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‘Death’ Of Epstein Pal, Ex NM Governor Bill
By Yoichi Shimatsu
The late-arriving news of the quiet passing of Epstein-Clinton crony William “Bill” Blaine Richardson leaves a vacuum in a slew of crime mysteries, including the whereabouts of the current pedophile pimp Jeffrey Epstein, the future of Virgin Galactic boss Richard Branson who’s left a toxic trail over the White Sands Spaceport, the shady mobster legacies of Bill and Hillary Clinton, and rumors of Barack Obama’s dope-fueled plan to rig the coming presidential election for a third term, among other scandalous issues. Besides those hijinks, Richardson’s last major coup (besides his reported death) was to fly to Russia to wheedle the prison release of “Miss” Britney Griner, the NBA drag queen power-forward without mammary glands. Recognizing the great fun in Richardson’s scams and aid to prison convicts, no less than Bill Clinton has called him 'The Undersecretary of Thugs.' Until the last shovelful is dumped over the stairwell to hell, as in the case of Count Dracula a coffin may not spell an end to a supposedly dead Richardson’s wizardry. If he unexpectedly pops up again, shoot the zombie home invader in self-defense!
Michelle Luhan Grisham, his worthy successor as a crime-allied governor of New Mexico, announced the state flag would be flown at half mast over the coming week in mourning, better late than never. That exec order came several mysterious days after news of Richardson’s death arrived from Massachusetts, which was the home state of his biological father (which one? I don’t know). Although many innovative schemes originated during his 8-year gubernatorial term (2003-2011) at the Santa Fe statehouse, from financing New Mexico as Hollywood studios’ back-lot in the Southwest desert to the taxpayer nemesis of green-energy technology, not all of his business partners are shedding tears and some are whooping up the demise of that lying, cheating con artist. In fact, nobody is crying in this Land of Enchantment, good riddance!
Parachute Politics - Scream Geronimo!
In a reversal of the Wild West legend, the intrusive colonialist Richardson scalped the exiled Apache natives of this state. Adding insult to injury for the legendary chief Geronimo’s Chiricahua Band (living in exile in Oklahoma) was falsely promised, drained of cash and betrayed in a New Mexico casino deal by the then Governor. The Chihuahua Desert region adjoining the southern border was and is the original homeland of Geronimo’s tribe, which defended their barren but sovereign territory with forays into Mexico, which culminated in the mass murder of the Apache chief Victorio and his followers, who were known to the Mexicans as “Los Gilenos” or the Gila People.
Born in the Gila mountains, a bit north of Silver City NM, Geronimo was not born into chiefdom like Cochise or Victorio but was an eccentric mystic, more of a medicine man guided by divine inspiration, with a ruthless edge. His tiny band’s raids against Mexico to avenge the massacre of his wife and children were the stuff of ghost stories and frontier legends. His method of fighting went beyond bravery verging into a seance-inspired dance, as he ran zigzag crazily to dodge the Mexican army’s bullets and then slashing throats and stabbing his foes with a knife, a horrifying spectacle that prompted los Federales to flee in fright from the much-feared demon-shaman.
Meanwhile, the inveterately corrupt Mexican government opened up Chihuahua’s copper-rich mountains to American investors and railway companies, which meant the U.S. Army had to quell the Apaches as part of the unspoken bilateral deal to enrich the politicians on both sides of the border (so what else is new when it comes to patriotism?). Chased from the edge of Arizona to the dismal waterless heart of the Chihuahua desert inhabited by javelina (wild pecary pigs) and their predators, the spotted ocelot cat, Geronimo’s tiny band of 37 followers were the last Apaches to surrender to the U.S. military. They were detained in the bone-dry wasteland near Florida (floor-ree-dah) mountain before rail passage to the state of Florida for mass detention. (The names of the state and mountain both mean, ironically, “flowery”; so try not to smell the roses.)
Despite their final transfer to an Oklahoma reservation shared with the Mescalero and Fort Sill Apaches tribes, the descendants of Geronimo’s fighters never gave up their determination to return to the New Mexican desert south of the Gila range, where their confinement at Akela provided a legitimate federal and state case for a tangible homeland. At last, in a proposed casino deal with Gov. Bill Richardson, their dream of an end to exile finally came true, or so they assumed, wrongly.
After coughing up unreported “fees” to the state house, the “charitable” governor promised to return a small part of their former territory, between a pecan orchard in Akela and the shadow of a half-moon shaped mountain. Thrilled by the promise of partial restoration of their homeland, the tribe purchased kitchen equipment, lounge furniture and slot machines in eager anticipation of return to the homeland. On the day of the grand opening, however, federal agents and state police cordoned off their rudimentary building and parking lot, blocked I-10, for a siege and demanded the tribe turn over their “illegal” slot machines.
What ensued was an armed standoff, with the Apaches swearing to retain their rightful property to the death rather than surrender again. To this day, two decades later, the slots are still locked inside a storage closet at the Chiricahua band’s recently completed Travel Center and gas station, located off I-10 between Deming and Las Cruces. The truck stop has an excellent hot dog roller and refreshing local beverages for the wayfarer, and best of all an astounding photo collection of Geronimo and the Chiricahua band in their prime as desert warriors. Meanwhile, during the siege at Akela, the great governor was nowhere to be seen, except perhaps by his banker at a nearby ATM.
Epstein’s Legend of Zorro
As a crony of tech fraudster Jeffrey Epstein who invested in lifelike sex dolls based on his years of experience with less-than-legal teens, Richardson helped finagle the insider real-estate deal for the pedophile’s 7,600 acre Zorro Ranch, north of the state capital Santa Fe. Yes, Epstein did not die in jail but was spotted at the ranch two months after his ‘suicide’...which is conveniently located out of public sight and in short distance from the state line with Colorado and access to either I-70 or I-40 for trucks heading to Jimmy Alefantis’ pedophile safe-house chain in Virginia. Whatever became of all the DACA kids? Now you know. The ranch was recently sold for $300 to a Florida (state) registered Love and Bliss Church, headed by 22-year-old Alexander Leszczynski, in a deed transfer signed by Epstein in April 2019. (Epstein supposedly died on August 10, 2019.) “Out of the night, when the full moon is bright, comes a whore’s man known as Z-Z-Zorro!”
Later, as U.S. Energy Secretary, Richardson was embroiled in two, among many other controversies, in New Mexico. The first being to authorize an underground site south of Carlsbad caverns for a long-term (eternal) nuclear-waste dump site (which later caught fire), and the second was the hysterical spy scandal at Los Alamos laboratory involving a Taiwanese physicist Wen Ho Lee, who eventually was proven innocent after this academic career was demolished.
Richardson’s green energy propaganda spree included a trolley system in Albuquerque, which still conveys a few tourists and hardly any locals (while posing a menace to car traffic). The trolley route passes the touristy Nob Hill district, from whence seven young hookers went missing; their shallow graves later excavated from the sandy Mesa, forcing an end there to real estate development. As chief of the Department of Energy (DOE), Richardson left the state with a legacy of super-expensive solar-energy parks that reflect the sun’s heat onto passing clouds, worsening decades of historic drought. He’s proven to be a Midas-in-reverse, since every nugget of gold he touched turned to excrement.
Well, past his career overdue date, Richardson aided the Clinton administration’s firearms sales to the Sonoran and Juarez drug cartels under Attorney General Eric Holder’s “Fast and Furious” gun-running project, which was later swept under the rug with arrests of local cooperators, including a local family’s sports rifle shop in Columbus, NM, on the border facing Palomas, Chihuahua State. Columbus is where Pancho Villa invaded the USA in March 1916 to then lead General Pershing on a wild goose chase. Geronimo and Pancho, rogues and heroes, were the desert foxes of this accursed corner of a stolen USA, meting out revenge against the wealthy and corrupt on behalf of the little people and all the losers in life. Viva Liberty!
Death arrives for a Dubious Americano
In a huge surprise to New Mexico residents, Richardson died at his paternal home in Massachusetts, electing not to retire in the southwestern state that he exploited to the personal financial detriment of farmers, ranchers and foresters facing annual tax hikes and ever more costly state “fees”, along with chronic water shortages and punitive laws, since his reign as “jefe” (dictatorial chieftain).
Brief mention must be given to his rather dubious biography, which begins with his birth in Pasadena. Actually, he was reportedly the child of an American banker practicing in Mexico City and a local woman. As the dodgy story goes, his mom crossed into the USA to ensure her child of U.S. citizenship. That account is a total crock since the children of an American father residing abroad are born citizens (as in my own case).
That raises the question of whether his “parents” were legally married or if little Dickie was under Mexican law a “hijo ilegitimo”, an illegitimate child or, more pungently, a “bastardo”. Let me end this bit of truth-telling with the fond hope that Geronimo and Pancho, wherever their spirits may be swirling like dust devils over this god-forsaken desert, are for once and for all laughing out loud, since revenge must be as sweet as caramel flan made of Chihuahua goat’s milk. Ole!