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Read or Condemn Yourself to Death by Ignorance

For those courageous souls brave enough to look and see what is,

who are unwilling to blindly accept

the lies and rules of tyrannical authority.

The simple step of a courageous individual is not to take part in the lie.

One word of truth outweighs the world.


Wednesday 18th November 2020


G’day,

Hope this finds you fit and well.

Here is a sampling of what recently crossed my digital desk.

Your LOL for the day!

LETTER TO VICE PRESIDENT BIDEN FROM GOV HUCKABEE:

Mr Miller

The Rope That Holds The Story Together

Coronavirus Not Proven To Exist

Change of Narrative Headline

Sittin’ On The Dock Of The Bay

Mother And Baby Gorilla

Don’t Believe What I Post, Research What I Post!

What Would My Mum Think Of That?

Did God Ride The Brooklyn Subway?

COVID Save Us From Government?

What Makes You You

President Harry Truman

Global Coup

Don’t Dis Google!

I hope you get something from it!

Cheers!

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Your LOL for the day!
 
 
 
 

Your LOL for the day!

I LOVE this!

1. When one door closes and another door opens, you are probably in prison.
2. To me, “drink responsibly” means don’t spill it.
3. Age 60 might be the new 40, but 8:00 pm is the new midnight.
4. It’s the start of a brand new day, and I’m off like a herd of turtles.
5. The older I get, the earlier it gets late.
6. When I say, “The other day,” I could be referring to any time between yesterday and 15 years ago.
7. I remember being able to get up without making sound effects.
8. I had my patience tested. I’m negative.
9. Remember, if you lose a sock in the dryer, it comes back as a Tupperware lid that doesn’t fit any of your containers.
10. If you’re sitting in public and a stranger takes the seat next to you, just stare straight ahead and say, “Did you bring the money?”
11. When you ask me what I am doing today, and I say “nothing,” it does not mean I am free. It means I am doing nothing.
12. I finally got eight hours of sleep. It took me three days, but whatever.
13. I run like the winded.
14. I hate when a couple argues in public, and I missed the beginning and don’t know whose side I’m on.
15. When someone asks what I did over the weekend, I squint and ask, “Why, what did you hear?”
16. When you do squats, are your knees supposed to sound like a goat chewing on an aluminum can stuffed with celery?
17. I don’t mean to interrupt people. I just randomly remember things and get really excited.
18. When I ask for directions, please don’t use words like “East.”
19. Don’t bother walking a mile in my shoes. That would be boring. Spend 30 seconds in my head. That’ll freak you right out.
20. Sometimes, someone unexpected comes into your life out of nowhere, makes your heart race, and changes you forever. We call those people cops.
21. My luck is like a bald guy who just won a comb.

Which one is YOUR favorite?

Still chuckling at 10 althought 19 was a close second and many others were too close to the truth to be funny!

 
 
 
 
LETTER TO VICE PRESIDENT BIDEN FROM GOV HUCKABEE:
 
 
 
 

(I hope you’ll pardon me if I address just one person with the following. This is an open letter to former Vice President Joe Biden.)

Dear Vice President Biden,

While I’ve never made any secret of the fact that I support President Trump, I have tried to be fair and stick to the issues. I even defended you on my TV program from an early personal attack, so I hope you will see that I’m not addressing you now as a partisan. It’s vitally important to put the good of the nation ahead of politics, particularly at a time like this, when events are at a tipping point and could easily spin out of control. I think you understand the need to be very cautious, from your reluctance to heed some of your supporters’ calls to declare victory.

In that spirit, I am calling on you to put partisanship and political ambition aside and join President Trump in demanding an impartial investigation into the very disturbing allegations of voter irregularities and fraud in Tuesday’s election.

Surely you must realize that some of the election officials’ actions and unbelievable poll results (202% turnout? Stacks of ballots that were 100% for you?) stink like a boxcar full of shrimp in the Mojave. If you do prevail without resolving these issues, your Administration will go down in history with a permanent black mark of cheating on it, whether it’s true or not. Imagine what you would say if, in a close state, 130,000 ballots all marked for Trump were suddenly dropped off from a Ferrari in the dead of night, as has been alleged in Detroit.

You ran for office on a promise to be a healer and uniter; to be a President of all the people, even those who didn’t support you; and to restore honor, integrity and honesty to the White House. Do you really think that’s likely if you take power under this dark cloud of suspicion? Even after 60 years, the memory of JFK’s legacy is still stained by a mere accusation of mob-stuffed ballot boxes securing his victory.

Also, think back on how much grief your side has given President Trump for the past four years, with the constant attacks and attempts to block his every action. The “resistance” movement justified its rabid opposition by claiming Trump was an “illegitimate” President, on no other grounds than that he didn’t win the popular vote (which, having run yourself three times, you know is meaningless) and “Russian collusion,” for which not a scrap of evidence could be found.

Now, imagine dealing with over 63 million furious Trump supporters and a GOP Senate (and after 2022, possibly a GOP House) who have a very convincing case that the race and their right to choose their own leaders were stolen from them. Their “resistance” will make what Trump dealt with look like a cake walk. These aren’t just some underemployed sociology majors. They’re the people who actually make the country run: farmers, ranchers, truckers, firefighters, police and construction workers.

If you really want to prove that you will bring honesty and integrity to the White House, and that you will represent all Americans, then you must join us in demanding a thorough and impartial investigation of these highly suspicious voting irregularities and refuse to declare victory until Americans have been assured that the vote was honest, that all their ballots were counted and that none were negated by illegal ballots. The people’s faith in the integrity of our elections is more important than the ambitions of either party.

Speaking as a Republican and strong Trump partisan, I promise that if the investigation proves that you won legitimately, then I will congratulate you on your win and accept the loss gracefully. But in all sincerity, I am concerned that if you do not take a stand now to insist on fair and legal elections, then you may eventually win the office, but it will be a bitter prize that will rip this nation apart, bring you more problems than you can imagine, and brand you in history as a President who took office under a cloud of suspicion that will never be removed.

I can’t think of a better illustration of Jesus’ question in Mark 8:36: “For what shall it profit a man, if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his own soul?”

Gov. Mike Huckabee

 
 
 
 
Mr Miller
 
 
 
 

I was at the corner grocery store buying some early potatoes... I noticed a small boy, delicate of bone and feature, ragged but clean, hungrily apprising a basket of freshly picked green peas.

I paid for my potatoes but was also drawn to the display of fresh green peas. I am a pushover for creamed peas and new potatoes.

Pondering the peas, I couldn’t help overhearing the conversation between Mr. Miller (the store owner) and the ragged boy next to me.

“Hello Barry, how are you today?”

“H’lo, Mr. Miller. Fine, thank ya. Jus’ admirin’ them peas. They sure look good”

“They are good, Barry. How’s your Ma?”

“Fine. Gittin’ stronger alla’ time.”

“Good. Anything I can help you with?”

“No, Sir. Jus’ admirin’ them peas.”

“Would you like to take some home?” asked Mr. Miller.

“No, Sir. Got nuthin’ to pay for ’em with.”

“Well, what have you to trade me for some of those peas?”

“All I got’s my prize marble here.”

“Is that right? Let me see it”, said Miller.

“Here ’tis. She’s a dandy.”

“I can see that. Hmm mmm, only thing is this one is blue and I sort of go for red. Do you have a red one like this at home?” the store owner asked.

“Not zackley but almost.”

“Tell you what. Take this sack of peas home with you and next trip this way let me look at that red marble.” Mr. Miller told the boy.

“Sure will. Thanks Mr. Miller.”

Mrs. Miller, who had been standing nearby, came over to help me.

With a smile she said, “There are two other boys like him in our community, all three are in very poor circumstances. Jim just loves to bargain with them for peas, apples, tomatoes, or whatever.

When they come back with their red marbles, and they always do, he decides he doesn’t like red after all and he sends them home with a bag of produce for a green marble or an orange one, when they come on their next trip to the store.”

I left the store smiling to myself, impressed with this man. A short time later I moved to Colorado, but I never forgot the story of this man, the boys, and their bartering for marbles.

Several years went by, each more rapid than the previous one. Just recently I had occasion to visit some old friends in that Idaho community and while I was there learned that Mr. Miller had died. They were having his visitation that evening and knowing my friends wanted to go, I agreed to accompany them. Upon arrival at the mortuary we fell into line to meet the relatives of the deceased and to offer whatever words of comfort we could.

Ahead of us in line were three young men. One was in an army uniform and the other two wore nice haircuts, dark suits and white shirts...all very professional looking. They approached Mrs. Miller, standing composed and smiling by her husband’s casket.

Each of the young men hugged her, kissed her on the cheek, spoke briefly with her and moved on to the casket. Her misty light blue eyes followed them as, one by one; each young man stopped briefly and placed his own warm hand over the cold pale hand in the casket. Each left the mortuary awkwardly, wiping his eyes.

Our turn came to meet Mrs. Miller. I told her who I was and reminded her of the story from those many years ago and what she had told me about her husband’s bartering for marbles. With her eyes glistening, she took my hand and led me to the casket.

“Those three young men who just left were the boys I told you about.

They just told me how they appreciated the things Jim ’traded’ them. Now, at last, when Jim could not change his mind about color or size, they came to pay their debt.”

“We’ve never had a great deal of the wealth of this world,” she confided, “but right now, Jim would consider himself the richest man in Idaho ...”

With loving gentleness she lifted the lifeless fingers of her deceased husband. Resting underneath were three exquisitely shined red marbles.

The Moral:
We will not be remembered by our words, but by our kind deeds. Life is not measured by the breaths we take, but by the moments that take our breath.

Today I wish you a day of ordinary miracles:

A fresh pot of coffee you didn’t make yourself...

An unexpected phone call from an old friend....

Green lights on your way to work....

The fastest line at the grocery store....

A good sing-along song on the radio...

Your keys found right where you left them.

It’s not what you gather, but what you scatter that tells what kind of life you have lived!

 
 
 
 
The Rope That Holds The Story Together
 
The Rope That Holds The Story Together
 
 
 

 
 
 
 
Coronavirus Not Proven To Exist
 
Coronavirus Not Proven To Exist
 
 
 

 
 
 
 
Change of Narrative Headline
 
Food Production Reset - Syndemic
 
 
 

As countries are furiously stocking food in anticipation of global food shortages, 'experts' are now calling COVID-19 a Syndemic "COVID-20," requiring a 'social vaccine' comprising Universal Basic Income & nutrition, free education, huge dietary changes. The technocrats will stop at nothing, including engineered food shortages, to push their Great Reset into global communism and transhumanism. Christian breaks it down.

 
Button
 
 
 
Sittin' On The Dock Of The Bay
 
Sittin' On The Dock Of The Bay
 
 
 

OK, here's today's grin for you oldies...

 
 
 
 
Mother And Baby Gorilla
 
Mother And Baby Gorilla
 
 
 

Just because it shows love. And I think we need more of it.

 
 
 
 
Don't Believe What I Post, Research What I Post!
 
Don't Believe What I Post, Research What I Post!
 
 
 

 
 
 
 
What Would My Mum Think Of That?
 
Ivan Fernandez and Abel Mutai
 
 
 

In a race, Abel Mutai representing Kenya, was just a few feet from the finish line when he became confused by the signage and stopped, thinking he had completed the race. The Spanish runner, Ivan Fernandez was right behind him and, realizing what was happening, started shouting at the Kenyan for him to continue running but because Mutai didn’t know Spanish, he didn’t understand. Then the Spaniard pushed him to victory.

A journalist asked Ivan, “Why did you do that?”

Ivan replied, “My dream is that someday we can have a kind of community life.”

The journalist insisted “But why did you let the Kenyan win?”

Ivan replied, “I didn’t let him win, he was going to win.”

The journalist insisted again, “But you could have won!”

Ivan looked at him and replied,“ But what would be the merit of my victory? What would be the honor of that medal? What would my Mom think of that?”

Values are transmitted from generation to generation.
What values are we teaching our children?
Let us not teach our kids the wrong ways and means to WIN.

 
 
 
 
Did God Ride The Brooklyn Subway?
 
Subway Passengers
 
 
 

Marcel Sternberger was a methodical man of nearly 50, with bushy white hair, guileless brown eyes, and the bouncing enthusiasm of a czardas dancer of his native Hungary. He always took the 9:09 Long Island Railroad train from his suburban home to Woodside, N.Y.., where he caught a subway into the city.

On the morning of January 10, 1948, Sternberger boarded the 9:09 as usual. En route, he suddenly decided to visit Laszlo Victor, a Hungarian friend who lived in Brooklyn and was ill.

Accordingly, at Ozone Park, Sternberger changed to the subway for Brooklyn, went to his friend’s house, and stayed until midafternoon. He then boarded a Manhattan-bound subway for his Fifth Avenue office. Here is Marcel’s incredible story:

The car was crowded, and there seemed to be no chance of a seat. But just as I entered, a man sitting by the door suddenly jumped up to leave, and I slipped into the empty place. I’ve been living in New York long enough not to start conversations with strangers. But being a photographer, I have the peculiar habit of analyzing people’s faces, and I was struck by the features of the passenger on my left. He was probably in his late 30s, and when he glanced up, his eyes seemed to have a hurt expression in them. He was reading a Hungarian-language newspaper, and something prompted me to say in Hungarian, “I hope you don’t mind if I glance at your paper.”

The man seemed surprised to be addressed in his native language. But he answered politely, “You may read it now. I’ll have time later on.”

During the half-hour ride to town, we had quite a conversation. He said his name was Bela Paskin. A law student when World War II started, he had been put into a German labor battalion and sent to the Ukraine. Later he was captured by the Russians and put to work burying the German dead. After the war, he covered hundreds of miles on foot until he reached his home in Debrecen, a large city in eastern Hungary.

I myself knew Debrecen quite well, and we talked about it for a while. Then he told me the rest of his story. When he went to the apartment once occupied by his father, mother, brothers and sisters, he found strangers living there. Then he went upstairs to the apartment that he and his wife once had. It also was occupied by strangers. None of them had ever heard of his family.

As he was leaving, full of sadness, a boy ran after him, calling “Paskin bacsi! Paskin bacsi!” That means “Uncle Paskin.” The child was the son of some old neighbors of his. He went to the boy’s home and talked to his parents. “Your whole family is dead,” they told him. “The Nazis took them and your wife to Auschwitz.”

Auschwitz was one of the worst Nazi concentration camps. Paskin gave up all hope. A few days later, too heartsick to remain any longer in Hungary, he set out again on foot, stealing across border after border until he reached Paris. He managed to immigrate to the United States in October 1947, just three months before I met him.

All the time he had been talking, I kept thinking that somehow his story seemed familiar. A young woman whom I had met recently at the home of friends had also been from Debrecen; she had been sent to Auschwitz; from there she had been transferred to work in a German munitions factory. Her relatives had been killed in the gas chambers. Later she was liberated by the Americans and was brought here in the first boatload of displaced persons in 1946.

Her story had moved me so much that I had written down her address and phone number, intending to invite her to meet my family and thus help relieve the terrible emptiness in her life.

It seemed impossible that there could be any connection between these two people, but as I neared my station, I fumbled anxiously in my address book. I asked in what I hoped was a casual voice, “Was your wife’s name Marya?”

He turned pale. “Yes!” he answered. “How did you know?”

He looked as if he were about to faint.

I said, “Let’s get off the train.” I took him by the arm at the next station and led him to a phone booth. He stood there like a man in a trance while I dialed her phone number.

It seemed hours before Marya Paskin answered. (Later I learned her room was alongside the telephone, but she was in the habit of never answering it because she had so few friends and the calls were always for someone else. This time, however, there was no one else at home and, after letting it ring for a while, she responded.)

When I heard her voice at last, I told her who I was and asked her to describe her husband. She seemed surprised at the question, but gave me a description. Then I asked her where she had lived in Debrecen, and she told me the address.

Asking her to hold the line, I turned to Paskin and said, “Did you and your wife live on such-and-such a street?”

“Yes!” Bela exclaimed. He was white as a sheet and trembling.

“Try to be calm,” I urged him. “Something miraculous is about to happen to you. Here, take this telephone and talk to your wife!”

He nodded his head in mute bewilderment, his eyes bright with tears. He took the receiver, listened a moment to his wife’s voice, then suddenly cried, “This is Bela! This is Bela!” and he began to mumble hysterically. Seeing that the poor fellow was so excited he couldn’t talk coherently, I took the receiver from his shaking hands.

“Stay where you are,” I told Marya, who also sounded hysterical. “I am sending your husband to you. We will be there in a few minutes.”

Bela was crying like a baby and saying over and over again. “It is my wife. I go to my wife!”

At first I thought I had better accompany Paskin, lest the man should faint from excitement, but I decided that this was a moment in which no strangers should intrude. Putting Paskin into a taxicab, I directed the driver to take him to Marya’s address, paid the fare, and said goodbye.

Bela Paskin’s reunion with his wife was a moment so poignant, so electric with suddenly released emotion, that afterward neither he nor Marya could recall much about it.

“I remember only that when I left the phone, I walked to the mirror like in a dream to see if maybe my hair had turned gray,” she said later. “The next thing I know, a taxi stops in front of the house, and it is my husband who comes toward me. Details I cannot remember; only this I know—that I was happy for the first time in many years...

“Even now it is difficult to believe that it happened. We have both suffered so much; I have almost lost the capability to not be afraid. Each time my husband goes from the house, I say to myself, “Will anything happen to take him from me again?”

Her husband is confident that no horrible misfortune will ever again befall the. “Providence has brought us together,” he says simply. “It was meant to be.”

Skeptical persons will no doubt attribute the events of that memorable afternoon to mere chance. But was it chance that made Marcel Sternberger suddenly decide to visit his sick friend and hence take a subway line that he had never ridden before? Was it chance that caused the man sitting by the door of the car to rush out just as Sternberger came in? Was it chance that caused Bela Paskin to be sitting beside Sternberger, reading a Hungarian newspaper’

Was it chance—or did God ride the Brooklyn subway that afternoon’

Paul Deutschman, Great Stories Remembered, edited and compiled by Joe L. Wheeler

 
 
 
 
COVID Save Us From Government?
 
COVID Save Us From Government?
 
 
 

I wish!

 
 
 
 
What Makes You You
 
What Makes You You
 
 
 

 
 
 
 
President Harry Truman
 
President Harry Truman
 
 
 

Harry Truman was a different kind of President. He probably made as many, or more important decisions regarding our nation’s history as any of the other 32 Presidents preceding him. However, a measure of his greatness may rest on what he did after he left the White House.

The only asset he had when he died was the house he lived in, which was in Independence Missouri. His wife had inherited the house from her mother and father and other than their years in the White House, they lived their entire lives there.

When he retired from office in 1952 his income was a U.S. Army pension reported to have been $13,507.72 a year. Congress, noting that he was paying for his stamps and personally licking them, granted him an ’allowance’ and, later, a retroactive pension of $25,000 per year.

After President Eisenhower was inaugurated, Harry and Bess drove home to Missouri by themselves. There was no Secret Service following them.

When offered corporate positions at large salaries, he declined, stating, “You don’t want me. You want the office of the President, and that doesn’t belong to me.. It belongs to the American people and it’s not for sale.“

Even later, on May 6, 1971, when Congress was preparing to award him the Medal of Honor on his 87th birthday, he refused to accept it, writing, “I don’t consider that I have done anything which should be the reason for any award, Congressional or otherwise.“

As president he paid for all of his own travel expenses and food.

Modern politicians have found a new level of success in cashing in on the Presidency, resulting in untold wealth. Today, too many in Congress also have found a way to become quite wealthy while enjoying the fruits of their offices. Political offices are now for sale (ie. Illinois ).

Good old Harry Truman was correct when he observed, “My choices in life were either to be a piano player in a whore house or a politician. And to tell the truth, there’s hardly any difference!“

 
 
 
 
Global Coup
 
RFK Jr On Global Coup
 
 
 

How do you control people?

Most dictators—and would-be-dictators—know the answer is “fear.”

In this startling 18-minute video message to citizens who participated in rallies in at least 15 countries, to protest the global movement towards totalitarianism, Robert F. Kennedy Jr. asks some important questions about the COVID crisis and “global coup d’état” that he sees unfolding around the world.

It is, he says, orchestrated by a nexus of powerful forces: by Big Data, by Big Telecom, by Big Tech. By the big oil and chemical companies and a global public health cartel led by Bill Gates and the World Health Organization—all of whom see the series of crises we are currently facing as an opportunity to make more money and grab more power.

Fear makes us tolerant to the erosion of our civil liberties. It makes us tolerant of censorship to the point where we stop asking questions and stop voicing our grievances.

The answer, he says, is to keep talking, keep asking questions and keep insisting on the rights that every human being is born with.

WATCH A Message From Robert F. Kennedy Jr.: https://www.facebook.com/organicconsumers/posts/10158244771444934

READ The transcript of the video: https://www.organicconsumers.org/blog/international-message-hope-for-humanity-rfk-jr

 
Button
 
 
 
Don't Dis Google!
 
Don't Dis Google!
 
 
 

OK, ready for today's chuckle?

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

Until next time,
dream big dreams,
plan out how to achieve them,
be continually executing your plans,
enlist people to your causes,
travel and/or read widely, preferably both,
all the while observing what you observe
rather than thinking what you are told to think,
think well of your fellow man,
take time to help your fellow man,
he sorely needs it and it will help you too,
eat food that is good for your body,
exercise your body,
take time to destress,
and do the important things
that make a difference -
they are rarely the urgent ones!

Tom

 
 

Most of the content herein has been copied from someone else. Especially the images. My goodness some people are talented at creating aesthetics! The small bits that are of my creation are Copyright 2014-2020 © by Tom Grimshaw - ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

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