Re Pearlasia Gamboa stole Heidi Fleiss' insurance policy.
Heidi Fleiss' last one
I am only responding because I think the response might get more attention focused on the Gamboa-Pedley-Rooks Crime Ring, so if it distracts please indicate.
The answer to your question is “no”, but I just had coffee with her dad Paul at Intelligentsia in Silverlake at 6am, then Yoga with him and George D. (with super-investor Stacy L. from this very board as yoga teacher) at 6:30 am, then hiked to Griffith Park Observatory with Paul and George Dicaprio’s (Leo’s dad) , this morning from 7am to about 8am.
Coincidentally, it turns out that Heidi’s only one, true love, Bernie Cornfield (sp?), owner of Bank of America, was the guy who made a bet with my partner, Louis Lesser, that got him started in real estate development in Beverly Hills, next door to Marilyn Monroe, across the street from Ronald Reagan, in back of Bernie, and a couple down from Jayne Mansfield. (all according to Lou. I have not checked the county records on all of this). Lou is the historic biggest developer in the history of the US west of the Mississippi (verified), Howard Hughes’ landlord (verified), and seller to Donald Trump of the Atlantic City casino land (not verified), who Trump called “The Legend” (verified) since Lou made the world record when he developed over 60,000 properties (according to Trump). Lou got ripped off for all his remaining assets by the former president of the state Bar association in Tri National Development, by Richard Taxe, and by his own family working closely with Gamboa-Pedley-Rooks. His family painted the image of Lou's face out of the family portrait, and I just shot the photo of this last night.
Heidi asked me to marry her on May 9, 2003. In December 2005, she “proposed” to me again, in a very “traditional marriage” (Heidi translator: “a business ‘proposal’"), with her saying I could not sleep with her until after we were married, and she put a "rabbit crossing" bunny traffic sign on "hers" bedroom door, and a "tortoise crossing" road sign on my "his" bedroom door, in her first Pahrump house (don’t ask where she got the signs). (Her dad Paul bought her some land and she has since moved there.) She said I could come live with her in Pahrump in December 2005, where she had moved all of my stuff from my office occupying the entire penthouse floor at the First Bank of Hollywood bank tower building at Hollywood and Highland (it was a very small floor, being part of the tower). Pahrump is where my favorite journal is published (I am a xerophytic field botanist), the Journal of the Cactus and Succulent Society of America, published from the “Cactus Street” private home there, at the other end of town from Heidi’s house. Heidi actually lived closer to “Crystal” (HBO missed noticing the pun, and I just now noticed it while writing this) than Pahrump. Her condition was "if you promise not to talk to a single person in Pahrump, and promise not to take over everyone in the state, like you did in Hollywood. This is my state, not yours." (If not her exact words, very close.) We are on different schedules, as I fall asleep at about 7:30 pm, wake up at 4:15 am, do math until six, shower, drive to the bottom of Griffith Park and run barefoot (I’m part Apache Indian “Woo, woo, woo, woo. Woo, woo, woo, woo.”) to the top of Mt. Hollywood to see the sunrise each day, and hike back down with George and Paul and their “Hilltoppers”. During those post-Tom Sizemore times, Heidi fell asleep about every three to five days or so, and did so all of a sudden. She suddenly fell asleep while we were out on her land digging up desert plants to put on e-bay, with an old hoe she picked up for 50 cents at a yard sale that she had in her garage, since we couldn’t find the shovel. I accidentally drove over the hoe when she was giving hand signals for me to back up my Suburban, and she yelled at it and said, “you break it you buy it”, and put out her hand for me to give her $100, which I did. I threw the old hoe in the back of my truck.
The first thing we did is get gas, and the gas station attendant said "Hey Oops (my nickname)", remember me, we have the same name". His name was "Boo Boo”, and he was the pump jockey in Furnace Creek, Death Valley, in 1994, where I tamed a desert roadrunner using Butoh Dance (I have the photos someone took, and the roadrunner is still at that station) and I donated it to Boo Boo at the Chevron station in 1994, saw him on my regular death valley xerophytic field botany expeditions, and lost track, because he had moved to Pahrump. Heidi rolled her strongly rolled her eyes. I said “physics departments get the biggest budgets of anyone at the university, for their super particle colliders, and mathematicians get the least, since they only need pencils. The reason they need sharp pencils, is to measure the quality of their jokes, which are measured by if the listener rolls their eyes so hard when they say ‘that’s the dumbest joke I ever heard’, the joke is a measurable success if you need the sharp pencil to get their eyes back down. Heidi fumed. Heidi described us as "oil and water" to some media person, to which I retorted "oil and water mix when you blow a head gasket", causing her to blow hers.
Heidi asked me to put my name on as the licensee for the "Stud Farm", which she could not do because of her felony conviction for tax evasion (she was acquitted of the “pandering” charge, but the title of her autobiography, of which I have 25,000 copies stored in Oakland in cargo boxes, is “’Pandering” . She said, "you are the only person I know stupid enough to not care (sic) about money" (Heidi translator: "You are the only honest person I know"). I declined. She then did a Heidi, “But Oops (my nickname), men have brothels to go to in Nevada, and women do not, so if you don’t do it, you are being sexist.” Typical Heidi-ism.
After she fell asleep in the middle of the desert for two days, I drove her back to her house, and carried her to her bed. She weighs about 80-90 pounds (not good). I went to talk to one of the brothel owners she was making a deal with. I gave him an autographed copy of her Pandering autobiography. When she woke up, she yelled out, what are you doing talking with my “enemy”? (Heidi translator: “a person she is friendly with and conducting a business negotiation”) She picked up a $75,000 antique clay vase next to her bed, and threw it at me. I ducked, and it shattered against the bedroom wall. Then she really blew her head gasket. “You just broke my $75,000 vase buy ducking! Give me $75,000 or get out of here!” I got out.
I drove back to Sherman Oaks with my $100 broken old hoe in the back of my Suburban. I still have “HEIDI FLEISS’ last HOE”. (You couldn’t make this stuff up.)
Once again, Pearlasia Gamboa stole Heidi Fleiss' insurance policy.
