappointed, and I felt bad but stuck to my decision to jam, and ever since then, I've wanted to go back in a time machine and kick my own ass because Lilly had her heart set on going to Knotts and Camp Snoopy on opening day, and I had agreed to that, and I cancelled our plan on a whim. I still feel horrible about it.

We did end up going, a couple days later, maybe even on July 4, one of our two anniversaries. And we had fun. I have a strip of photo booth pictures that depict this. We also got our potrait drawn by a caricaturist, with me as a surfer, Lilly as a beach bunny. I have that, too.

But I made her cry by cancelling opening day, and I am going to go back in a time machine and and punch myself in the nose for doing that, especially because I did it in favor of John Mallis, a criminal drug dealer who wasted ten years of my life, and who worked behind my back with other lowlifes to set me up and destroy my relationship with Lilly.

I now believe that John Mallis knew Dennis before he "moved in" to The Reading Center (which was also a drug drop). In the early 1990s, John Mallis used a "scanning" device on me to get me into his car for ride-alongs on his drug deliveries. He had been a pot grower for many years (in his backyard) and was now trying to move into cocaine. He needed me along for some kind of cult credibility. My presense would make him a "made man". He had a bad temper, and his mask came off on these drug runs when I told him under hypnosis (or scanning) to let me out of the car. That's when I found out he wasn't my friend and never had been. Like Dennis, he was only ever a criminal drug dealer.

And he has somehow turned up, again through Dennis, in connection to Pearl and Helen.

In July 1989, Helen took me to her mom Pearl's house, to get me away from the insane, violent situation at my house: the legendary 9032 Rathburn Avenue. But the bad guys found out I was there, at Pearl's house, and they came and a confrontation ensued. The main bad guy was a close relative of mine. Another was one of his associates, whose name I won't mention because he is a very dangerous and well-connected Northridge individual. And another of the people who showed up at Pearl's house, to threaten Helen and me on that day in July 1989, was John Mallis.

Yep, all the way back in 1989. Can you believe the bad guys were involved with Pearl and Helen back then? Or that they even knew where Pearl lived? It makes me sick.

This was at a time when I was not in any band. John Mallis had kicked me out of the band I founded, and out of his Winnetka garage, where we rehearsed, in the late Summer of 1987, ostensibly for wearing nail polish and listening to black metal. On a very important side note, Dave Small and his then-girlfriend Kelly Wilson (who later married Terry Meissner) lived at John's house in 1987 and part of '88, and they moved into the legendary Burton Street house in Reseda in September/October 1988. This will become crucial in our investigation.

Returning to John Mallis: he was a chronic pot smoker, but much more than that -

When he moved to Archwood Street in Winnetka in 1987, he immediately started growing high grade marijuana in his backyard. Rows of it, like a cornfield. He grew impressive plants, high grade pot, and he did this within a mile of the West Valley LAPD station. 

His plants were pungent. You could smell them from the street. I was still rehearsing with him and Dave at the time, and was concerned about this pot smell, but John assured me there was nothing to worry about because, as he put it, he was now an acknowledged "gardener". Though he never said so, the inference was that he paid a hefty sum (ten thousand dollars, a lot in 1987 money) to become such.

One question: to whom might he have paid that money to?

Let us switch gears now, to talk about the Meissner House on White Oak Avenue just south of Nordhoff. The Meissner house was inhabited by that evil family, the Meissners, and after Elmer Meissner died in 2002, his wife Jean moved to Arizona. She died in November 2005. The house has not been inhabited since she moved.

Folks, we are talking a seven figure, million dollar property in the heart of "Sherwood Forest" Northridge. Who in their right minds, possessing such a property, would not sell it or rent it...I mean, who the F are you kidding?

The Meissner House has been blacked out for almost one quarter of a century.

The reason it has remained empty is that the Meissners - Jean, Elmer and their POS son Terry - were supremely evil people who would make Charles Manson blush. Jeffery Epstein was an amateur in comparison.

But the thing about the Meissners, is that their behavior was accepted or looked the other way at, right in the middle of their suburban street, which is not separated by long driveways and giant hedges and acreage like the estates of the Los Angeles Elite, who can hide in their surroundings. 

Astoundingly, the Meissners did their swinging thing just yards from their neighbors' house, and just feet from the street. 

The Meissners held swinger parties in their backyard in which people fucked each other in their pool, in front of an audience of Elmer and Jean, Terry's parents. I was there, at one party in 1988, so I know.

I was also victimised in 1982 and 1983 at the Meissner House (so was Lilly)...and I know the truly evil things about this horrific family. You can ask Sandra Mussey. She knows.

Happy New Year

Howdy folks, and Happy New Year. I hope you had a nice holiday season. I'm gonna try to write more regularly in 2026. It won't be 300 times a year like in the old days, but hopefully at least once a week, a pace I was maintaining for the last couple years until this past Fall, when I got behind in my blogging because of an information avalanche, related to the research work I do. As you know from my most recent blogs, I've been blown away by the things I've learned. It's truly stunning what the memory can cough up through the practice of self-hypnotic meditation. For instance, I've been working on restoring my overall memory of 1982, using specific dates as markers (such as Valentine's Day, my birthday, etc.), and I've remembered the night Lilly and I were having dinner at Angela's Restaurant, sometime between April and June 1982. I hope to pin down the exact date, but anyway, Lys joined us that night, to show me a portfolio she had with Lilly's high school senior portraits in it. The larger story behind those photos is too long to go into, but what the memory showed was that Cousin Tony entered the restaurant with a large companion. They sat down univited at our table and tried to intimidate me.

Who is Cousin Tony, you ask? My answer: if you know, you know, and if you don't, you don't. But I can tell you that he isn't a nice guy. That night in Angela's, I had no idea who he was when he walked in, but he seemed to know a lot about me. He was younger than me (only 18, I was 22) but he was older in a streetwise way, and more importantly, he was bigger, likely stronger, and physically fit. I think he said he was into martial arts. He was definitely muscular, wearing a tank top that emphasized his arms, and he sat down at our table and started "advising" me in a "word to the wise" kind of way, about stuff I knew nothing about. I'm still working to recall the substance of what he said. He tried to pretend like he was "my pal"; that if I listened to him I'd be okay. Gang type, pseudo-Mafioso bullshit. But the bottom line was that he was threatening me, and I remember telling him (paraphrase), "Yes, I know you could kick my ass, but that doesn't mean I'm gonna just sit here and take this crap." He changed the subject by talking about music. Cousin Tony is an accomplished pianist. But he's also a thug. Straight up. 

Other things happened on that night at Angela's Restaurant (where Lilly and I used to go for pizza) but I won't mention them now.

Anyhow, as noted, I'm remembering all kinds of outrageous criminal incidents and events, like the time Dennis forced me into his white pickup truck. I think it was a mini-truck. Yes, indeed. I don't yet know the context, the "before and after", but he abducted and illegally detained me one night in 1982, and drove me around until the sun came up. I kid you not. He put me in handcuffs, had a baseball bat and a gun in the truck's front seat. Said he was gonna kill me. I've found the place on Gledhill Street (near White Oak) where he finally parked when he was ready to give up. I think he got pulled over by the cops after contacting "a business partner of his" who lived on Texhoma off Gledhill. But his sister showed up and pleaded his case and I'm guessing the incident got covered up.

Imagine being me, as a victim of all this stuff, and not only having the crimes blocked from your memory, and not even being aware of them for over forty years, but knowing now that the perpetrators got away with everything they did.

Can you say "infuriating?" And that's not all Dennis has done. I could give you a laundry list, and I will in due time. The stuff he has pulled goes all the way up to and including my time with Pearl, when I was her caregiver. The event I'm working on now took place in 2010, at Pearl's house and also at the Latter Day Saints Church overlooking Plummer Street near Balboa, just west of the famous Greek Church.

Anyhow, all I can do is keep working, playing the hand God has dealt me, and I believe I've been doing a pretty good job of late. In my ongoing investigation, I've been hit by an avalanche of info, as you know, and just recently, the investigation has taken a whole new turn. I've discovered that Pearl's broken hip was not an accident, as I was told before I became her caregiver, and not only that, but...(are you ready?)...(and some of you already know this bit of truth)...I've found out I was there when it happened.

Did you catch that last part? Let me repeat it. I was present when Pearl's hip was broken, and it was no accident.

Finding this out, almost exactly sixteen years after the fact, is such an affront to me, and to my caregiving tenure with Pearl, and, in my opinion, to all caregivers everywhere, that my blood has been boiling since I learned of it.

Now, I know what some of you are thinking: "How, Ad, could you have been present when Pearl's hip was broken and not have known it for all this time?"

It's called memory blocking, folks, and there are several ways to do it, including hypnosis, "knockout drugs" like Rohypnol, in my case, the use of electronic "scanners", or a combination of all three.

When you don't remember what happened to you, you can't talk about it, write about it, or report it. And the bad guys know this. Dennis knows this. So does everyone who was present, with me, and Pearl, when her hip was broken on January 1, 2010.

This happened at her house, during an ayahuasca "ceremony" for a person who will not now be named (but may soon be). Do you guys know what ayahuasca is? I will tell you. It is an extremely dangerous psychedelic drug, obtained from a plant that is brewed into tea. 

I am outraged at what I am learning about Dennis and the day he took me to the Latter Day Saints Church above Plummer. This happened in March or early April 2010, right when I was about to become (or had become) Pearl's caregiver. Can you guys even believe that Dennis knew Pearl and Helen, and that he thought he had a say in whether or not I would become Pearl's caregiver? He took me to this church, with Friedman in tow, because he was part of a crew that were making porno movies, likely on behalf of David Birke, Jared Rappaport and CSUN. Speaking of Dave Birke, its amazing the things I've remembered about him, like the times, in 1991, when he forced me to attend certain movies with him, as if he had some kind of proprietary hold over me. He came to my house (9032), and he must've "scanned" me with one of the electronic devices all those guys had, then he would "tell me" I had to go to such-and-such a movie with him. I would've been under a level of hypnosis when this was happening, and also under threat of getting "zapped" by a stun gun or put in handcuffs or any of the tactics these bad guys used in those days.

David Birke did this to me for several weeks in 1991. He forced me to attend movies with him, ones that had whatever symbolic meaning to him and his stupid ass cult. I'd like to see him try it now.

I'd like to see Dennis try forcing me into his car now, like he did at Pearl's house in April 2010, so he could take me to the Latter Day Saints Church, and to the Eaglegate house just north of the church, where John Mallis posed as "Chicago John". These were porno movie locations, for some stupid cult objective. No pornographic activity was evident while I was there, so maybe it was "second unit" stuff, but these are 100% verified incidents.

It's astounding to me what I've remembered. And the 1991 David Birke "movie thing" is nothing compared to what he did to me and my Mom at the 7th Day Adventist Church in August 1988. Why he is walking around a free man is a mystery for the ages. Perhaps he is free because if the full truth were told about his (and other related) cocaine families, it would inundate and collapse Los Angeles, and the state of California.

When the truth comes out about the 7th Day Church, and what happened there in August 1988, California, as a state government, is done. Wolves and Vampires are done.

The only way the United States of America will survive is if it stands up and tells the truth.

Until then, I stand as strong as I can, unto God and myself. And I still believe in love.

Happy New Year and God Bless.