abebarker
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I was born in Portland Oregon in 1976. When I was a month old my father flew me and my mother to Utah.
Several years later, my mother decided she didn't want to take care of children anymore (she wanted to read pornography all day long, every day but that's another story). Therefore she took us children back to Portland to be near her family.
My mother pawned me off to my grandfather to take care of for a while. My grandfather was an English professor at Oregon state university. Anyway, we talked about all sorts of things, the war, who shot JFK (where was George HW Bush), grampa's friend Paul Dirac, first principles of electricity and magnetism, etc.
Grampa was much concerned about the direction that My dad was teaching me. You see, the Mormon's were/are waging war against there fellow countrymen by out breeding them. They are racing to the end of the world and they want their DNA to supplant all other competitors. This vexed grandpa and I'm sure he questioned every interaction he had with my dad.
My grandfather then took me to his camp site at lake Merwin, at the base of Mt Saint Helens. I'm pretty sure that grandpa was concerned that I was still wetting the bed at my age, yet another sign of mistreatment. Along the way he stopped several times at high tension power lines and told me to remember that.
On the way back from camping we made a stop by the river to have lunch. We got out an grandpa told me to find a good spot to dig a hole. I picked a spot near an old log that had a bunch of nice dry sand. He told me to start digging. I dug until there were too many roots and it was too wet. Grandpa said that was fine and came from the back of his Volvo with a green canvas bag with something in it which he was wiping with the bag itself.
He came over to me and showed me a bundle of something wrapped in plastic wrap. It had spots of black mold underneath the plastic but I could see that it was green cash inside.
He told me to touch it. I wiped my dirty hands on my pants and said that fingerprints probably won't work because I was just digging in sand and my hands were filthy. He didn't care that much so I touched it once. He told me to touch it some more so I touched it all over. I asked if we could take some and get ice cream, he said no.
Then he had me turn away. When I turned back around I saw there were several bundles in the hole I just dug. He told me to fill the hole back in. So I arranged the bundles neatly and pushed sand over the top of them. We then got back in the car and left. We didn't even eat lunch.
I was the one who buried the cash at Tena bar, technically.
So, after saying this, possibly front of 'John Titor', again, is 'John Titor' the creation of Michael Robert Barker? I suspect so.
Several years later, my mother decided she didn't want to take care of children anymore (she wanted to read pornography all day long, every day but that's another story). Therefore she took us children back to Portland to be near her family.
My mother pawned me off to my grandfather to take care of for a while. My grandfather was an English professor at Oregon state university. Anyway, we talked about all sorts of things, the war, who shot JFK (where was George HW Bush), grampa's friend Paul Dirac, first principles of electricity and magnetism, etc.
Grampa was much concerned about the direction that My dad was teaching me. You see, the Mormon's were/are waging war against there fellow countrymen by out breeding them. They are racing to the end of the world and they want their DNA to supplant all other competitors. This vexed grandpa and I'm sure he questioned every interaction he had with my dad.
My grandfather then took me to his camp site at lake Merwin, at the base of Mt Saint Helens. I'm pretty sure that grandpa was concerned that I was still wetting the bed at my age, yet another sign of mistreatment. Along the way he stopped several times at high tension power lines and told me to remember that.
On the way back from camping we made a stop by the river to have lunch. We got out an grandpa told me to find a good spot to dig a hole. I picked a spot near an old log that had a bunch of nice dry sand. He told me to start digging. I dug until there were too many roots and it was too wet. Grandpa said that was fine and came from the back of his Volvo with a green canvas bag with something in it which he was wiping with the bag itself.
He came over to me and showed me a bundle of something wrapped in plastic wrap. It had spots of black mold underneath the plastic but I could see that it was green cash inside.
He told me to touch it. I wiped my dirty hands on my pants and said that fingerprints probably won't work because I was just digging in sand and my hands were filthy. He didn't care that much so I touched it once. He told me to touch it some more so I touched it all over. I asked if we could take some and get ice cream, he said no.
Then he had me turn away. When I turned back around I saw there were several bundles in the hole I just dug. He told me to fill the hole back in. So I arranged the bundles neatly and pushed sand over the top of them. We then got back in the car and left. We didn't even eat lunch.
I was the one who buried the cash at Tena bar, technically.
So, after saying this, possibly front of 'John Titor', again, is 'John Titor' the creation of Michael Robert Barker? I suspect so.
