Hunt on for Hungarian black witch.

Hunt on for Hungarian black witch.
26/08/09.

He came to Australia in the early 1990s from Hungary, on a leash held by his fiance, a Princess of the Hapsburg dynasty.

From the dispossessed wealthy elite of eastern Europe, “Jean” thought he was merely migrating with her to resettle in Australia, where they would marry and live happily-ever-after.

It wasn't until Jean and his Princess, a fabulously beautiful young woman from the one of the wealthiest families in the world, were ensconced in a humble little apartment in St Kilda, 9/2 Robe Street, to be precise, an inner beachside suburb south of the city of Melbourne, that Jean was to realize the hard truth about what was actually going-on.

His Princess, was using him as her protege, merely so that she, with her equally stunning mother, could win the heart of Australia's own Prince, Max Meredith of Melbourne.

Jean was shattered on finding out these heartbreaking facts about the woman he regarded as his own for life.

From the day they argued in their little top floor apartment, while Max, living two floors below in flat 3/2, played an emotional sette in his own-brewed flamenco style on his acoustic guitar, when “Bobbit”, the Princess's family nickname, finally told Jean why he was with her at all, Jean swore to make life Hell for Max.

Since that day, in 1992, Jean has taken on the character of a black witch, specifically to haunt Max, where-ever Max was to go.

From the first day Max and Jean met, Jean hated Max. Each time they met in the carpark at back of the block of apartments, Jean would mock Max, trying every time to make Max feel small, an idiot, worthless, a nobody.

Jean's detractions went over Max's head, for while Max was, way back then, totally unaware of who he himself actually was (for it was a secret his whole family had been sworn to keep hidden from him), Max was already a self-assured leader.

But not of any royal family, nor of any wealth or major dynasty, but, quite out-of-place in the world of the global elite of dynastic politics, Max had ridden his way to be the “Top Gun” in the deadly field of WHAH!? “motorcycle couriering”!

Yes, raised by a catholic convent mother, herself stolen by the church from her Aborigine parents at 9 years old, then amidst a murder-tragedy conceived by her and her extramarital lover “Boxer”, raised by her and her marital husband, Allan, an Australian ex-Army Paramilitary Commando Sergeant Major, of enormously Honorable heritage, Max, unaware of any of his family's history or ancestry on both sides, went his own way, as best he was able, as a teenager, three years before the day he ran away from home on a one-way ticket to England.

Even before he was old enough, at 17 he was riding a thunderous “thumper” BSA 500cc motorcycle around the streets of Melbourne, being chased through the back streets on dark nights by and escaping from police, mixing with Hell's Angels and generally building-up the credentials which would later, in the 1980s, earn him the title of “King” of the couriers, “Mad Max” no less.

But oh, poor Jean?

As money was not a concern for the spoiled and heartbroken Hungarian, Jean, an egomaniac of excessive self-inflated proportion, chose to keep his antipathy toward Max hidden beneath a facade of pleasantry and humor.

Being a rich brat from Europe, it was part of being a brat to enjoy spending winter in the snow-fields. This year Switzerland, next year America's Alpin, or, as he had become fond of being attractive to the young European global-trotter, the Australian snow-fields, up Mount Kosciuszko way.

And what of his determination to employ witchcraft upon Max?

Ceaseless he became. Absorbed, fascinated by his own power over the constructed “King” to be, Max The Great. Darker and darker Jean's mind delved, so-as to keep his grip on Max's psyche, and so-as to torment Max in everything Max did and attempted.

Soon enough, Jean was able to cajole all Max's associates, workmates and friends into playing the same game against Max, ever-ready with an endless monologue of the “terrible things Max had done”, all utterly false stories from Jean's increasingly malicious and perverted mind.

Being of the European aristocracy, both Jean and Bobbit had family and friends who were in the employ of the world's most subversive secret agencies.

MI-6, Britain's powerful overseas secret intelligence service, had for decades effectively controlled the rest of western Europe's agencies, with significant influence as far east as the Russian KGB, and even to today, the notorious Russian FSB.

So subversive and elusive were the agents of MI-6 and their influence, that no-one, not even the Chinese themselves, knew for sure who was in control of even the Chinese secret service CCIS.

Japan, Taiwan, Thailand, Myanmar, India, all of them were essentially paralyzed by the confusion Britain had sewn into their respective governments and power-houses since the earliest British expansions of the 16th century.

Indeed, confusion was an art long perfected by the agents of Whitehall.

So, with Jean becoming more and more transfixed on “getting Max”, making it his “reason detre” of all his egomaniacal fixations, he made it his business to make friends with as many European agents as he could.

If he could not win them or anyone he could use to destroy Max's life, with his money, or with his silver-tongue, he would frighten the hell out of them with his twisted brand of east-European “Transylvanian” magic, then offer to help them overcome it by inviting them into his little “club”.

Always, the truth be known, he made it his business to make them pay, and pay, and pay, either by using his magic, and turning them until they were unable to avoid fawning upon him, making him their “guru”, or by subverting everything they attempted, via his network of sycophantic upper-class spies who could force any employer, any associate, any bank manager or even government minister or ambassador to pull the rug out from under those who objected on moral or ethical grounds.

Europe is the wealthiest continent on Earth, and has more idle rich kids than any other region.

Kids, who, as idle hands do, take flippant glee in playing with the occult, or with doing “the devil's work”.

Australia has surely been the flavor of the century as far as these spoiled clones are concerned. This, in the main, because of the nation's low demographic, but helped by the fact that the people in Australia are either exceedingly egocentric, or exceedingly naïve, in regard to the “big game” of “POWER” in the world of politics, finance and real estate.

It is nothing for Jean's super-wealthy kind to trip out to Australia for a few weeks at a time, purchase a few thousand hectares of land here or there, often on a whim, usually in the global realtor's “hot spots”, to sit-on as the market improves, swan it in the local community's pubs, bars, nightclubs or cafes, making “friends” with the locals, locals who have no idea of who they are being befriended by, yet are either flattered enough or similarly self-interested enough to not care, as long as some rich foreigner gushes them with compliments (as the Europeans are so good at doing) free drinks or, if female, a night or three of “hot sex”, then leave them with a cell-phone number and an invitation to “come to my castle” in Hungary or Bavaria or Scotland.

Invitations which usually are never fulfilled, mainly because, after the dumb Aussie has saved their pennies, skimped their way to Europe, expecting to swan-it and be waited-upon by their new “friend's” servants in some exotic castle or palace, only find they never have calls returned, or that the likes of the very friendly Jean are at the time “in Australia my love” skiing at Thredbo or such.

And yes, don't our tourist industry and our unbelievably egomaniacal and subservient governments just love these super-duper-filthy rich pricks and pretty-blonds from afar!

Real estate?! Aborigine land! Oh, don't worry about that, darlinks! We threw the blacks an apology as soon as the change of guard took the reins in Canberra, and we just continued the intervention of further dispossession of their land initiated by the last government! It's here waiting for you to steal-er-buy! HAHAHAHA!

As you northerners well know, YOU have total control of our media, including the national broadcaster THEIR ABC, so the spin is as thick as it was when Menzies was at the helm!

So the Aussie-Aussie-Aussie! Oi! Oi! Oi! Idiots are the world's most uninformed mushrooms!

HAHAHAHA! Like another dacaree, Fritz?

Yes, Jean is quite at home in Australia these days. He has all his global buddies around him in the chalet up the hill in Thredbo. Even Nicole Sinclair, the girl his MI-6 pals hypnotized to poison Max back in the 1990s, is up here regularly, enjoying the barrel-loads of ecstasy we have imported through our consulates in Canberra!

Charlie Zarcades, Ian McLeish, Dick Swamp-er-Semp, Davo Plowman, they're all up each other and up a few barons from Bavaria too, I might add, whenever the snow is thick!

And thick it is these last eight or ten seasons, since we tapped into Max's own extra-ordinary occult powers. Why, we all have our psychic-doubles permanently attached to his nuts! HAHAHAHA! To his testicles! HAHAHAHA! Of course, it sends him crazy, and, makes it IMPOSSIBLE for him to socialize! HAHAHAHA! But hasn't the snow been terrific!

Why, the Australian Alps are the most prefered snowfields of our crowd now. We all own property nearby, down the mountains a way, in Bright, or Harrietville, all the nicest little spots!

Yes, now we have Max in our occult grip, we really do own and run the world. Just the way it should be too, being as we are..., SUPERIOR!

Blacks? Imbeciles! Brutes! Not even Human really...

Of course, we own the police in Australia too. The bikers think they have control. But..., oh thugs will be thugs! Give them some drugs, loads of bullshit about MI-6 and aliens etcetera, and a few guns and they're happy shooting and bashing each other.

Yes, Jean really has made it in the world! And he makes the most of it each day when he focuses on Max for a while. Every time Max tries to get it together and open his third eye, Jean calls a seance with his idle-rich occult mates and sends Max into a fit of rage or depression, and fucks it for him totally!

HAHAHAHA!

But Oh, poor Jean!

With all this and MORE around him, he STILL can't get over Max, and that Bobbit AND BOBBIT'S MUM, for chriss-sake, are in love with Max......

Suck-it-up, Jeannie-boy. It ain't over 'til it's over.

Max, in the meantime, wallows in his solitude, knowing that KARMA WORKS.

He's a different Soul now, and knows when Mercy has it's place.........

Until we meet again, Jean...... Until we meet again.

Let's watch the fortunes of Hungary, shall we?

One thing Max has, over ALL others, is his multi-lifetime patience.

They don't call him “Merlin”, for nothin'........

Aye? Allan Meredith?! Most Noble Step-Father and Guide, of the Clan of the Great Lord!

So the hunt has begun, for poor Jean, the insane, jealous witch from Hungary. And how hungry he will be, for solace, once the Black Brothers find him.

Even Whitehall shudders....