Since I was five years old, Jason Perelman and his worldwide networks have provoked me nonstop. He flicked my ear endlessly, hurled anger, manipulation, frame jobs, and kept up a steady stream of passive-aggressive, two-faced “I’m better than you” behavior. The goal was never random. The choreography was obvious: make me look hypersensitive, bait me into chasing while trying to get reactions, then flip the story so he could play the victim. If I reacted, the narrative became: Kevin is violent. Kevin is dangerous. Kevin is a paranoid schizophrenic. I didn’t realize the scale or premeditated, manipulations of it at first — I assumed Jason would grow out of it — but it later became clear these actions were part of a deliberate campaign to remove me from society.
Those provocations included staged theatrics designed to manufacture a reaction and then be reported as if I had attacked him, or was lashing out in anger and rage, spewing lies and smears into ever-wider circles. Of course, if they couldn’t get the reactions, cover up lies were made none the less to the world. As technology evolved, they used whatever tools with the police and psychology community were available to rile the masses worldwide against me. I remember specific setups from childhood and later years: while flicking me in the ear one of countless times, I was holding a steak knife; I dropped it and pretended to toss it like a dog-bone to scare him off. He ran to the family and to LAPD claiming I had tried to kill him. That stunt reinforced the family’s original lie — that a five-year-old me was “crazy” — and became supposed “evidence” that I was violent, filled with anger and rage, and unstable. My family worked with police to put me on a mental-watch list at a very young age. Jason and his friends were told to exploit the fact that I was being monitored, knowing every provocation could be flipped and framed because police were watching.
Even the symbols reinforced the narrative. My father later bought a boat and named it The Flicka — a private trophy that echoed the endless ear-flicking. Jason put a license-plate frame on his car that read like a threat: “I swerve and hit people at random.” They twisted that into idea-of-reference and schizophrenia tactics, telling people worldwide it was my car and that I was the danger. It was a public billboard and a message: this is why we’re punishing you. Around that time the “runs” began.
When I was 14 I bought a weight bench, started lifting and jogging, and they hijacked that normal teen activity into another pretext. Their weekend “runs” became routine: a few cars on CB radios, reckless driving, instigating strangers, throwing things at other cars, and spraying water from an old fire extinguisher at drive-thru employees — all designed to provoke chases. Their aim in those runs was explicit: get other drivers to chase them, then go ballistic so they could play the victim while information was disseminated worldwide claiming these activities were mine. The runs were choreographed to create one of many endless falsifications about my name and reputation to rile the masses against me — to use ordinary people as vigilantes for the police, government, and psychology community. All the while I was told to give coerced confessions about my past and that I “couldn’t see myself.” As Mike Huntley put it, “It’s your behavior” — a line that implied not only that I was supposedly committing these staged acts, but that I was somehow guilty of thousands of other fictitious crimes, or other peoples crimes, and of doing horrible things to women because of their lies about my anger and rage. They turned everything around and pinned it on me.
One of their signature props was the “sexy BMW.” It wasn’t just a car — it was a coded smear, driven by one of their Persian or Armenian friends. On the surface it fed the spectacle; underneath, it served as schizophrenia-style messaging: this is what Kevin does to women; this is who he really is. While I was 16 and modifying cars and hanging out at Kevin’s Burgers. A car meet location, my friends manipulated me to go to. Once again, using the Name “Kevin’s Burgers” as an Idea of Reference Message. My so-called friends fed m messages, hinting that I made women “explode” in anger. Jason and his friends staged rituals — cooking hamburgers doused with tons of alcohol to try to get them to explode — then engineering fictional theories of my supposed behaviors. Implying hamburgers are women. Jason switched roles seamlessly — instigator and tough guy, one moment, crying victim the next — claiming I tried to kill him when he was in the passenger seat on a canyon drive. The duality wasn’t inconsistent; it was tactical.
They weaponized the car/woman analogy. The “sexy BMW” and the license plate “SexyBMW” were shorthand: cars = women. Because they couldn’t or wouldn’t separate the two, they projected that image onto me. The choreography said: watch him look at that car; he sees women like that; he treats women like objects and abuses them. Then they treated ordinary interactions as if I viewed women the same way they objectified cars, using that false equivalence to sell the narrative that I was predatory. It’s an absurd projection, but it worked: once the symbol was seeded, every casual compliment or glance could be recast as proof of a manufactured personality by my family, the psychology community, and the police.
This tactic nearly turned lethal. I jumped in to stop Jason from attacking my friend Greg Waugh as he rushed at Greg with a crowbar. I put myself between them to stop the blow. Instead of acknowledging that intervention, Jason doubled down: he lectured that “blood is thicker than water” and demanded I support his assault and spying on Greg for him because Jason’s girlfriend Jennifer Yang was cheating on Jason While he was off at college. That situation reinforces the real motive of Jason’s behaviors of the runs and the larger choreography — it wasn’t just mischief; it was a system of staged aggression covered by family loyalty and institutional protection.
They leveled other threats, too — boastful lines like “Me and my friends put a teacher in a mental institution,” and “we have a bug in your room, and are listening to everything you do on the radio” Those messages connect to other local actors (LAPD Lead Officer Charles Sean Dinse’s illegal arrests against me. Using his Facebook account to rile the masses against me with his cover up lies, and related Facebook posts about forcing people into mental institutions with Court Reporter Debbie Wollman from Van Nuys Court House purchasing the townhouse adjoining my wall, and no one ever living in it) and reinforce the climate of psychological warfare to make people look crazy, and intimidation. All of these threats functioned as warnings: we can break you, we can confine you, we can make you disappear into a narrative that looks like pathology.
That punishment bled into everyday life. If I say something as simple as “you’re sexy” to a woman, the interaction is folded into the same choreography. She’ll be primed to overreact, the moment is amplified and tied back to Jason’s “sexy BMW” runs, and overnight it becomes “evidence” that I harass women and am dangerous. A harmless compliment becomes criminalized. And if I point out what they are doing, they immediately shift into obsessional cover-ups and intensified denials with mental illness label cover-ups.
This is the paradox at work. Every road, every interaction, every word is pre-scripted to be turned against me. If I react, I’m violent. If I don’t, they still frame the scene. If I stay silent, I’m guilty of silence. If I speak, it’s proof I’m schizophrenic. Even compliments are twisted into evidence. That engineered no-win system — run for decades by Jason Perelman and his friends and reinforced by family lies and police monitoring — is how they eradicate a person.
And the final twist is escalation. The more I try to get to the bottom of what’s happening — the more I ask, “What the fuck is going on?” — the worse it gets. Asking the question produces larger groups of actors, louder spectacles, death threats, provocations, mind games, more aggressive setups, wider smear campaigns, more illegal arrests, and faster retaliation. In my case, this pattern produced three illegal arrests designed to incarcerate me for life— not for crimes I committed, but for daring to ask questions, file police reports, speak out, tell the world they have been lied to, and defend myself. Seeking truth became the clearest trigger for the operation; the act of asking the question was treated as the ultimate crime.
Finally, these local tactics scaled up. The same people and methods Jason and his friends used locally became the seeds for exponentially growing worldwide groups that now attack me minute-by-minute. Those networks weren’t spontaneous; they are directly linked to the same operations designed to set me up, provoke me, and then hand my reactions to police and institutions as “proof.” The worldwide groups amplified the choreography — every staged run, every ear flick, every road-rage stunt became another node in a growing global campaign of provocation and framing. In short: local setups became global hunting parties, fed into police and judicial channels to try to lock me away. By 1994, when they realized they could weaponize the Internet, the harassment multiplied by orders of magnitude.
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