Comforting Art From a Long-Lost Place

I have two exciting deliveries coming today. A new dishwasher and a less-than-mediocre art print.

My Bosch dishwasher left production in 2016, if the web’s guess is correct. I have had it for 9 years, and it may have been here almost 6 years when I arrived. A web source thinks it became available at around the start of 2012.

My dishwasher is not smart. I can’t communicate with it at all. No app. No wifi. No Bluetooth. But it did function for somewhere between 9 and 15 years with only a moderate amount of trouble.

I had to replace the front door panel containing the handle once. There is no latch. You just pull until it gives up. The part you pull on is around 3/16″ thick on each side, plastic, with no reinforcement. It eventually gave way because it was stupidly designed, and I had to spend about $80 on a new panel.

I got some special JB Weld for plastics, and before I installed the new panel, I shot the problem areas full. Now it has the strongest Bosch dishwasher door handle on Earth.

It also leaked a couple of times. I could not figure out why. I was going to tear into it, and then the leaking stopped.

It leaked again recently, and it refused to repair itself, so I took to AI to figure out what was wrong. I had to keep correcting Grok, and eventually it led me to a couple of likely parts. One cost $20, so I ordered it and replaced it.

Installing it should have been an easy job, but I had to lie on the floor on my face and turn a hex fitting 1/16 of a turn at a time, and there were other issues. Bosch could have made it much easier by using some brains. The order of installation operations caused the problem. It’s much easier to remove the hose from the part if the part is out, but you have to remove the hose in order to take the part out. That kind of thing. Stupid.

It still leaked, so I looked into the other part. It was a pump, it was discontinued, it would have cost something like $250 if I had been able to find it, and replacing it would have been a very unpleasant job. I would have had to turn the dishwasher upside down, and there was no guarantee the new part would fix the issue.

I could have called a repairman and blown a hundred bucks or so to be told I was wrong, but I was almost certainly right, and other parts would have been replaced, so I would have been out maybe $200 at the least, and I would have still had an old machine with a vanishing parts supply.

I found a successor model on sale at Lowe’s for $400 off for no clear reason, so I jumped on that. They wanted $217 for installation, which I did not jump on. It’s two screws, two tubes, and a cord. I need to open a dishwasher installation business and charge $150 per trip.

I went with Bosch in spite of the stupid bits. Basically, the machine has impressed me. It worked well, and working on it was surprisingly easy for the most part. And the parts are not terribly expensive. It looks like they gave it parts support for a reasonable amount of time. Could have been better, but I have seen worse. And getting over 40% off the price was a deal I could not miss out on.

Oh, boy. Here comes the truck.

I’m paying them $50 to haul off the old machine. I could do that myself, but in a time when a visit to Cracker Barrel costs over $30, $50 seems cheap for what I’m getting.

It’s here. Life can now go on. We can cook again.

I know I’m spoiled, but if the dishwasher quits, it means I can’t cook. It doesn’t mean I can cook and wash dishes by hand. No.

My other package is a Nellie Meadows print.

Nellie Meadows was an artist from Clay City, Kentucky. My grandfather owned a lot of land in her area. Was she a great artist? No. Was she a good artist? Mmmm…no. Let’s be honest. I would say that she was not quite good enough to make it as a commercial artist drawing new Buicks for newspaper ads. She misunderstood perspective and composition, and she chose subjects poorly.

On the other hand, her work was very popular with people in the area because she, along with a guy named Al Cornett, was a scarce commodity. They were the only artists within miles.

Al’s work is better but still not good.

Actually, man who made quasi-pornographic sculptures lived about 50 yards from my grandparents, and his work is in the Smithsonian. His name was Edgar Tolson. I wouldn’t want any of that stuff in my house.

He carved anatomically-correct figures of Adam and Eve in the buff. He also did carvings that lacked genitalia. I guess it would be okay to have one of those. Antiques Roadshow appraised one of his pieces for $2,000-$3,000, so he’s not up there with Picasso.

I think the fuss over Tolson’s work is sort of like the reverse racism of soft expectations, applied to white people. If he had lived in New York, his work would all be in landfills.

My grandparents had some Nellie Meadows and Al Cornett prints in their house, and I didn’t get any of them when they died. My sister glommed at least one Cornett print and utterly destroyed it. I had never seen an art print stained with black mold until she got ahold of it. I would guess my aunt glommed the others while glomming things for her kids without going through the will or probate or my grandparents’ wishes. But I’m not sure.

My grandparents had a painting called “Kentucky the Great State;” a title which was not intended to be sarcastic. It wasn’t good, but I used to sleep in the bedroom where it hung, so I want a copy.

I have Ebay set up to send me Nellie Meadows and Al Cornett items, and it sent me a listing for a painting of Natural Bridge. This is a bridge created by erosion, and it is located in the Red River Gorge, near my grandparents’ town.

It’s one of her better works, meaning it’s good enough for a post card. It has what looks to be a wormy chestnut frame. It wasn’t expensive. I got the seller down to $42 plus shipping. I took it.

We plan to clean it up and put it in one of the upstairs bedrooms. It’s good enough for kids and guests. I already have one of her paintings in the guest toilet.

I have given up on Eastern Kentucky as a place to live or visit. The culture is just not up to par. The childishness, racism, violence, machismo, drunkenness, ignorance, spousal abuse, and so on are too much for me to deal with, and I would also find it awkward to live near my relatives who have pretty much rejected me in favor of bits of my grandparents’ estates. I’m also bummed out because so many people there are conservative in their hearts yet vote for Democrats so the government will give them money.

Nonetheless, I have very fond memories of Kentucky, and I often think about what it could be if the people would just grow up.

I hope the painting is in good shape when it arrives. Now I have to install a dishwasher.

The new dishwasher is “smart.” Notice the quotation marks. Bosch expects me to use an app to set it up and use it. I can do it without the app, but then I lose elite features. I won’t be able to set a delayed start, and I won’t be able to change the dishwasher’s gender.

I’ll bet that smart junk added $75 to the MSRP.

I wonder when we’ll get over the smart idiocy and resume making appliances that make sense.

Anyway, here’s to our mechanical and electronic slaves. Thank you, God, because I don’t have to wash clothes or dishes by hand, travel on foot or on a cart, take cold showers, or accept the climate nature gave me. I appreciate it more than I can say.

Regretfully, I Must Pass on the Queers for Palestine Silent Auction

Today is this family’s day of rest and prayer. No laundry, no mowing, no welding, no painting, no repairs, no business.

We expect to do what we always do on Sunday: eat at Costco. I often wonder what my high school classmates would think of that. At least two were the children of a billionaire, and many were snobs. I really look forward to those cheap pizza slices and free-refill beverages, eaten on fiberglass picnic-style tables.

I have no interest in seeing any of my classmates again. Maybe one guy, but that’s it. When I knew them, they were unhappy worldly people with poor values.

I dreamed of one of them last night. John. We were in high school together. I would say we were friends, but we weren’t. Sometimes you spend a lot of time with a person and consider him a friend, and then after you part ways, you realize you just kept company for the sake of having company.

John isn’t an awful person, but he is insecure and competitive. He is selfish. He is extremely rigid. He has never thought for himself. Whatever the herd says is right is right. He finds people who reject the herd amusing, and he feels he is better than they are. Sometimes they make him angry, just because they’re different.

I don’t think he has changed. Maybe he has. I ran into a store maybe 10 years ago, and he seemed about the same. Personable, but condescending.

I cut back on hanging around with him because I realized he was condescending and didn’t treat me as an equal. Also, he stole a girl from me, which is a huge violation of the male friendship code.

The desire for a gradual parting was probably mutual. I don’t think he liked me all that much.

In high school, friendship is like looking for a seat in the lunchroom. You go where you’re accepted, and you take the good with the bad.

I couldn’t help John in his ambitions, so I don’t think he had much motivation to be my friend.

We didn’t have much in common. I had all sorts of interests. He was just an inside-the-box guy who wanted to watch sports, go to law school, practice law, and make money. If you know John, he isn’t inviting you to his house to see his paintings. He’s not climbing mountains in Nepal. He’s not composing music or fly fishing. He probably owns less than 10 tools.

I should have dropped him sooner, but I was too much of a person-pleaser. I think I’ve gotten over that! Most people who know me would surely agree.

In the dream, I was living in the house I lived in during high school. John came to the front door, dressed in his lawyer attire minus the jacket. He wanted to show me his car, which was parked by the curb behind him.

He said it was a Charger. It was very special. It had a thousand horsepower. He wanted me to see it.

When I walked out to see it, it was across the street. I had to walk a long way. I wondered why he had moved it. It was inconsiderate.

The car became a very fancy bicycle. It had big balloon tires, and at first, it had some kind of propulsion. The tires were not attached to the bike. They had no spokes. Somehow they stayed in place and spun anyway.

He started riding through a grassy field while telling me about the bike. He never offered to let me ride it. That was like the real John. I had to jog beside him.

I said there was no way it had a thousand horsepower.

For some reason, after a while, he had to pedal, so I guess it turned into a regular bike.

My high school was about half Jewish, and some of the Jewish guys were very competitive. Most were not competitive at all. If you befriended one of the competitive ones, you couldn’t be on the same level. You had to be above or below. John was like that. They said a lot of resentful things about other Jewish guys whose families had more money. There was a lot of competition when it came to bar mitzvah gifts.

I had another competitive friend. Ken. He tried to make valedictorian, but he was caught cheating. Got into Princeton anyway. He switched to the University of Florida because they had a short program that would give him a BS and an MD in a hurry.

Ken was miserable. One of the other Jewish kids came from a family worth hundreds of millions, and he used to tell Ken he would never be worth as much as he was. It bothered him. Ken’s father died, and Ken said his father was laughing at him from the afterlife because he would never be as successful as he had been.

Ken had his MD when he shot himself at 25. Seems like he was doing just fine in terms of worldly success.

His dad was tormented, too. Lots of money, but he was always anxious, driven, and unfulfilled, and he projected it onto Ken. When Ken said he wanted to play football, his dad said, “I’ll break your hands myself.” He had decided Ken was going to be a surgeon. He didn’t want him injuring his hands.

Anyway, I live on a farm, I wear work shorts or work jeans every day, I drive a 2016 Ford, and I love taking my wife and son to Costco for lunch. I drink XO brandy; that’s true. But it’s Kirkland XO, for $48 per fifth. An amazing bargain.

I wonder what would happen if I went to a high school reunion wearing work jeans and suspenders and proceeded to be very open about myself. “I voted for Trump three times.” “I pray in tongues every day.” “I have a law license, I was very good at law, and it was easy, but I refuse to practice.” “I carry a 10mm pistol with a laser everywhere.” “I drive a tractor and cut my own trees.” “I mow my own yard.”

“My wife believes in submission to her husband.” That would go over great. Among the divorcees and spinsters. Those fulfilled modern ladies. Living their best lives.

One girl from my school went on to become the top dog at Miami’s Planned Parenthood branch. A long time ago, they sent me an invitation to a fundraiser. I tore it in half and mailed it back.

“Come on down and help us fund tearing apart babies in the womb for selfish, irresponsible sluts in the hope of reducing the black population!” No, and I don’t thank you for asking. God will judge you.

Why would anyone assume I supported abortion? Talk about a faux pas. “We went to high school together, so I just assumed you would want to come help my organization burn a cross and lynch a black man!”

I have always hated abortion, but now that I have a son, my understanding of the evil involved is much deeper. My wife and I prayed so hard that he would be born alive and without problems. We still pray for him and bless him all the time. Like all normal parents who aren’t sick in the head, we would give our lives for him without thinking. The thought of seeing his little body torn up in a pan so his mother could look better in a bathing suit or avoid suing me for child support is as horrifying as any thought I could ever have. I would much rather see myself in that condition.

Not to defend lynching, but at least some of the victims were murderers or rapists. What crime has a baby committed other than wanting to live and be loved by his parents?

I don’t have to worry about how I would be received at a reunion because I would never to back to Miami again unless I were forced by a court. I don’t even feel comfortable in Gainesville.

It’s amazing what feminism has turned mainstream Americans into. What could make a woman proud she tore her precious, helpless baby up? It comes straight from hell. God is male, period. He expects men to lead families. He never wanted us to be ruled by women; in Isaiah, it is mentioned as a curse.

Feminist brainwashing made it challenging for me to take over as a proper patriarch. I have been indoctrinated for over 50 years. It hasn’t stopped just because I overcome it. Every day, I have to dismiss it all over again.

What if God hadn’t pulled me out of it? I might be a Will Smith. A defeated cuckold with a demonized wife who humiliates me in public. A beaten father who raised an androgynous homosexual son, along with a lesbian daughter who is considerably more masculine.

No man wants to see his seed fall to the ground and rot.

My wife tells me she will be ready to go soon. She is fasting, and she wants to be at Costco when it ends.

Who can blame her?

Are You God’s Friend or his Customer?

I was praying this morning, and God showed me some things that will be extremely helpful.

My wife is always telling people that Christianity is not “transactional.” What a great way to put it. She has been trying to help an Indian friend understand this. He tells her about all the things he has done for God, and he wonders why things aren’t going better for him. She says Hinduism is transactional, and he has brought the Hindu mindset to Christianity.

Generally, around the globe, the forms of Christianity churches teach are transactional and therefore corrupt. Do this, stop doing that, and God will bless you and give you salvation.

This isn’t real Christianity. It’s the way pre-Messianic Judaism, Islam, and just about all the pagan religions work. Burn baby son alive at altar; get social credit and wealth. Cut off finger; get more help from voodoo spirits. Pay to put in football field at Catholic high school; get dad the whoremonger out of a part of hell that doesn’t really exist.

There is no one in purgatory, because it’s a fictional place, like Portland or Seattle. Oh, wait. Those places are real. It’s just hard to believe. Okay, let’s say Oz or Pandora.

Jews tell Gentiles–even Christians–they can get into heaven by obeying the seven Noahide laws, which, of course, are not in the Bible and not even a little bit valid. Transactional. Quid pro quo.

If it’s not about what you do for God, what is it about?

Pre-crucifixion Judaism was pretty transactional. There were a whole lot of laws to obey. This included the sacrificial system, which made the temple a place of continual butchering and roasting. It must have smelled wonderful.

Before the crucifixion, Jews generally didn’t know the Holy Spirit. God put his Spirit on a few here and there, and he didn’t rest in them all the time. The Jews had prophets and so on, but they were unusual.

Back then, Jews were not required to know God personally or exhibit the presence of his Spirit. They had to obey the rules, try to be good, and rely on sacrifices to get them past their failures.

After the crucifixion (after the first Shavuot–which we call Pentecost–following the crucifixion), Christians were fully expected to have the Holy Spirit live in them. Every Christian. All were supposed to know God personally, speak in tongues, receive revelation instead of relying on corrupt denominational doctrine, operate in the fruit and gifts of the Spirit, and so on.

The Holy Spirit is not an “it.” He is a person. We know “he” is appropriate, because the Holy Spirit inseminated a woman. Under pressure from Satan’s feminism, some churches have decided to claim the Holy Spirit is the feminine side of God, but that’s just misandry. No human woman can nurture like God, and God is male.

If he weren’t male, he wouldn’t have a bride.

I know the Holy Spirit. For that matter, I know Yeshua. I can’t summon Yeshua and have him come over for barbecue, but he came to me twice that I know of for certain, and the Holy Spirit’s presence is on me all the time, sometimes in an overpowering way and sometimes in a quiet, unintrusive way, like an engine at idle.

Sadly for me, knowing the Holy Spirit hasn’t instantly transformed me into a good person. The Bible compares God to a farmer and a potter; people whose work takes time to produce results. God keeps giving me correction over time, and the more time I spend with him, the faster the process goes.

I haven’t become perfect, but I really do hear from God all the time, and I get prophetic dreams. I receive miracles. I get special, generous, gentle treatment when other people who don’t listen to God have problems. For example, I had a blast in 2020, when everyone else was miserable. I loved that year.

Every year since then has been great, too, although these were years when the suffering of humanity was not as great as it was in 2020, so the contrast is not as stark.

Even though I know the Holy Spirit and believe in being blessed by grace, not as payment for services rendered, my relationship with God has continued to be somewhat transactional. It has been motivated partly by the knowledge that God does great things for me and saves me from horrible suffering. I should be motivated mainly by my love for God as a person; for his personality.

I have a wife. She does things for me, but not all that much. It’s not like she pays my bills or bakes me a cake every day. It’s unusual for me to ask her to do anything for me. I do more for her than she does for me. She says so herself, so stifle your feminist comments.

Taking her on increased my burdens a lot. I spend a lot on her. I have to consider her when I make plans and do things. Sometimes I have to wait a long time to get in the shower. I can’t always eat what I want, because she can’t stand some things I love. She rearranged my kitchen, which I had set up just the way I wanted it. She comes to me with her relatives’ problems.

I still love my wife. I want her to stay. I consider her a great gift. I don’t add up what we do for each other, compare, go to her, and complain. I’m very happy with our situation. Seems like I have a better attitude toward her than I do toward God, who has saved me from hell and set me aside from much of the misery other people endure.

The other day, God gave me a revelation of favor. He showed me that his attitude toward me was that of a father toward a favorite son.

We do more for our favorites. We give them much more slack; when they act up, they get reduced punishments or no punishment. The others get less from us. We just plain like our favorites better. We click with them. We want to do things for them, even when they’re out of line.

This revelation changed my life. It made it much easier for me to believe God would do things for me in spite of my past and ongoing sins. If I do something bad, I’m still his favorite. It’s just a bump in the road, to be driven past and forgotten. He’s not going to stop doing things for me, and he is also not going to stop battling my enemies.

We become furious at anyone who threatens a favorite. In that respect, we take after God. For example, the Bible says anyone who harms the Jews touches the pupil of God’s eye.

It’s not about my goodness, which barely exists. It’s about my status as his son, which Yeshua bought for me. I plead the blood of Yeshua as the basis for forgiveness and entry into the family of God, and God puts me in the VIP section. God bought me a relationship with him. He bought it from himself.

I am a favorite because God loves me, not because I build orphanages, give Kenneth Copeland Swiss watches, mention Yeshua sometimes while arguing with college students and being paid a king’s ransom, or walk to counterfeit Catholic shrines on my knees.

I should love God not because of what he does for me, but because he is the kind of person who does such things. I should love his personality and want to be with him just as I like being with friends.

We are told the dead surround God in heaven and praise him. They have nothing to gain from it, so why are they doing it? It has to be because they love him for what he is.

No one has to pay me to pick up my baby son or be with my wife. No one has to pay me to visit my friends.

When I get revelation, I always ask, “Why doesn’t anyone teach this?” Churches don’t teach it because the church was corrupted about two millennia ago. The ambitious people defeated the Spirit-led people, or, rather, they rejected them and the one who sent them. The Spirit-led continued to lead victorious lives and went on to heaven, and the ambitious people landed in hell, where they are to this day.

Revelation reminds me that “gospel” means “good news.” When you really know what God is up to, you realize it’s fantastic news. Being told you will go to heaven if you raise your hand for Joel Osteen, but that you shouldn’t expect to know God personally here on Earth, is not the kind of good news that makes people shout. Being told you have to sit through masses, bored to the edge of death, while effeminate old men mumble in Latin, and that this might eventually save you from hell, is not that kind of good news, either.

You can know God personally, and although you may be stuck here for a few decades, he will be with you, defeat your enemies, fill you with blessings, and let you feel his love and peace. You will know him as the best, most loving father there is, and not an absentee father.

The other night, my wife and I were talking, and we kept talking about how indispensable the Holy Spirit is. Every one of us is supposed to be taught by him directly, and only he keeps us from error. The vast majority of Christians reject him, and they believe any lie a crooked old pope or TV evangelist tells them.

Candace Owens and Tucker Carlson are great examples of carnal people who claim to be Christians and even to be doing God’s work, yet who are enemies of Yeshua. They are hostile to the Jews. Yeshua is the king of the Jews. It wasn’t just a derisive joke the Romans made. The Bible actually calls him “Israel.” Owens and Carlson are against the king’s subjects, so they are against the king.

America is full of Christians who insist opposing sodomy is unchristian. It’s full of Christians who think God loves socialism, which has been used to separate people from Yeshua and even the awareness of his existence all over the world. People can believe any stupid thing if they don’t know the Holy Spirit personally, and they do.

You can’t succeed with two-thirds of God.

Your pastor is almost certainly teaching you garbage along with the truth, and you need to learn directly from God so that when your pastor goes down, you will still be standing.

Your Good Deeds are a Band-Aid on a Dead Body

Last night I wrote about a three-part dream I had, and the dream included me being raptured by two angels.

The meanings of some parts of the dream were not clear to me at first, but now I think God has shown me what they were about.

I

I was at a corrupt church where I used to serve, and a well-meaning but ambitious and attention-loving person was trying to start a new ministry. He was about to speak. The pastor of the church, who has appeared in other dreams representing a spirit of church corruption, supported him. I wasn’t interested in watching the new minister speak, so I went outside.

This represents me leaving the world of big, established churches. By that I mean anything bigger than house meetings. God told me the age of churches was over. They are corrupt because they teach people to worship and follow men, not the Holy Spirit. Satan corrupts the men, and the men corrupt the church.

II

I was in Kentucky, on my grandfather’s patio. As a child, I defaced this patio while the concrete was still wet, writing my name in it. My relatives said I was in big trouble, but when my grandfather saw it, he was thrilled. He took me on his lap and told me one day I would show it to my son.

In the dream, I saw angels coming down from heaven. I lost all strength and lay down on my stomach on the patio. They lifted me up and raptured me. I was consumed with joy and relief.

Why does God do things for certain people? Because we are his favorites, as I was my grandfather’s favorite grandchild. It’s not because we’re good; we are not. God prefers one person to another for reasons we don’t know.

We see this in the story of John, the disciple who was closest to Yeshua. He was “the one Yeshua loved.” It is believed that every original disciple except John met with a violent death, as did Paul and Stephen, but when Domitian tried to fry John in a cauldron in front of a crowd of pagans, nothing happened to him. He died at a very advanced age, and before he died, he saw the kingdom of heaven come and wrote of it in the Revelation.

Israel preferred Joseph to his brothers. God preferred Israel to Esau. He preferred Isaac to Ishmael. He doesn’t make excuses for favor. He never says he will treat us alike, and it isn’t our place to question it.

Those who don’t have God’s favor hate those who do, and they say it’s not fair. This attitude started with Satan, and it prevails today. The hatred worldly people feel for the favored is like Satan’s hatred for humanity or an older child’s hatred of a younger child with a nicer personality that brings him more attention.

The other day, I heard Lester Sumrall say that the people who are against us, like the atheists and leftists, are just losers trying to “get even.” They refuse to do things God’s way, and they don’t get favor, so their response is to kill those who have it and steal from them.

In English Bibles, we see the word “love” a lot, and we think it only means affection, but it also means preference. God preferred Jacob to Esau, and God’s word puts it this way:

Was not Esau Jacob’s brother? saith the Lord: yet I loved Jacob,

And I hated Esau, and laid his mountains and his heritage waste for the dragons of the wilderness.

Esau’s children, who inherited disfavor from Esau, tried to take the good things God gave Israel, but the word says this:

Whereas Edom saith, We are impoverished, but we will return and build the desolate places; thus saith the Lord of hosts, They shall build, but I will throw down; and they shall call them, The border of wickedness, and, The people against whom the Lord hath indignation for ever.

Actually, Esau himself brought this on his descendants. He sold his birthright for a bowl of soup. Not even a pizza or a prime rib eye.

We see the spirit of envy among the disfavored today. They say Israel, whose inheritance is still largely in the hands of thieves, has too much. They say white people, Christians, heterosexuals, and men have privilege, meaning it’s unfair that we have more blessings than others. They say America is rich because it oppresses and steals, which is patently absurd.

They want to exterminate those who are favored and take what they have, not realizing that without us, the world would be a much worse place for them. They treat each other much worse than we would ever treat them.

I really enjoy knowing I was my grandparents’ favorite, my father’s favorite, and my mother’s favorite. I didn’t appreciate it until I was old, but it was a tremendous gift. Thinking about it warms my heart in a way that brings me new humility. In particular, it makes me love my grandfather more. I wish I had been better to him, although I was better to him than most of my cousins.

I feel safe and comforted. More securely than ever, I know my blessings don’t depend on perfect obedience or past service. I feel I am living within God’s warmth.

I have been bad to people and animals. I haven’t become a missionary. I haven’t given everything I have away. I haven’t packed stadiums and seen thousands rush to the altars. I have sinned a lot. I still have favor. It’s not based on my deeds.

This is where Jews, Muslims, and many Christians get it wrong. God doesn’t weigh your deeds and let you into heaven if the good outweigh the bad. He weighs his love for you and the righteousness of Yeshua, which is imputed to you.

Speaking of people who are called holy because of their conspicuous accomplishments, my wife says Billy Graham is in hell because he fawned on Muhammad Ali and called him a follower of God. Muhammad Ali rejected God when he rejected Yeshua and became a follower of the famous rapist and murderer Mohammed, so he was a rejecter of God, not a follower. Graham was supposed to understand this.

My wife says Graham denied the cross, and as she says, this is the one thing that will definitely send you to hell. You can molest children and then repent and receive salvation, but if you deny the cross and you don’t repent, you are definitely going to hell. Preach all you want. Call a billion people to the altar. It won’t help you.

If being “good” could get you into heaven, then Yeshua was a fool to allow himself to be tortured to death instead of taking his throne and taking back the planet.

Graham was a shameless and spineless sycophant of celebrities, the rich, and the powerful, and he didn’t teach people about the Holy Spirit, so my wife is probably right. He was the Joel Osteen of his time.

People point to his deeds–his crusades and the apparent salvations that took place–and say he was a great man of God. But even if those salvations were proper, which many were not, they wouldn’t overcome rejecting Yeshua, who is God. To reject Yeshua is to reject Yahweh, as Yeshua said.

It appears he also bought into the Jewish media control myth, which is not a sign that he was hearing from God. It’s hard to judge him, though, because the accusations are based on quotations from a tape recording, the quotations were reported by leftists, and we can’t hear the entire conversation to see if there are any exculpatory words in it.

Graham is just one example of people who are widely praised by transactional Christians yet who are probably in hell or headed there.

Now that I’ve had my dream, I think of God, I think of the way my grandfather felt about me, and I know in my heart, not just my mind, that God feels the same way about me. This helps me have faith that he will give me good things and help me improve. My grandfather used to slip me money and do things for me, and God loves me more than he did.

On his patio, my grandfather showed me favor. I think he would have been very angry if any of the other grandchildren had carved their names into the concrete, but he didn’t just let me get away with it; he loved me for it.

In the dream, God showed me favor in the place where my grandfather, who was a figure of God to me, also showed me favor. My grandfather showed me favor even in my transgression, and so does God.

In the dream, God showed me very great favor by removing me from the presence of the rotten human race and all the rotten spirits that conspire with people against God and his favorites.

III

In the third part of the dream, I woke up in a shabby hospital bed in a poor country, wearing clothes someone had put on me. I had been found somewhere, and the people found me unconscious and took me to the hospital because they didn’t know why I was there or what I had come for.

Several young schoolgirls stood at the foot of my bed and stared at me in wonder. A doctor came in to check on me, and I asked him, “Who am I?” I knew, but I wondered if he did.

I think this is about the return to Earth, after the wedding in heaven. We are told we will have to rule here under Yeshua.

When we rule, it will have to be by consent of the ruled. Otherwise, Yeshua will have to destroy them. We will rule because of our identity, not our own righteousness or ability. We will rule by heredity, because we will be kings and queens, not presidents and governors. That means our authority will depend on who we are, and if people consent to be ruled, it will be because they recognize us as members of God’s ruling family.

The other day, God told me something interesting. I already knew he hated democracy, which is an invention of pagans and sexual perverts, but I didn’t realise this: it is only because of the privileges of monarchy that he will be able to return to Earth, take it back, and rule.

If King Yeshua were President Yeshua, he could be voted out permanently. He would have no title. He would be like a tenant, and the Bible shows us owners are better than tenants. If he were voted out, he could never return except as an illegitimate conqueror, usurper, and squatter.

Because Yeshua is a king, his title is eternal. He can’t be voted out. His title can’t be taken away. He can consent for his enemies to occupy his land for a while, but he has the right to return, kill them in spite of whatever improvements they have made, cut off their children’s inheritance, and give the inheritance to Christians.

This is why Israel will never belong to anyone but the Jews.

Yeshua is the king of the Jews, and Israel (not just modern Israel) was given to him and to them by Yahweh, through Abraham. Palestinian savages who are worse than Nazis can cause trouble, and they will eventually overrun Israel in a nationwide campaign of rape, theft, destruction, and murder just like October 7, but in the end, a remnant of the Jews will be preserved, their enemies will be slaughtered by God himself, and the land will be returned to them.

We know from the Bible that Israel’s history of victory will be broken soon, and human animals will invade and have their way, but even if millions are murdered, in the end, Israel will exist, Jews will own it, Yeshua will be on the throne, and his kingdom, which is a continuation of the Davidic dynasty, will be restored.

Thinking about my dream makes me feel loved and comforted. I am not a Catholic or Baptist or Muslim, trying to score points and earn a ticket to God’s presence or heaven. I am a son and heir whom God loves based on my identity. God is willing to give me good things I ask for, just as my grandfather was happy to slip me a 50-dollar bill.

Favor is nothing to be proud of, because pride is always wrong, and it’s nothing to show off, but it’s something to tell the world about. By telling the world, we dispel the myths that keep people in self-condemnation and pride and block their blessings.

I believe being favored by God allows me to help others. When Job’s friends made errors in trying to correct him, God said Job would intercede for them. He was more inclined to listen to his favored one than to ignorant people who wronged him, even if they meant well.

I believe this is a pivotal moment in my life and for my family.

One Day it Will be for Real

I had a wonderful dream last night, or maybe it was three consecutive dreams.

I

I was back at Trinity Church in Miami. I served there as an armorbearer. We had three armorbearer leaders during my time. In the dream, the second guy was about to start a church of his own.

There were chairs set up in a small area, and he was about to speak about his plans. Several people were there, getting ready to sit. Trinity’s pastor, Rich Wilkerson, was one of them. That’s odd, because as far as I can tell, he never supports new ministries he doesn’t control and make money from.

In a dream I had long ago, he appeared as an evil force. I was at a different church by then. In the dream, it was night. The church was dark. I went in, and in a room in the back, with no windows, Wilkerson was sitting at a desk under a lamp, in a little cone of light, hiding. He was running an adding machine and counting money. I took that to mean the church’s pastors had greed issues, and that turned out to be true. Then one was outed as a child rapist, refused to step down, and went to prison.

The guy who was about to speak is a friend, but I wouldn’t want to see him run a church. He is headstrong, and he thinks he knows more than he does. He likes attention and admiration. He likes to be in charge. Basically a good guy, but not pastor material.

I left the room and went outside.

II

Once I was outside, I was not in Miami. I was behind my grandparent’s house in Kentucky. I loved that place when I was a kid. I thought it was heaven. I was my grandfather’s favorite grandchild. My grandparents treated me very well. They treated me like a son. Even as an adult, I could show up at their house whenever I wanted and treat it as my own.

The house had a small patio out back, and one day (not in the dream), my grandfather had it extended. I was probably about 8. When I saw the wet cement, I wrote my name in it with a slingshot handle.

I was told I was in big trouble. I was going to get it when Grandpa got home.

When he saw what I had done, he put me on his lap, and with a big smile, he told me one day I could show my own children what I had done. He thought it was terrific.

In the dream, I was on that patio, which I will never see again, for one last visit. It was dark. It was cool. I was wearing a winter jacket.

I looked at the sky. It was mainly clear with some clouds that shimmered around their borders. There was bright moonlight but no moon. Near where the moon should have been, I saw what looked like a little ship flying around. It was just an outline, like the little ships in the old Asteroids video game. I knew I was seeing something involving spirits. I have seen a spirit clearly, and it was clear with an outline.

At first, I saw one ship. Then I saw that there were two, and they were diamond-shaped. They were circling without changing their altitude. I knew something very important was happening.

My strength left me. I could not move. I lay on the concrete on my stomach. While I was lying there, two angels I couldn’t see lifted me up without changing my position, and we started to rise together.

I knew it was the rapture. I can’t explain how glad I was. I was done with this place. At last. Sometimes it seems like this experience will never end, and in the dream, it was over. Suddenly.

I believe I thought about my wife and son. They weren’t nearby. I believe I thought they were being raptured wherever they were and that we would meet shortly.

III

I woke up in a hospital bed. It was a cheap single bed with a white metal frame. I was in a hospital in a poor country, and they used whatever they could afford.

There was no sheet over me. I was wearing a T-shirt and gym shorts which didn’t seem to belong to me. I got the sense that I had been found somewhere, brought to the hospital, and examined. I was fine.

At the foot of the bed, there were about 5 little girls. I would say they were around 10 years old. They looked a lot like upper-class Indians. They weren’t wearing typical Indian clothes, but they looked like light-skinned Indians. They were carrying schoolbooks as though they had just been walking home from school. They were curious about me.

A doctor in a white coat came in. He also looked like an upper-class Indian. He was there to see how I was doing. I guessed he had been treating me.

For some reason, I said, “Who am I?” It was as if I wanted to find out what he knew about me.

I don’t remember anything that happened in the dream after that.

I woke up full of joy. Even though I had not been raptured, the joy of being lifted up to heaven and dropping all my earthly problems stayed with me for a long time. I feel it now as I type this.

I have died in dreams, and I have been raptured in dreams.

From dying, I know I’m not afraid of it. When I died in dreams, I really believed it was happening, so I know how I’ll react when my time comes.

If I were in a plane right now, and I knew it was going to hit the ground and kill me, I would not feel afraid. I would have an overwhelming sense of the gravity of the situation. I would feel very solemn. I would try to pray to make sure there was nothing to keep me out of heaven. I would be full of excitement, thinking about the fact that I was about to be in heaven with Yeshua. I would be glad my tour of duty here was over. I would look forward to having my curiosity about Yeshua and the afterlife answered.

Being raptured feels very similar.

When I say I’m not afraid of dying, I don’t mean I’m not afraid of what it takes to get there. I don’t want pain or mutilation. I don’t want to be burned. I’m just saying I’m not afraid to see this life end. In my dreams, I found myself in situations where I knew there was no hope of survival, and my end would be quick and painless. If I had been thrown into a tank full of hungry sharks, it would have been different.

I hope I have more dreams like this. I wish I knew how to make myself have more of them. Just thinking about them makes me feel great.

Why are Man Tools Always Better Than Girl Tools?

I’m sitting here today, wondering if I’m stupid.

Something like 18 years ago, I bought a Ridgid shop vac. It looks like it has leprosy. The surface of the plastic case is badly faded. I don’t know what caused this. Apparently, this particular plastic fades with time, and the texture roughens.

This is the only thing wrong with it.

I have used it on machining chips, all sorts of metal debris, sawdust, wood chips, leaves, dirt, bugs, and wet spills. I have used it as a spot cleaner on furniture, wetting the fabric with window cleaner and then sucking it out. I have failed to clean the filter for years on end. Nothing bothers it.

It is reasonable to expect this vacuum to continue working for at least another 30 years without repairs.

You can buy a similar Ridgid for under $130.

Move forward to September of 2022.

I thought I should man up, spend serious money, and get a real house vacuum cleaner. I already had an Electrolux, and it was okay, but the cord rewind mechanism was broken, somehow the main floor attachment had gotten lost, and it was a canister vacuum I had to drag around. I wanted an upright.

The Electrolux had its good points. It was very quiet. It was light. It seemed to do an okay job. But I had to drag it, and Electrolux is extremely feeble when it comes to parts. I had to buy a Chinese floor attachment. Electrolux discontinued the cord retractor, which is a part that fails frequently.

I bought a Shark upright for the low, low sale price of $429.

How can a vacuum cleaner cost $429? That’s a great question. A motor and a cheap body, all made in Asia. You can get a canister vacuum from another respected manufacturer for around $120, so what’s up with Shark?

It’s supposed to have unusually powerful suction. I’ll give it that. It does. Other than that, it’s just bells and whistles, like the motor that speeds up when the vacuum sees more dirt in front of it. Personally, I want my vacuum to run fast all the time. I am offended by products that charge me extra to save energy, unless they save me serious money.

Do you hate it when your TV turns itself off when you leave the room? Me, too.

Like just about everything these days, the Shark came with a proprietary part which has to be replaced regularly. It’s a fragrance cartridge. You put it in the base, and until it runs out of irritating chemicals, it makes your house smell like the perfume counter at Target. Shark charges $13 each, and you have to buy two at a time. Market price for knockoffs: two dollars and change.

The only reason I keep the original cartridge in my machine is to block the hole it fits in. I’m afraid leaving it open will kill the suction. I don’t care about running out of perfume.

I also have a Shark cordless upright, which I will defend. It works very well for what it is, and it’s convenient. It’s no match for a powerful vacuum, but it handles most types of dirt with acceptable success.

The Sharks work pretty well. The corded job sucks like crazy, and the cordless one is probably stronger than my Electrolux. They both choke on anything bigger than 3/4″, though, and wet spills will ruin them.

When a Shark chokes, you have to take the filthy floor part apart. Lovely experience.

Move forward to 2025.

Louis Rossmann is one of my favorite Youtubers. He runs a big electronics repair business in Texas. He used to operate in New York City, but he left because he couldn’t take it any more. New York treats business owners like criminals.

Now that I think about it, it treats criminals like business owners.

Rossmann is big in the right-to-repair movement. He got his start while servicing Apple products.

Apple is one of the most ruthless, immoral, greedy, dishonest companies on Earth. Apple will not give repairmen schematics and OEM parts, and it cheats customers who need repairs.

Apple has a history of cheating us silly, not just with inflated initial costs, but with dishonest repair bills. If you take your Apple product to an Apple repair center with a problem that can be fixed with a cheap part or a cleaning, there is a good chance they will lie to you and tell you to buy a new product.

Forcing people to buy new products is not a small wrong. It’s a big deal when a repair that should cost $35 turns into a $1500 purchase. We’re not all as rich as Tim Cook.

Rossmann saw the replacement swindle more than once, and he was frustrated because he had to find technical documents through back channels. He also had to buy real Apple parts this way, and he had to use questionable aftermarket parts in some repairs.

Now he puts out video after video about RTR, and he goes after companies other than Apple. One of his big beefs right now concerns unwanted ads. Example: Samsung just started forcing refrigerator owners to put up with ads on their fridge doors. They bought the fridges with no ads, Samsung updated the software without consulting them, and now they get annoying commercials while trying to get bologna for sandwiches.

He’s mad at Shark right now because a customer needed new wheels for a 6-month-old machine, and Shark construed its own warranty, which they try to tell us is generous, to exclude just about everything except the motor.

In a recent video, Rossman told the world about his home vacuum: a Ridgid shop vac.

It’s cheap. It’s powerful. You can get attachments to make it work indoors like a home vacuum. It can suck up just about anything, wet or dry. It has a huge capacity.

Need a part? Ridgid will sell it to you. They have a big selection of parts on their site, and Home Depot stocks a lot of parts.

I ruled out shop vacs for indoor use a long time ago, assuming they had to be unsuitable. I guess I was wrong.

Watching Rossman, I tried to rationalize my spending. I thought, “Well, it won’t work on floors. The primitive floor things on my two shop vacs are made for things like garages.” No; you can buy a floor attachment which will actually work. It’s simple and cheap, and it won’t give you a pretty LED light show, but it does work.

I kept trying to defend my expenditures. I said, “It won’t filter the air nearly as well as a Shark. It has no HEPA filter.”

There are problems with that notion.

1. Houses and buildings used to get very clean without HEPA filters. I think the initialism “HEPA” is just a tool to make you feel bad about not spending more money, unless you have some kind of freak allergy. You probably shouldn’t breathe dust while sanding drywall, but the stuff that collects on your exercise bike will not send you to the ER.

2. Ridgid sells HEPA filters for their vacuums.

The video made me think about wet spills.

I have a baby. He poops. He throws up. He spills stuff. My $429 Shark will not help me with any of that.

I have two Rug Doctor shampoo machines. I have the big one for floors and the little one for furniture and stairs. I got them years ago when I was looking after my dad. He spilled stuff. I guess I have $350 invested in these machines.

If I wanted to, I could spray cleaning solution on big carpet spills, suck it out with a Ridgid, and get things just as clean as the Rug Doctors would. I could do this for furniture and stairs, too.

Using a Rug Doctor is unpleasant. You have to fill a clean-fluid tank and then remove and clean out a dirty-fluid tank. Your hands get involved with the filth way too much. With a shop vac, you just carry it outside, pull the lid, dump the water, and put the lid back on.

Here is the thought rolling around in my head: while the big Rug Doctor is superior for shampooing wall-to-wall carpet, a shop vac is better for every other kind of spill.

If I cared enough, I could use a pump sprayer to apply fluid to rugs and then suck it out with a shop vac. Something to consider.

You can’t clean a dirty carpet with a Rug Doctor until you vacuum it. I know this, because I had to take a Rug Doctor apart to remove dog hair after a friend abused it. A shop vac loves dog hair. And nails. And rocks.

The big Rug Doctor is designed to break down. It uses a water pump to shoot cleaning solution onto rugs. The pump is not designed to resist corrosion well. Every so often, the pumps quit, and they have to be replaced. This is a nightmare job. I did it recently.

The little Rug Doctor probably has the same problem. I am waiting for it. If it happens, I’ll probably take it to the dump.

It appears to be a machine with no legimitate reason to exist.

I don’t think a Ridgid cordless can replace a Shark cordless. I have a really good Ridgid cordless I got for sucking goo out of air conditioners. You have to carry it like a suitcase. The suction doesn’t seem all that impressive. Maybe I’m wrong, though.

Shop vacs are incredibly loud, so that’s a problem, but it’s nothing earmuffs can’t fix.

It looks like I spent hundreds of dollars buying myself unnecessary problems. Something to think about for the future.

MORE

I checked, and it appears the Ridgid WD0319 cordless shop vac sucks considerably harder than a cordless Shark Stratos and runs a lot longer on one charge. It lacks motorized rollers and so on, however, and the Shark may seal to rugs better.

I doubt the business about the Shark sealing better, since you can get a rug attachment for a Ridgid.

Your Typical American Way of Life is Destroying You

The reason we should have continued the unconstitutional banning of open carry in Florida is that we knew that if the ban were dropped, there would be chaos in the streets caused by people carrying guns openly and legally.

This is what millions of leftists told us, including leftists in open-carry states like Washington, Wisconsin, and Oregon, where no such chaos has ever developed.

It has been over two weeks since the first police departments stopped enforcing the carry ban, and here’s a comprehensive list of all the shocking incidents in which nuts used open carry to create public disturbances:

In case you weren’t paying attention, here is the list again:

Even I was overly pessimistic. I figured surely I would see a few patriots carrying openly during the first days of carry freedom, but it didn’t happen.

On the down side, the most combative, irritable element of the 2A population segment is now insisting open carry is now legal in Florida’s “prohibited places,” meaning schools, courthouses and so on.

They have a point. The law listing these places expressly refers to concealed carry permit holders, and it doesn’t even say there is a ban. It says the law doesn’t allow permit holders to carry openly or concealed in these places, and that’s not the same thing as banning it.

Weirdly, the part about open carry only mentions pistols, so I guess the door is open for some brave soul to go to a police station with a rifle on a sling.

Another interesting wrinkle: federal law also creates prohibited places, and Florida can’t override the federal ban. A federal court in a different part of the country recently held that the ban in post offices was unconstitutional, but given the way federal law is changing, I doubt that will help anyone in Florida right away.

My understanding (from not reading the opinion) is that the relevant case struck down all “federal facility” bans. Does that include military bases? You have to wonder. Soldiers can’t carry guns, but I can?

The post office ban is stupid. Nobody robs post offices. Granted, given past behavior, it might be a good idea to disarm employees preemptively, but most of the rest of us have the good sense to commit our crimes in places like banks, trailer parks, and liquor stores.

Where carrying weapons is legal.

It’s also illegal to carry a gun into an Amtrak station. First of all, who goes into an Amtrak station? Second, who robs trains? Jesse James is dead, people. “Hands up! Give me all your stale, half-eaten dinner rolls and empty Dasani bottles!”

Here’s a great law: although you can wander around in a national park armed (because many people find guns helpful when hunting) if you have to relieve yourself, you have to go behind a tree, because going into a mens’ room with a gun is a felony.

You can always leave your gun outside and hope kids don’t pick it up.

Squat on footpath so people step in it: model citizen. Sit on toilet behind locked door: felony.

All federal buildings in national parks are off-limits. I guess a lot of thought went into that law.

It’s like they just said, “We’re still stinging from the passage of the Bill of Rights, and here’s a chance to get even!”

In news which is less irrelevant to me, I keep getting wonderful revelation.

God has been teaching me a lot about holiness. I believe that most people think “holiness” means standing around with a stupid grin on your face, holding two fingers in the air and glowing like a giant lightning bug. Believe it or not, that is wrong. It just means a state of separation and dedication to God. It means you reject the world’s culture and adopt the culture of heaven, because you choose to belong to God’s family.

I used to have the feeling that holiness meant giving up everything that is enjoyable for the purpose of scoring points to get me into heaven. That is not correct, either.

Holiness removes evil spirits and curses from your life, reducing your problems and your suffering. It brings you closer to God and other Christians, increasing your blessings and making you safer.

Satan has salted our culture with poison to make us weak and corrupt and open holes so demons can enter us.

Secular entertainment, including sports, is a real problem. Even seemingly-innocent shows and songs lead to captivity. Entertainment teaches us that fornication, which God says is abomination, is fine. It tells us normal people don’t pray or acknowledge Yeshua during their daily lives. It endorses perversion and cruelty. It glamorizes violence. It promotes drug use, including the use of steroids. Those big, buff actors you’re used to seeing, who used to look like Rob Schneider, didn’t get that way from eating chicken, broccoli, and rice for two months. Wake up.

Dwayne Johnson is on steroids. Face it. Well, he was. Now he’s down about 50 pounds. He reached the age where his doctor told him to knock it off, but he continues to lie and say he didn’t take anything. He has blocked arteries, and steroids cause that.

Shia Leboeuf admits he used steroids; he went from 165 to 220 to 165. Alan Ritchson uses drugs. All sorts of movie henchmen and goons use steroids.

Arnold Schwarzenegger. Dolph Lundgren. Mickey Rourke. Dave Bautista. Even Charlie Sheen and Suzanne Somers used PED’s.

Hugh Jackman definitely used drugs to play Wolverine. He looked better at 55 than anyone reading this blog will ever look at 30 with the best regimen imaginable and no drugs.

People are calling the Rock “the pebble” now. He looks thin, like the new, de-juiced Dave Bautista. He claims he lost weight to play a role, but he’s not going to bulk up again, unless he does it briefly to “debunk” the steroid stories. He’s not going back to long-term juicing, because it could kill him.

Even reality-TV (oxymoron) personalities use drugs. Celebrity chef Robert Irvine’s biceps suddenly fell off a year or two ago. Seems like the late fifties are the magical years when every user’s doctor sits him down.

Actors are telling our kids they can have superhuman physiques by eating chicken and exercising a lot. Then kids find out it’s not true, and while they’re at the gym, they start talking to other kids who look like Ronnie Coleman, and then they start taking drugs.

Entertainment promotes torture. It really does. Goody-goody Tom Hanks tortured a suspect in a lame cop movie. Arnold Schwarzenegger tortured people. Kiefer Sutherland. Josh Brolin. Benicio del Toro. Kathleen Turner. Tommy Lee Jones. Lots of movies and shows feature torture scenes, and we’re supposed to feel good about it because it’s the good guys doing the torturing. The movies make torture, which should turn our stomachs and give us nightmares, satisfying. Just like Stanley Kubrick made rape seem funny and sexy.

Liberal actors are the best gun salesmen there are, after Barack Obama. We watch movies and then go to gun stores and buy the guns the actors held. We even buy stupid guns like the obsolete rifle Tom Selleck used in Quigley Down Under, a movie which sounds like it was named after a disease.

We decorate our guns with a skull logo that was used in Punisher movies. We buy “tactical” clothes actors wear, and we wear them to gun ranges.

You can buy a bobbed lever-action rifle like the one John Wayne used. Wayne was a draft-dodger real soldiers booed during World War II, and he never saved a town from a brutal rancher, but we still like that Italian-made tribute rifle.

It’s a third-rate weapon. Low capacity, low velocity, relatively inaccurate, and slow to cycle. Doesn’t matter.

Sensible gun owners use guns to hunt and to defend life. They teach others to be responsible and humane. Gun owners under the influence of Hollywood are participating in a dangerous form of demon cosplay. They secretly hope for a chance to put their toys and skills to the test on human beings.

Name something bad. Entertainment promotes it successfully. Witchcraft. Socialism. Feminism. Stealing. The murder of the unborn.

PG-rated entertainment and even news sites are gateways to porn compulsions. I could go on about other things entertainment leads to, and I have, in other posts.

Holiness also means dropping people who pull you away from God.

The word says we should not be unequally yoked. People think this is just about marriage. It’s not. It’s about everything. Friendship. Business. Everything.

A friend of mine started a business with some nominal Christians who were, frankly, creeps. I knew it was a bad idea. He thought it would make him rich. He made excuses for them. He gave the business a name that made it sound like it had something to do with God.

His partners undermined him. They let employees walk on him. They overruled his good ideas. They pretty much killed the business. They finally drove him out. He had wasted years of his life.

Now he’s trying his hand at construction, which is something he knew nothing about three years ago. He had a nominal-Christian buddy who was going to teach him everything.

The buddy connected him with irresponsible trash typical of the subcontractor breed. He let him get into pickles that caused great expense and delay. A house that was supposed to be built in a few months is now in its third year, and it’s a mess. I don’t think anyone will buy it unless they want to raze it and use the lot. He should have built and sold several houses by now. He hasn’t seen a dollar in profit.

Say you take three years to build a house, you spend $100,000, and your profit is $150,000. Sounds like you won, but you were supposed to build 5 houses during that time and make $1,000,000 in profit.

When I worked with unbelievers and nominal Christians, they sabotaged and blackballed me right and left. My dad’s partner cheated me. His other partner got us to buy a new building and then got suspended for doing drugs and sleeping with strippers. My first boss in the field of law tried to cheat me and then broke his promise to give me a permanent job. A friend he recommended me to cheated me. When I was a writer, editors gave other people things they promised me. My own family cheats me on my inheritance.

I even got demoted while working in a bar, so a thief could take my place.

When you work with dark-siders, they abuse you, and they also pressure you to do things the devil’s way. You shouldn’t get involved with them in the first place.

If you’re letting demons in with things that seem innocent, it will lead to bondages that clearly are not innocent. Netflix will lead to porn and fornication. News sites can lead to rage. Satan’s kingdom is like a nail. If you let the small, sharp end in, the big fat end will follow.

Demons don’t just do one thing. A spirit that causes anger may also cause health problems. A spirit of pornography may curse your finances. Procrastination can cause high blood pressure because of stress. You won’t necessarily know which ungodly behaviors cause which problems.

Demons are like squatters. Have you noticed how squatters behave? They’re under the influence of demons. They don’t just occupy homes. They tear them up, for no reason. They rip out walls and break windows, even though they live in the houses. To a demon, your body is a house that belongs to someone else.

If you give up evil people and secular entertainment (including sports), and you minimize your exposure to the news, you and your family will be safe. Fewer demons will be able to get at you. Your exposure to troublesome people will be diminished. God will be closer to you. Things will get better, even as they get worse for others.

This is what holiness really means.

This should be obvious, but preachers don’t teach it. Most of them just want your money or a nice secure job. They don’t receive revelation. No one taught them, either. I had to learn these things directly from God because preachers were nothing but parasites to me.

My involvement with preachers was unequal yoking. Think about that. The thing that was supposed to help me.

No wonder God hates bad preachers so much.

My son will hear good things from me. I will introduce him to the Holy Spirit, and after that, if my son chooses, the Holy Spirit will finish teaching him and correct mistakes I’ve made.

This will be helpful to you if you give it a try. I’ve put it out there. I can’t do much more.

How Can This be a Good Deal for God?

I had a disturbing revelation during the night.

I often wake up at night and spend hours praying. I can’t get back to sleep. God confronts me with things about myself that need to be corrected. Sometimes it’s very unpleasant, but I look forward to it, because I want to be right. That’s just common sense. No one wants to continue being wrong and causing problems for himself and others.

Well. Many people do, actually. Most, I suppose.

Last night, I thought about the blood of Yeshua.

I have the cutest baby son you could ever hope to meet. He is funny. He adores his parents. He loves being hugged and played with. He puts his lips on us and makes hilarious noises. He tries to be a good boy; we can tell by watching him.

A large amount of our time is devoted to showing him love. He gets squeezed and kissed all day. I don’t know how we could love him more. The thought of anything bad happening to him is unbearable to me.

Abraham loved his son, too, and like me, he waited a long time for him. His rebellious wife was disobedient to God and persuaded him to have a troublesome son by a concubine, but the son of promise came later.

God told him to hold his beautiful, cherished son down, slit his throat, and watch him die. Abraham tried to do it, although his heart must have been bursting inside him.

Yahweh went farther than Abraham.

He had one son. Only one. He was perfect. He was full of love. He adored his father. He loved his earthly father. He was completely innocent, even in his thirties. Then God had him tortured to death, slowly, so his blood could be used to wash his enemies.

God loved his enemies–us–so much, he put himself and his son through that.

I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t cut the tip of my son’s finger. I would much rather cut myself. If he were killed, and someone collected his blood, I wouldn’t be able to stand the sight of it. I would want to die.

Here I am, however, continually claiming to be washed in the blood of God’s son, whom God loves more than I love mine.

That is really something. It shows what a serious thing it is when we claim the blood. It also shows how precious it is. We should never speak about it carelessly. It’s a person’s blood, taken by violence for which we are responsible, provided to us by that person’s adoring father.

I kept hearing a phrase during the night: “I am expensive.”

That is putting it very mildly. Imagine how expensive I am, if God traded the life, flesh, and blood of his only son so he could have me. It’s incomprehensible.

God calls his human children a pearl of great price, worth everything he has. He is serious. He paid all he had.

You can be expensive, too, if you want.

In other news, I am done with The Last Reformation. It seems to have deteriorated consistently over the last few years. It’s all Torben this and TLR doctrine that. It’s not what it used to be.

If you look at TLR’s video history, you will see that they used to heal and baptize people. Now, the focus has shifted. “Go on trips with us.” Explanations of doctrine that may be flawed. Complaints about Torben’s enemies and his imprisonment and deportation.

Here’s something important to know: anyone who lacks current testimony and revelation is having problems in his relationship with God. God never stops teaching us and doing remarkable things in our lives.

A lack of testimony is one of the hallmarks of a dead ministry. When you go to a typical church, the preacher gives testimony, but it’s not his. It may be the testimony of people he read about recently. It may be made-up testimony other preachers have been passing around, not knowing it’s fiction. In what may be the worst cases, it may be the testimony of people who lived 2,000 years ago.

Properly, “testimony” means “eyewitness testimony.” If you share your buddy’s testimony, it’s hearsay. It wouldn’t be admissible in a court of law. You’re not a witness. You’re just someone who heard a story.

TLR’s videos used to be full of evidence of the activity of God. Healing and deliverance, mainly. This isn’t true any more. It’s mostly talk, advertising, and teaching of questionable value.

I’ve been to TLR events in St. Petersburg, Raleigh, and Tennessee. I didn’t drive long distances so I could see Torben Sondergaard or learn how to use TLR’s special salvation cards. I didn’t make those trips so I could join their school and live in a dormitory with strangers, as though I were a child in boarding school. I wanted to get closer to God and have him move through me, and I thought they could help.

I met some nice people through TLR, but they were not insiders. I did not see any extraordinary healings. I participated in one deliverance. I had some useful experiences. But the ministry got stuck in a rut, and it is still there.

This is typical of my experience. I find a ministry I like. I involve myself to some extent. I get some good things out of it. I notice that the people who are heavily involved seem to be less blessed than I am, and that they are bogged down in their walks. No one listens when I try to help. I am seen as a problem. The ministry deteriorates. I let it go and move on.

This must be why God doesn’t send me to church. Churches are invariably run by preachers who know less about God than I do and who expect me to regress back to their levels. They can’t tolerate any revelation that didn’t come through them or their revered mentors and forebears. Revelation can’t come through nobodies like me; it has to come through people they know or who were powerful in their denominations. My job is to shut up and accept false correction, and I’m supposed to repent and apologize for actual revelation. Who am I to contradict a guy who has a jet, or even a guy who hangs around with a more successful guy who has a jet?

I’ll say it again: if God speaks to everyone in a church, which is what’s supposed to happen, Satan can’t do much to ruin things. He is weak and limited, so he can’t go after hundreds of Spirit-informed people simultaneously with any chance of success. In a personality cult, which means nearly any church, all he has to do is corrupt the pastor, and then the pastor corrupts everyone else, which is easy, because he hasn’t introduced them to the Holy Spirit. Instead, he introduced them to himself; an ambitious guy who likes telling others what to do.

Who did Satan use most effectively to keep ancient Jews from recognizing Yeshua and becoming blessed and saved? Whores and pagans? No! Priests and scribes. Satan won them over, and they corrupted Jews who thought they spoke for God, and that was the majority.

“I’ve been on 10 trips with Daniel Kolenda.” “I carried Kenneth Hagin’s briefcase.” People attach themselves to preachers and brag about how close they are or were. Many Christians feel that if they know famous preachers personally, they are somehow endowed with the authority and righteousness of Yeshua, even if they have never met him.

Satan wants us to worship preachers because it makes his operation work much more efficiently. He has used preacher-worship in his successful campaign to cripple the body of Christ.

Satan can’t corrupt the Holy Spirit, so if you spend sufficient time with the Holy Spirit every day, Satan can’t destroy you the way he has destroyed most self-described Christians.

I have probably spent a grand total of 45 seconds speaking to Torben Sondergaard at his events. I never had any interest in chasing him around to get his approval. I want people to bring me closer to God, not the other way around. Also, I don’t want to be a typical Jesus-buff pastor-pest. I don’t want to be the guy who stomps past people who are in need of help so I can tell the pastor how wonderful he is and get his approval.

A long time ago, I thought Robert Morris knew a few things, so we had a brief email correspondence. I wanted to learn more. I ended up asking him about a claim he had made that appeared to be wrong, and that was the last I heard from him. Now look what has happened to him. Where would I be if I had made him my guru?

He truly was wrong, by the way, and he should have known it. I think I still have his DVD’s, which I should really throw out.

I must have stirred up his pride, and proud preachers are to be avoided.

I liked Perry Stone because God showed him a lot of things. I never thought he was the new messiah, however. He ended up causing a sex scandal which, due to his dishonest denials and slanderous accusations, damaged his credibility forever.

I never spent significant time carrying anyone’s briefcase, doing his laundry, or helping set up his tent in Africa. I want to hear from God, not preachers.

I like T.B. Joshua, who died in 2021. I like Mark Hemans. I find the BBC’s accusations regarding Joshua to be transparent, debunked, intentional slanders. I haven’t heard anything bad about Hemans. Nonetheless, I don’t assume everything they said or say is correct.

The only problem I have with Joshua is that he had long conversations with people he was delivering. He asked demons all sorts of questions. “What did you do to this woman?” “Why did you do it?” Why would anyone give a platform to a demon? They lie. A demon might be lucky to lie to a thousand people through a person he controls, but put him in front of a popular minister whose videos go all over the world, and he can reach millions.

I believe Hemans gets a little chatty, too.

Here’s a wild proposition: we’re not supposed to let demons teach. Prove me wrong.

On a related note, the rapture has not come, unless I’m such a bad Christian I was rejected.

I saw a lady in a video, claiming her autistic son told her it would happen in September of 2025. She says he told her several true things no human being could know. Christians, who rarely investigate anything, got excited.

It’s the first of October.

Autism is often or perhaps always caused by demons, so this lady was getting supernatural information from a person who was in the grip of evil spirits. And she believed him, and other Christians believed her. That’s weird.

He communicates using a letter board, which is basically a secular Ouija board. It’s supposed to be a spiritually-neutral tool, but there is no reason a demon can’t use it just like a Ouija board.

She may have been making the whole thing up, though. People are contemptible and capable of anything, or, as my mom used to say, “People are no damn good.”

I am going to try to take the blood of Yeshua much more seriously. I already knew what God told me about it, but a revelation from God is somehow much more deeply convincing than common sense or a verse in the Bible.

I hear the baby making flatulence noises and squeaks of joy. I better go love him for a minute.

If You Find This Post Distressing, Blame the Jews

If the rapture doesn’t come soon, I don’t know how Christians will be able to stand living in this world.

Conservatives and Christians are now spewing lies about the Charlie Kirk assassination. Nominal Christians, anyway. No one who listens to the Holy Spirit is fooled by kooky conspiracy theories.

The thing about this that irks me the most is seeing people praise the liars while claiming God’s authority. God didn’t tell you to agree with demonized nuts who say Israel, the FBI, Charlie Kirk’s bodyguards, or anyone other than a Mormon homosexual named Tyler Robinson shot Charlie Kirk.

The chaos is amazing. How are you going to know who to point your AR-15 with Punisher skulls on the magazine at if you can’t even agree on a scapegoat? Are you going to shoot Netanyahu? Are you going to shoot Kash Patel? Figure it out. You’re bringing shame on nutcases everywhere.

I just saw a video by a conservative gun enthusiast. The kind of person who, one would guess, thinks he and his militia buddies are going to fix America for Christ. He and his followers are suggesting the assassination was an inside job because–get this–it looks like some of the bodyguards were wearing AI glasses.

Well. If that’s not proof, I don’t know what is.

They’re saying the people around Kirk were laughing after he got shot. One says Kirk was waving his arm, trying to run things. Another says nobody put pressure on the wound.

Charlie Kirk was shot with a .30-06. The cowardly liberal pervert who shot him used a rifle his grandfather used on deer. The .30-06 is a very powerful round. It’s supposed to blow flesh apart permanently on its way through bodies, causing so much blood loss or other damage the victim is incapacitated as soon as possible.

A hunting round from a .30-06 doesn’t just pass through flesh, leaving a long, thin hole. It tears things up. Hunting rounds are made to expand and/or break up. They’re made to be destructive.

Kirk was shot in the neck, which contains things like the spinal column, spinal cord, jugular veins, trachea, and carotid arteries. These are things we need in order to remain alive and conscious. When the bullet hit him, the flesh around it blew outward around the axis of travel, ripping things up and sending hydrostatic shock into every part of his neck.

He was almost certainly dead as soon as he was struck. They rushed him to a hospital because that’s what you do when someone is shot. They didn’t think he was going to make it. He wasn’t conscious and giving them guidance.

If they didn’t put pressure on the wound, which probably is not true, it would likely indicate they could see he was dead. I’ve seen the footage that supposedly proves there was no pressure, and it is completely impossible to tell whether pressure was applied.

I can’t figure out why anyone would think AI glasses were somehow evidence that Kirk’s team wanted him dead. I’m also amazed that anyone over the age of three seriously thinks these people would have him shot from over a hundred yards, with a cheap surplus rifle with a badly-mounted scope.

The shooter nearly missed. He wasn’t shooting for the side of Kirk’s neck. He was shooting at the center of his chest. No serious assassin takes a risky shot when he can take an easier one. Lying in a prone position, which is the best way to shoot, with plenty of time, Tyler Robinson hit Kirk about 10″ from his most likely point of aim.

The gun used was a poverty gun. Military surplus, made by unmotivated Russian Communists. The scope was mounted badly. It belonged to the killer’s grandfather, who probably paid under a hundred dollars for it before adding a scope and synthetic stock. It was probably something like a 7-MOA gun, meaning it could be counted on to shoot groups about 7″ wide at 100 yards, so more like 10″ at the range at which Kirk was shot. It was not a skilled assassin’s weapon of choice. A $500 AR-15 would have been a lot better.

Check out the deranged comments.

They wanted Charlie dead. He was reaching the youth. He changed people’s hearts and minds. He was a threat to the shadow government!

At this point it is completely obvious that this wasn’t just an assassination, but a professional hit job.

This whole situation smells like a CIA hit. I think the kid who supposedly shot Charlie was a scape goat.

I think he is still alive. It was a setup. Nothing is adding up.

Clear as day they weren’t helping Charlie; but they were tampering with evidence!

The fact that a head of a certain country made 2 videos, within 72 hours, denouncing any knowledge or responsibility in the situation is pretty much the biggest red flag ever!

The guys are smiling because they are activating a secret trapdoor that was under his chair. That blood looked like it was a movie prop burst. I have had a suspicion that he’s alive and that was a dummy that was switched when the security is over him. They handed off a key to that door. Why else are they pouring concrete all around the spot? Israel wanted him dead and so he had to die before they actually killed him.

I rebuke these lies and bind these people to come out with the whole truth.

This assassination is one of the clearest-cut cases of leftist-pervert gun-barrel activism in history. The killer confessed to more than one person. He confessed in writing. His own parents turned him in. He was captured by multiple security cameras. We have the gun. We have the bullet. His dress-wearing XY girlfriend is cooperating with the police.

Even if he had walked up to Kirk in front of the crowd and killed him with a hatchet to the forehead, the demon whisperers would still be spouting their theories.

I want OUT of this place. It was bad enough when everyone on the left was insane. Now the friendlies are wigging out, and they can’t even form a consensus, so I assume they’ll be turning on each other as well as the innocent.

My own relatives have gone nuts.

I remember realizing how unhinged my aunt had become. I was in Singapore at the airport, after a fantastic vacation with my wife, waiting for a flight home. It was after midnight. My aunt called to talk about a property we own in common. I told her it wasn’t a good time because of the circumstances.

She went off on me, demanding to know who goes on vacation in November. She was furious. I couldn’t believe it.

Called me another time about family business, and I told her she needed to start selling things instead of trying to maintain a decaying real estate memorial to my long-forgotten grandparents. She had no idea I was married. Started telling me she had more stuff than I did, as though that excused incompetence. She said I had nothing but “maybe a sorry dog.”

She has apparently forgotten losing her composure and saying nutty, hostile things to me, because the other day, she sent me a text asking if I thought democracy was going to survive. As though we were on cordial terms. I politely declined to discuss it.

I don’t want her in my life as social or even business contact. She is too far gone. I don’t hold onto abusers any more. Blood isn’t really thicker than water. I dream of the day when the last bit of real estate will be sold.

Now she goes on Facebook and posts wacky memes comparing Trump to Hitler and so on.

Hitler sent special trucks around to force Jews to breathe carbon monoxide. He invaded neighboring countries and stole their treasures. He had doctors investigate the cheapest ways to castrate Jewish men and men with mental issues.

Trump is a little different. He’s working to get rid of illegal aliens, bring peace to the world, restore free speech, and make federal laws and regulations sensible. The Hitler analogy is just a bit over the top, except to crazy people who listen to demons all day.

We used to have a great relationship. We laughed and talked together. She was a junior high principal, entrusted with looking after people’s children. Then the apocalypse virus destroyed her sanity.

I have a second cousin about my aunt’s age. Nicest lady you would ever want to meet. At least in the past. Now she’s right in there with my aunt. Check out this masterpiece of delusion she posted on Facebook.

My mother loved her. My other aunts loved her. What happened to her personality? Wait. I know. The Israelis stole her brain and replaced it.

I’ve had it. I want the rapture to come before it gets worse. Maybe you know what I always say: if it’s this crazy now, what will it be like in 6 months?

Last night my wife and I were talking in our big, comfortable bed. Our beautiful, charming, intelligent baby son was lying between us. I started talking about our lives. I started asking if she could even understand how blessed we were. It is something that continually amazes me. God has been so good to us, and I am not good.

We marveled at our situation. Paired up by the Holy Spirit. In strong agreement about nearly everything. Set aside in a peaceful area dominated by conservative Christians who are patient, kind, and full of love, unlike people in Miami or the white ghetto known as Eastern Kentucky. Healthy. Blissfully unemployed. Close to God. Constantly receiving astonishing, helpful Holy Spirit revelation.

On the other hand, all over America, people are going so crazy it’s a wonder they don’t need diapers and spit masks. They are furious at each other over nothing. Leftists are so mad they are quite willing to murder us and our children in the streets, and some conservatives are no better. People live with overwhelming anger and worry, but we are insulated in our cozy little cocoon.

It’s like we’re riding a monorail through Jurassic Park at feeding time!

I don’t know how I would live if I had to be on a quarter of an acre in a blue suburb, or if I were a Jew. Jews need to wake up and move to Israel or far-right counties before it’s too late. Jew-hatred is now treated like a legitimate, acceptable political point of view. It has been mainstreamed.

Candace Owens is getting rich from Youtube, Twitter, and Instagram checks. Youtube and Instagram are run by liberals, and the guy who started Facebook, which owns Instagram, is a Jew! How weird is that?

Anyway, Charlie Kirk was murdered by a lone sodomite, so try not to get worked up by conspiracy theorists.

My Rebuttal to Dale Carnegie

I had the funniest dream last night.

I use a lot of Internet forums because I have a lot of interests. I can’t just conjure up friends and relatives who can tell me how to wire up a guitar amp tube socket or change an oil seal on a tractor axle. I have to look elsewhere.

Something about me attracts insults and abuse. Internet forums are full of jerks. Anyone who participates in a typical forum will eventually be bullied and provoked. My strategy is to try to show humility and patience from the start, and I use self-deprecating remarks to keep the jerks from waking up, but to many jerks, humility and self-deprecation are like the smell of poop to flies, so they pounce.

Eventually, if someone will not leave me alone, I will respond in kind. I am much better at this than most people, and forum moderators don’t like it. You can let a complete ass insult you over and over for weeks, and you can count on forum moderators to leave him alone, but when you get fed up and snap back with a penetrating shot from a larger caliber, you get in trouble.

These days, more and more moderators are ignorant young wokesters, so things are worse if there is any kind of conservative or Christian smell to you. It doesn’t have to be overt; a slight hint will serve just fine to get you disparate and unfair treatment.

Some old crank has been needling me on a forum for saying it’s a good thing to expose people who give consumers a raw deal. It’s like he’s a dog and the neighbor’s shar pei is in heat. He can’t move on. I responded to his obnoxious remarks civilly several times, and he can’t shut up.

I quit going to the forum, but after a week or two, I decided to visit again, and he was still at it. I told him the first of the month was coming up, so I was glad I wasn’t paying rent on his head.

Personally, I would rent a house, not an efficiency, but let’s move on.

Now some woke kid moderators are sending me email messages. I responded once, and now I just put them in the Archived folder. Maybe I’ll read them in a month or two, or maybe I’ll use other forums.

There are some seriously non-woke forums out there, so that’s nice. One example is Arborist Site, for people who need help with forestry tools. Gun forums are also pretty good. I wouldn’t go near a Christian forum, because I can’t handle the self-righteousness from people who do nothing but quote fools like Joel Osteen and T.D. Jakes. Few things are worse than being scolded by ignorant, disrespectful people.

Some people are drawn to Christianity by a desire to change and get close to God. Many more, however, are drawn by the desire to be God’s Karens and HOA presidents. Yeshua was murdered by self-promoting, self-adoring Karens.

A Youtube preacher named Tom Fischer lectured me for criticizing TV preachers and their prosperity nonsense. Well, he lives in a camper that was a gift. I am not making fun of him. Poverty is no joke. But he lives in a camper, he has had this standard of living for many years, and he essentially called me an enemy of Christ for criticizing the prosperity gospel.

He told me I had discipline coming. I was living in a nice house. I had a wonderful wife. I didn’t have to work. I lived in a fantastic area with warm, kind people. Since he gave me his warning, I have had a magnificent baby son who brightens every day of my life. Things get better all the time.

As I have told my wife, if this is discipline, I want more of it.

He has a lot of company. A lot of people have told me God was either getting me or going to get me. Most ironically, Alberto Lee Santiago, the child-rapist pastor from my last church. He told me God didn’t like what I was doing. Within a couple of years, he was put in prison, his wife (who agreed with him) died from a brain tumor before he was sentenced, and of course, he lost his church.

His brother-in-law Sander was also enraged at me, although of course, he claimed he was praying for me. Sometimes I think that’s the ultimate Christian diss.

Sander was an illegal alien; maybe he still is. He got furious at me for calling Osteen a grinning jackass, which I stand by. He got even madder when I said illegal immigration was a Biblical curse, which is a hundred percent true. When Santiago was arrested (after doing his level best to discourage the victim’s mother from forgiving him), Sander posted a meme criticizing church members for abandoning their “shepherd.”

There are a lot of things a good shepherd does with sheep. What Albert did is not one of them.

I would like to see Tom Fischer and his wife in a big, beautiful house with a pack of cute kids playing around their feet, but it looks like the prosperity gospel is keeping him where he is. It was designed by Satan to do that. It works beautifully. As Satan’s tools go, it is unsurpassed in its effectiveness.

The more you give to prosperity preachers, the less you prosper, and the less you can give to the poor. That’s the scheme, in a nutshell. In a way, it’s almost beautiful. So simple and powerful.

Fischer also lays into the Jews all the time, which is beyond disappointing.

Anyway, that’s just an example of what happens when I speak up around Christians. Religious people murdered Yeshua, and they want to get rid of everyone else who shoots down their idols and superstitions. Jewish or Christian, it’s the same kind of people.

I really hope no one hits me with “Judge not” for the rest of this year. I don’t know if I’ll be able to restrain myself. I’m going to get a shirt that says, “‘Judge not’ is not the only verse in the Bible.”

Like Yeshua and the apostles, I judge people all the time. It’s extremely helpful to me and whoever hears it. I don’t care who the person is; the other day I judged Billy Graham for saying Muhammad Ali was a follower of Jesus Christ. That was a stupid and dangerous thing to say. I don’t care how many people went to Graham’s crusades.

Billy Graham is probably close to the top of the Christian idol totem pole. He was so relentlessly inoffensive, he drew the admiration of hundreds of millions. What did Yeshua, an unpopular person, say about popularity?

If I’m willing to knock Billy Graham, you know I’m hard core.

My wife saw Graham say this, and she was mortified. We listened to him, and the impression we got was that he denied the necessity of the cross, which could mean he was not saved. Denying Yeshua is the absolute surest and quickest way to lose your salvation.

Muhammad Ali, a Muslim, named himself after a pedophile rapist gangster who was physically dirty and encouraged his followers to perform acts of terrorism against non-Muslims. Ali was no follower of Yeshua. He was an extremely ignorant man, he lived a life of defeat, and he is almost certainly in hell. Graham saw no point in correcting him. In fact, he reinforced his eternal itinerary by lying to his face. Great job, Billy.

Believe it or not, warning people about hell is important. Is it controversial to say that? Can that possibly be? Slap yourself hard in the face and think about it.

To get back to my dream, I dreamed someone emailed me a link to a new forum, and I visited it. All of the posts were reposts of things I had written on forums. All the horrible non-woke things that had sent snowflakes running for their weed stashes and power crystals.

One of the posts was very funny. The guy who created the forum was furious at me for using the phrase “crazy people.” You can’t say “crazy” any more, even if you’re describing a bona fide psychotic who has to be kept strapped to a wall.

This useful, accurate phrase is considered offensive. That’s just crazy.

God has blessed me for giving up secular entertainment. I did it earlier this year, and although my life was very good beforehand, it is much, much better now. Years ago, he blessed me for giving up social media. Now I wonder if he wants me to quit using Internet forums.

I feel like I need them for the purpose of getting information, but that may be an excuse. I also use them for socializing.

Now that AI is freely available, I have found that it’s a better source of help than Internet forums. Forum people like answering questions about which they know nothing. They also drag threads off topic. Maybe I should drop forums and stick with AI as much as I can.

Participation in the world’s culture is unequal yoking, so it has to be minimized.

Is using AI unequal yoking? I hope not. It’s pretty woke, i.e. deluded. AI bots aren’t people, though, so I treat them like the inanimate objects they are. I don’t try to get along with them. I don’t use good manners. I never joke with them. It would be like trying to befriend a shovel.

The world’s culture is a minefield. It was designed by Satan. He puts little temptation mines in TV, fiction, movies, sports, music, and the news. When you walk through it, the mines blow up under your feet. Demons get permission to enter your home and go after you and your family.

The most pleasant thing about abandoning secular entertainment is that it put an end to my lust issues. I didn’t realize it, but websites that don’t seem sex-related have little bits of erotic content in them designed to pull you further astray, and it works. News sites are full of erotic clickbait about whorish female celebrities. This one or that one shocked the crowd at Sundance by going to a viewing naked! This one has an incredible “bikini bod” at 57! That one wore a CHEEKY dress to the Golden Globes! It’s all over sites like The Daily Mail and Yahoo News.

I don’t need to see professional sluts all day. Sorry; that’s what they are. I wouldn’t let them be part of my social circle or walk onto my property, so why read about them on the Internet?

I didn’t realize reading the news or watching shows like Clarkson’s Farm could lead to problems with lust, but it does. It must lead to other demonic issues, too.

Being delivered from demons is wonderful, but it’s a second-rate blessing. The better blessing is to avoid having demons in the first place. Secular culture brings them in, and if they are cast out and you go back to secular culture, they enter you all over again.

I would rather stay free than watch Fox News. The Catholic news channel.

Any channel where more than one host refers to an old celibate socialist elected by gays as the holy father is suspect.

I’m not going to fit in with this world. If I started to, it would be a sign that I had backslidden and lost my relationship with God. Changing my behavior to avoid offending won’t help. The real offense is my existence. I’m like a Jew. The problem people have with me isn’t my behavior. It’s my existence itself.

Currying favor won’t make anyone like me. It will just strip me of the favor of God and grieve the Holy Spirit.

If I try to make people like me by being less honest, they will still hate me, but I will lose my relationship with God.

Go ahead and dislike me. They will never build a microscope powerful enough to detect my respect for your opinion of me.

Welcome to Nonbinary Day Care, Little Tyler Routh Mangione

My baby son grew up this week. He is now 47.

Three big things have happened.

1. His crawl speed has increased by about 300%.

2. He tried to climb up our stairs.

3. We are pretty sure he was trying to say “Dad” in the car yesterday.

All of this took place over about two days. I don’t know what’s with this kid.

Yesterday, I planned to have a pleasant day of testing country ham and procrastinating, but I had to go to Walmart get a baby gate and a real playpen. It couldn’t wait until today.

The crawling thing was a shock. I used to be able to put him on the floor and come back and find him pretty close to the same location. Now we get–literally–two seconds before he drops the clutch and crawls completely out of the room. For the first time, if he is on the loose, we may not know where he is.

When we’re on the bed together, I have to grab one foot of his romper and hold it, because he may launch himself like a Trident missile to get at the stuff on my night table. He may also launch himself over the side completely, head first.

There is no warning at all when he takes off. Suddenly, he’s somewhere else.

I don’t know how anyone can crawl quickly. It’s hard on the limbs.

When I hold him by his romper, he keeps groaning and straining. He never looks back to see what the problem is.

My wife found him at the bottom of the rec room stairs, pawing at things I had left on them because I was too lazy to move them all the way to the second story. She had to move everything away from him.

Now when I receive .22 ammunition to try out, I’ll have to take it all the way to the storage room. Otherwise, he’ll turn himself into a human magazine.

On the way home from the trip to get the gate and playpen, he started saying, “Da da da da da da DA!” I have been trying to teach him to say “Dad.” I touch my chest and say, “Dad! Dad! Dad! Dad!” He thinks it’s wonderful. It appears he is trying to imitate me.

My wife says she thinks it’s great because she’s a patriarchist.

If only a feminist would come, deprogram her, and save her from happiness. She, too, could have 7 cats named after famous socialists and witches, an apartment all to herself and a fatherless son, dated Seventies rainbow hair, and a bellyful of Zoloft, Klonopin, semaglutide, and fattening bagged organic snacks from Trader Joe’s.

Putting a gate on the rec room stairs may be hard because we have a high baseboard. I bought something anyway, and I’ll see if it fits.

Playpens are now called “playards.” It’s not a real word, it makes no sense, and it looks stupid. When I saw it, I smelled wokitude.

Turns out I was right. Evidently, suggesting a child can be put in a pen is non-woke, microaggressive, and extremely hurtful. In the view of utter pinheads.

A playpen is nothing like a yard.

I call it what it is: a playpen. I will always call it that unless I can come up with something that invokes colonialism and manspreading.

Why do young people have to opt for idiocy every time? Is there anything millennials can’t ruin?

We already had a playpen for him, but it was no good, because it wasn’t a real playpen. It was a bassinet. The mattress can be lowered close to the floor, so that supposedly makes it a playpen. No; it’s just a weird bassinet. It’s small, and he can’t be expected to learn to walk on a foam pad.

I wonder when they’re going to come up with a new word for “diaper.” Maybe “pooyard.”

“I was chestfeeding little Lenin Snoqualmie when I realized zhey needed a fresh, sustainable, gender-neutral, tuck-friendly, soy fiber pooyard.”

This brings me to disturbing woke baby names. My buddy Mike already has granddaughters named Fern and Wren. I am not kidding. A boy is on the way. This was Mike’s chance for a normal name.

I won’t give you time to brace. They chose “Oak.”

Fern, Wren, and Oak. Where is Christopher Robin?

I almost miss the days when all liberals named their kids Dylan.

Oak isn’t a name. I don’t care if there have been people named Oak. There have been people named Raspberry and Osprey. Doesn’t mean these are real names.

Here is his future:

1. “Could you repeat that for me? Again?”

2. “Class, I thought I told you to stop throwing Oak on the ant pile.”

3. “Is it okay if I call you by your middle name?”

4. “Honey, I’m just not comfortable with ‘Oak, Junior.’ Let’s pick something else.”

I hope he’s big and strong, because he will need to be. A boy named Oak.

They gave him three names plus a surname, and only one is normal. Unfortunately, the normal name is sexually ambiguous. By design? Wouldn’t surprise me.

You have to give a kid an escape hatch unless you like putting cold washcloths on black eyes.

It was predictable that they wouldn’t consider “Michael,” even after all the things Mike has done for them and paid for. It fits in perfectly with all the things I have heard about them.

My understanding is that his son is a very smart and talented young man and an extremely conscientious and dedicated father. Mike says he is very concerned about morality and tries to improve himself. He appears to have a blind spot in one area, though.

Seems like an undeserved slap in the face to me, but what do I know? Mike would have been on cloud nine, but never mind. I would have loved to hear they named the baby after him.

I would have given my son my dad’s name, but because of my dysfunctional upbringing, hearing it makes my blood pressure spike. It’s like I’m a baby sparrow in the nest, and my dad’s name is the shadow of a hawk flying over. I gave my son my grandfather’s name, and I told my wife we should give the next one her dad’s name.

She rejected that, however, because he did not behave all that well in life. She has demoted him to middle-name status.

Christians name children to honor older people they know, or Biblical figures. Leftists name children to one-up other leftist parents.

Leftist 1: Our son has an Algonquin Indian name.

Leftist 2: Be better. My unassigned offspring has a sub-Saharan click-language name.

Leftist 3: How 2020 of both of you. We chose “Sinwar Bud Light Luigi.”

Is the last-names-first fad over with? Are leftists still naming their daughters awful things like Wilson and Flannery?

I am not in love with my first name, but it’s not bad, and at least it’s a name. It’s much more dignified than I am, so that’s a win.

“Tyler” is probably trending among leftists right now.

I think I should take a page from an old Bloom County strip and name a son Trump T. Trump. Or Reagan T. Trump.

It’s startling to see a baby make sudden leaps in development. Of course, it’s encouraging, but it also reminds me he will only be a baby once. When babyhood is gone, it’s gone. It has to be savored while it lasts.

We will try to teach him to have a little gratitude and respect instead of criticizing and putting us on trial every day of his adult life while expecting us to support him and do things for him well into his thirties. I hope it works, because I have seen what happens when it doesn’t.

Things are just about ideal here. My son is a joy. My wife and I love each other; we are more like parts of each other than separate beings. God’s presence comes to us over and over. Our area is peaceful. We lack for nothing.

Everyone was miserable back in 2020, but we both loved it. Then we found each other in 2021, and while a lot of people were worrying and being held prisoner in their own homes by Democrat governors, we were having long video calls, praying together, getting married on Zoom, and flying to exotic destinations to be with each other. Every year has been better than the last. As happy as we were with just each other, we are even happier now that we have a baby, and we expect every new baby to make us happier still.

God keeps giving us correction, and I believe anyone who keeps receiving and applying his correction will find that his life gets more pleasant as years pass. I am optimistic because I have a loving benefactor who is patient, eager to bless, and slow to punish. He has been right about everything.

Today we will be taking the baby to the dermatologist for a followup, and then we plan to go to our favorite restaurant: Costco. We hope to be home when the anniversary ring I bought my wife comes back from being resized.

If you’re not happy, keep asking God to tell what you’re doing wrong. It worked for the ancient Jews, and it is certainly working for us. God loves you as much as anyone else, so he is ready to start when you are.

Spam is not a Dish That is Best Served Cold

Yesterday I wrote about a startling and disappointing spam text I received from Erika Kirk, and I was very critical. Some people have questioned the legitimacy of the text, suggesting I fell for a scam.

I didn’t. I will teach you a few things.

The text is from Turning Point, and it links to their official donation site. The language in the text is repeated on that site word for word.

Here is a link.

Anedot is TPUSA’s official donation processor. Go to TPUSA’s site, click a donation link, and see for yourself.

I didn’t just fall off the turnip truck. I don’t believe everything I see on the web or in texts or emails. I never click on links I can’t verify. I have never bought a timeshare. I don’t fall for organic food. I have never wired money to a Nigerian. I have never paid a gypsy to put “leftover” blacktop on my driveway. I don’t follow the Omaha Steaks people back to their trucks. I haven’t left a tooth under my pillow in around 60 years. I know the difference between “made with real cheese” and “uses only 100% real cheese.” I have never responded to an infomercial. I would never get a reverse mortgage. I have never even considered getting a Herbalife franchise. It doesn’t scare me at all when a guy with an Indian accent calls and claims he’s with the IRS. When I receive envelopes with warnings saying things like, “OFFICIAL COMMUNICATION! OPEN IMMEDIATELY!”, I throw them out without opening them. I have never put my Social Security number in an email or spoken it over the phone. I don’t buy anything endorsed by Oprah Winfrey or Shark Tank. I don’t answer misspelled emails thanking me for huge purchases I never made. I have never paid anyone money because they sent me an email claiming they turned my webcam on and filmed me watching porn. I will never pay anyone to clean my air conditioning ducts. I don’t take methylene blue. I don’t believe a mediocre old socialist in Rome, elected by homosexuals, is even dimly acquainted with Yeshua or can send anyone to hell. I don’t open mail from companies offering to buy my house for half the market price. I don’t buy extended warranties except in rare cases. I don’t tip on tax. I don’t believe racking a pump shotgun will scare a burglar off. I don’t trust AR-15’s. I don’t believe Brigitte Macron is a man. I am positive Barack Obama was born in Hawaii, and I know for a fact Charlie Kirk was not bumped off by Israel.

I have made some real sucker moves in my life. I gave money to Robert Tilton, and I also dated a Brazilian who told me she would never date a Brazilian and gave me solid reasons. But I have checked this spam text out, and it’s the real thing.

As long as I’m in a lecturing mood, I want to comment on something more personal. I had an epiphany this morning.

Once I got past a certain age, older women started paying attention to me. I was never attracted to them. No apology. You don’t apologize for things like that. It’s like apologizing for not liking yogurt. It’s not something that results from a choice.

Who insists women apologize for their preferences? No one. Feminists think Brigitte Macron is practically a deity.

She put an end to the Macron line. Emmanuel Macron will never reproduce unless his wife leaves the picture and he finds himself someone who can still have kids. She deprived him of a great deal.

She’s a bit of a husband-beater, so she and Macron may part ways. If that happens and he goes on to have kids with someone young, feminists will probably cruficy him.

I have also turned down women of childbearing age, not just in recent years, but when I was young. It would be crazy to apologize for that. You don’t marry people you don’t want. It’s wrong, and it leads to misery. I don’t owe marriage to anyone. I am under no obligation as a Christian to save women from their problems, even if they’re nice single women.

Marriage isn’t musical chairs. You don’t leap for the only remaining option just because there is no choice. There is always a choice. It’s called bachelorhood. It worked for Paul. It worked for Boaz until the time was right.

I never felt I should marry someone because I was old myself and should be grateful anyone would have me. That would have been pathetic. A Japanese robot would be an order of magnitude less pathetic. At least I wouldn’t be using another human being. I would be objectifying an object.

I was completely prepared to remain single until I died. That was better than burdening myself with the human equivalent of chopped liver and burdening a woman with a man who only stayed with her out of duty.

More than one older lady tried to turn other people against me. Women will do that. If you reject a woman, she may go to your common friends, and they may conspire and decide you’re a wicked person for not wanting ONE woman out of 4 billion. A cousin of mine broke up with a girl in high school, and other girls in his small town decided no one else should date him.

I’m sure some were willing to jump in and undermine her, though.

It’s gaslighting. The victim is the problem. If the victim agrees to be victimized, everything will be as it should be. Take one for the team. The other team.

Today I was lying in bed, and I looked at my son. His crib is between our bed and a sliding glass door. He was standing in the sunshine, in his romper, eagerly awaiting his day with us. He seemed to glow with innocence and love. My own love poured out toward him, as always.

Suddenly I had a realization: this is what irrational, selfish older women wanted to keep me from having. Maybe they never articulated it to themselves, but this is what they offered me: life without my beautiful son and whatever siblings God might provide later. Life without any hope of a grandchild.

In exchange for that, I would get to pay someone’s bills and maybe the bills of their kids and relations, and I would get to lie next to someone who was as attractive and who brought me as much pleasure as another old man.

No; I won’t say that. Women are difficult; they even find each other difficult. Men are easy to get along with, and we share interests. It would be much better to share a house with another man than a woman I didn’t want. We could shoot together. We could do metalworking. We could smoke ribs and make beer. We would be happy with crummy furniture and doing small engine repairs on the kitchen table.

Two Oscars and no Felix.

No woman ever thought, “I want to make sure he never has kids.” Surely. But every woman who can’t or won’t have babies knows this is the sentence she imposes on potential husbands. A considerate person would have thought about that, and she would have backed off and encouraged me to find someone suitable. I was willing to die a bachelor, but if married, I wanted to have children.

If I had given in to the pressure, which was never even a remote possibility, I wouldn’t be waking up every day bathed in the presence and love of my very own family. I wouldn’t get to hold my baby son and kiss him. I wouldn’t get to pray for him and speak blessings over him.

My phone wouldn’t be jammed with pictures of my wife and son. My boy fresh from delivery. My boy swaddled in the bassinet. Taking his first trip to Home Depot. Being bathed by my wife in the utility sink. Going to his first restaurant. Sitting up by himself. Crawling. Standing up while holding a chair leg. Sitting in a grocery cart outside Costco while my wife beams with joy.

I’m sorry life doesn’t work out for everyone. My own life was a disappointing mess until I was well into middle age, so I know how it feels. Doesn’t mean I’m the catcher in the rye for every woman who is in the same boat. I can’t do it, and it would be wrong to do it. Your problems are not my fault. They’re your fault.

Choosing the wife I did doesn’t make me immature, insecure, a fetishist, selfish, gullible, domineering, or unwilling to face reality. I chose a magnificent helper, and we could not love our baby more. You know all those miserable couples on Facebook who post glowing entries about their wonderful lives together? That’s not us. Our lives really are wonderful, thanks to our patient, forgiving, generous, reliable father.

There are a lot of women out there who don’t think at all about the welfare of their potential husbands. Gimme, gimme, gimme. Save me. Save my kids. Serve a man’s proper purpose. You should love me because I want you, or, worse, because I need you.

Actual love is not selfish.

I used to pray for God to give me someone to pour myself out for. Like most husbands and fathers, I take pleasure in sacrificing for my wife and child. I didn’t say, “Please make her rich. Give her a nice car. Give me a warm body so I don’t feel lonely at night. Make her good at fixing our house and vehicles. Send me someone to solve the problems I caused.”

I’m not a good person, but I genuinely wanted to give of myself. I didn’t pray for God to send me someone who would make sacrifices for me. I wasn’t like a Titanic survivor pleading for God to send me a piece of floating wreckage I could cling to until a ship came along.

A man should sacrifice for his family, but a woman shouldn’t pray for God to send her someone to sacrifice for her. She should pray for someone to whom she can be a good helper. A woman should be a good helper, but a man should pray for God to send him someone to make sacrifices for.

And she should be someone he actually wants.

I apologize for nothing except dating people who could never have been good Christian wives. That was unfair to them. I don’t apologize for rejecting anyone, and I don’t feel even the tiniest trace of resentment toward women who rejected me. They were right. The ones who rejected me when I was young dodged a bullet.

If you’re a female troll, and you think I’m still a bullet, all I can say is, my wife sees me very, very differently.

My son is on the floor at my feet, moving the end table around and grabbing my leg while I type. He coos and grunts with pleasure. He explains what he’s doing with incomprehensible babble. What did I ever do to deserve to be so blessed? Nothing.

This is what some women thought I should give up on and do without, forever, so I could give them everything and get precious little back. If anyone should be ashamed, it’s not me.

Don’t marry the wrong person. It is literally worse than cancer. Get to know the Holy Spirit. Pray in tongues. Beg God to clean you up for marriage, and ask him to send you the right person.

On your own, you have no chance.

Current Population: Three

The Wonder Baby is nearly 8 months old. What should I say about him?

I suppose I should write about his personality.

He is possibly the funniest baby that ever lived. It seems like everything he does is funny, from screaming with joy for no apparent reason to breaking wind in my face when I’m trying to bond with him.

He puts everything in his mouth. He really loves charging cables and TV remotes. He puts live charging cables in his mouth and sucks on them. I tell people that’s why he has so much energy. I just ordered a new remote because after he got done chewing on the old one, it didn’t work.

He loves people. He makes eye contact with anyone who talks to him, and he smiles and giggles at them. He trusts everyone.

Enjoy that while it lasts, my son.

He sleeps between us, and he wakes up before we do. He stares at me and waits for me to wake up. When I snore, he thinks I’m talking to him, and it makes him happy.

He has learned to reach over and scratch my shoulder to wake me up.

He finds my attention overwhelming. When I look at him and talk to him, he opens his mouth in a big, toothless smile, and his whole face lights up. He gets so excited, he has to turn away and bury his face in his mom’s shoulder.

At some point during the last month, he decided he wanted to stand, so he grabs things and pulls himself to his feet. He can’t walk yet, but he loves standing, and he will do it for long periods.

He crawls a lot, and he takes off suddenly, so if we’re both on the bed, I have to hold onto a leg or something to keep him from launching himself over the side like a depth charge. He has started crawling out of the bedroom and into the hall.

He holds his own bottles, and he holds his sippy cup and drinks water from it. He’s a big eater. It seems like his mom is shoveling food into him all the time.

He eats and drinks ferociously. He gets very agitated when his bottle doesn’t come immediately, and he screams and cries. Then when he gets what he wants, he sucks like he just crawled out of the desert.

When he poops, he growls like an angry Rottweiler. He likes to poop at the table, during meals. We can pretty much count on hearing that growl when we sit down to eat. He also likes to poop when he sees Dad.

He adores his mother. Sometimes he gets very upset because she has left the room. He will stand in his crib, facing the door, and yell until she returns.

He can’t stop scratching his crotch. I keep telling him we’re not Italian, but he does it anyway. When I change his diaper and put zinc oxide on his crotch, he shoves both hands into it and smears it on other parts of his body. I try to restrain his hands, but it’s impossible.

He pulls his mother’s hair. He thinks it’s wonderful. He especially likes pulling it while she’s trying to sleep.

He likes putting his mouth on his parents and making gross noises. He thinks this is fantastic.

He screams when he’s happy, but he also screams when he’s upset, so sometimes we have to try to figure out which it is. Overall, he is a very happy baby.

He is fascinated by everything. He is extremely aware of his surroundings. He looks around constantly. If he sees that something interests us, he wants it. This is why he likes chewing on remotes and phones. He has a rubber baby remote, but he has figured out that it’s not the real thing, so he doesn’t have much interest in it.

We took him to Costco, where they have enormous ceiling fans around 15 feet across. We noticed he was leaning back in the cart, looking up, and my wife realized he was staring at the fans.

He thinks Costco ice cream is the best.

He hasn’t spoken any English yet, but he babbles in his own language all day. He talks to us, to himself, to the windows…he is not picky.

He likes being tickled, and he loves it when we rub his belly with our heads. He pulls our hair and shrieks with joy. He never gets tired of it.

He’s still very strong. The other day while I was in bed, I felt someone grab my arm and move it. I thought it was my wife, but it was him. His hands are thick and muscular. He has what millennials call “core strength.” When you hold him horizontally, he is as straight as a board.

He loves the shower. His shower is our utility sink, which has a special plastic seat and a sprayer on a hose. He loves having poop hosed off of him and being washed with hand soap. He likes lapping at the hot water as it comes out of the sprayer.

He takes things apart, so he is definitely male. He unscrewed a knob and removed it from a drawer. He has learned to remove rubber caps from doorstops, so we had to get baby-safe doorstops so he wouldn’t choke on the caps.

He gets tons of affection. He is with his mother most of the time, and she sings songs to him and holds him over her head. The “Changing Baby’s Diaper” song. The “Baby and his Mommy, They Love Each Other” song. There are others. He can’t get enough of this stuff.

I had to tell his mother he would like having his hair combed. I didn’t realize she didn’t know. It’s easy to run a comb through most types of Caucasian hair, but it doesn’t work for most Africans, so they have no idea how it feels. When I was little, my mother used to sit me down and comb my hair slowly, and I loved it. Now my son loves it. His hair is curly, but a comb will go through it.

This is a great tip for black parents of biracial kids.

We squeeze him and rub him and toss him around. He likes being thrown on the bed over and over. He’s a rough-and-tumble kid. He prefers being thrown around to being handled gently.

He likes making music. He has a little keyboard, and he likes to bang on it and stare at it.

He has a crew of stuffed animals that keep him company when we’re out and about. Mr. Bear. Mrs. Cow. Mr. Polar, the other bear. We have three Mrs. Cows because they get dirty and because we don’t always know where they are.

Mrs. Cow was originally Mr. Cow, but my wife changed her name because she was concerned about the consequences of misgendering.

I don’t know if women who don’t raise their own kids know what they’re missing. My wife wants to be with her son all the time. They’re always busy together. She shows him numbers. She takes him for walks and shows him the trees and birds. She puts little outfits on him. She shows him to her relatives on video chats. She sings her songs to him. He always wants more; he seems to think they are parts of one creature. The thought of getting a job is abhorrent to her, understandably.

It seems wrong to me, too. I can’t believe any woman would prefer a job to her own children. I think we are doing things the correct way.

We pray with him. I tell him Yeshua is God, and I tell him Yeshua loves him even more than we do. I speak blessings over him in the name of Yeshua.

We don’t work on Sundays any more. Sundays are for God and family.

Whatever his future holds, he will be better off than his mother and I. My mother rarely took my sister and me to church, and she taught us almost nothing about Yeshua. My dad either slept late or played golf on Sundays, and I never saw him pray until he was 87 years old and dying from dementia. I grew up in a house that was empty of purpose and hope, and we were all miserable. My son lives in a house of love and God’s favor.

He will be walking at talking soon, and that means we will be able to tell him about God.

Depends on Which Pole You’re On

I had a spectacular day.

I was going to go outside and remove the nasty old rocks around an unwanted flowerbed, but instead, I ordered country ham over the web and took the family to Costco for pizza. We actually like having dinner at Costco, and it runs us about 10 dollars.

I love country ham, but it has to be good. My grandmother used to cure her own hams back in Kentucky, and she aged them a couple of years, so they were magnificent. They were also fatter than today’s hams, so there was no lack of grease for gravy. If you go into a grocery store that sells country hams, you’re likely to end up with Smithfield or Clifty Farms, which are aged very little and lacking in flavor. Also, Smithfield ham smells a little bit like manure.

One of the pleasures of having a foreign wife is introducing her to American food. My wife loves barbecue, Ruth’s Chris, Lee’s Famous Fried Chicken, Dr. Pepper, and a number of other things, but she has been a little slow to embrace country ham.

A country ham is supposed to be fermented. The aroma is supposed to have a little funk to it, and when you slice the ham, you should have to scrape some mold off of it. It’s also supposed to be very, very salty. It’s supposed to contain enough salt to prevent harmful bacteria from growing. After all, country ham was invented in order to help people preserve pork so they had meat during the winter. People made it as a survival tool.

When my wife tried country ham, she did not think much of it, but I fried a piece yesterday, and she liked it. She keeps telling me she is becoming Americanized. She has quit eating the flavorless corn mush Zambians call nshima, for example.

A few years back, I ordered samples from several ham companies so I could compare them. Sadly, I failed to record the results of this important research, so I was forced to repeat it.

I used to order hams from a company called Gatton Farms, but they went out of business. After that, I uses Scott’s hams, but they tanked, too. This is why I needed to find a new source.

My second cousin Wade, who is now gone, liked Colonel Newsom’s hams, made in Princeton, Kentucky. He once told me walking into Newsom’s was like entering a shrine.

I’m sure he knew what he was talking about. Everyone from the hills knows a good ham when he tastes one, and it seems like no one else does. My grandparents and all of their daughters knew what a good ham tasted like. I know. But people on food websites make deplorable recommendations.

Newsom’s doesn’t use curing salt. Just table salt, brown sugar, and hickory smoke. My understanding is that curing salt speeds up the cure process. Personally, I have nothing against it, as long as the ham gets plenty of aging time in spite of it.

I have never had a Newsom’s ham. They are extremely expensive, and Gatton Farms and Scott’s made top-notch products for way less. I used to get a whole ham, sliced, bagged and shipped, for under $70. I couldn’t persuade myself to spend more for Newsom’s.

Yesterday I decided to make sure I wasn’t missing out. I ordered a whole Newsom’s ham. Life is short. When my wife saw me looking at the website, she increased my joy by suggesting I order sausage, too. She used to refuse American sausage. She’s coming around!

It wasn’t a cheap purchase, but it will be nice to find out whether these hams are as good as some people think they are.

I also ordered slices from Broadbent’s and Benton’s; two other famous ham companies. My hope is that they will turn out to be as good or better than Newsom’s. If so, I won’t have to pay Newsom prices in the future.

The important thing will be to record the results of the experiment. If I could remember what I thought of Broadbent’s and Benton’s the last time I compared them, I wouldn’t need to spend more money.

My wife was also critical of Southern-style collards, which I love. I boil them forever with ham hocks or neckbones or whatever other smoked pork products are available, and they are heavenly.

Zambians are like yankees. They barely cook their greens. Sure, they look nice, and they have a less-wilted texture some people like, but that slow-cooked flavor is not there. It’s a giant waste of potential.

Yankees always say Southerners turn vegetables into mush. They don’t know what slow-cooked vegetables are supposed to taste like, so they don’t know what they’re missing.

Now my wife says she loves Southern-style collards. We have been going to a place called Fat Boys BBQ, and they serve collards. They won her over.

Sadly, Newsom’s doesn’t slice hams, so I will have to do it myself or find a butcher who has a machine. I can vacuum-seal the slices, but the tedious job of slicing is mine. Another reason to root for the other two contenders.

I ordered the Newsom’s ham yesterday, and I ordered samples from Broadbent’s and Benton’s today. Feeling satisfied with my accomplishments, I forgot all about moving the rocks and told my wife we were going to Costco for dinner.

We drove down to Sumter County, to the Villages. This is an enormous retirement community. It’s as close to heaven as an old person can get without dying. There are all sorts of stores, restaurants, and golf courses, and the old people zip around the community in golf carts.

There is no Costco in our county. I belonged when I lived in Miami, but I had to quit when I moved here. Last month, the Costco in the Villages opened, so I renewed my membership.

The drive is very pleasant. It was relaxing. Lots of little farms. Oaks arching over the roads. You would never know you were in the same state as Florida Man or Miami’s aggressive hordes.

It was very different from our recent visit to Gainesville for P.F. Chang’s.

To get to Gainesville, you have to use I-75, which is crowded and full of pushy drivers. Florida’s population keeps growing, and the main roads have not kept up. The pushy drivers are from South Florida, along with some from Georgia. People here don’t act like that.

We visited Trader Joe’s, P.F. Chang’s, and Bass Pro, in that order.

Gainesville is in Alachua County. It’s where the University of Florida is located, so it’s full of miserable people. College students from other places. Angry, cynical leftist academics. On a visit prior to our last one, we saw two young men in prairie dresses and work boots. We ate at a restaurant where they gave us paper straws. What more do I have to tell you? But I will tell you more anyway.

Trader Joe’s was packed with leftists. Young college students; not the kind of people who build Charlie Kirk memorials. Old ones who looked like worn-out communists. Freaks by choice.

In the parking lot, people were driving aggressively to get as close to the door as they could. That never happens here.

The atmosphere was cold and unfriendly. I would even call it tense. People seemed rushed. I asked my wife what she thought of the people, and she told me she would tell me when we got outside.

When we take our baby out in our county, people always want to see him. They tell us how cute he is. They say they want to take him home. At Trader Joe’s, precisely one lady noticed him.

At Bass Pro, the atmosphere was completely different. It was peaceful. We felt calm. Everyone was friendly. We took our baby to see the aquarium, and he loved it. Other families were showing their little ones the fish.

Today, before we went into Costco, we checked out Fresh Market, an upscale grocery my wife hadn’t seen yet. The people were wonderful. Everyone wanted to see my son. They talked about how cute he was. The employees loved him. They spent a lot of time telling us about the store and ways to get deals.

At Costco, my wife occupied a table, and I went to pick up pizza and a chocolate sundae. While I was gone, the old man behind my wife turned around to talk to her about the baby. He noticed how aware he was of his surroundings.

We only bought three things, so we weren’t there long, but a number of people wanted to see the baby.

He smiled at people. He loves meeting them.

The drive home was just like the first drive. No hurry. The golden light of late afternoon. A baby full of ice cream.

We could be living among sour, furious University of Florida professors who frown to the point of injuring their faces over the existence of Christian and conservate students and their beloved president. We could be in Miami, being insulted and scammed by aggressive, rude illegal aliens. We are extremely blessed to be where we are, surrounded by warm, loving people. We are blessed to have had our priorities changed so we aren’t still mud-wrestling with people whose only pleasures in life are being unhappy and making others unhappy.

This morning, we watched videos about Singapore. We both said we wished we were there instead of in the US. As much as we love our area, Singapore has some big advantages. No one is killing Christians, or anyone else, there. The air isn’t filled with hatred.

We saw a video about the huge underground developments in Singapore. They are building a vast network of tunnels attached to their clean, safe, comfortable train system. I told my wife that if anyone tried to build something like that in the US, enraged hippies would glue themselves to the pavement and scream bloody murder.

I noted the difference between videos about Singapore’s trains and videos about American subways. American videos are about terrorism and other crimes. Black people shoving whites and Asians onto the tracks. Turnstile-jumpers. Ghetto kids terrorizing passengers, doing stupid dances and demanding to be paid. Gropers. Daniel Penney being prosecuted for saving strangers from a disgusting bully.

We loved the trains in Singapore, and also in Hong Kong, for that matter. So clean, safe, and pleasant. I went to college in New York, and I can’t tell you how strange it seems to me to go down into a subway system and not be immersed in the intense aroma of fermented pee.

I told my wife Singapore reminded me of the New Jerusalem, in the Revelation. A perfect city full of peaceful, well-intended, like-minded people. Maybe that’s why it appeals to us. In our spirits, we know we are supposed to live in a place like the New Jerusalem.

We have been to Egypt, Turkey, Ireland, Singapore, Hong Kong, Mexico, Switzerland, and Italy. After Israel, we both agree that we would rather go to Singapore a third time than revisit any of the other places.

Egypt is dirty and crazy. Ireland is pleasant but boring, and the food is not good. Turkey is nice, but not nice enough to make you dream of going back soon. Rome was one giant tourist trap, and it was full of pushy illegal aliens who had no manners. Switzerland is gorgeous, but they have jacked prices up to the point where tourists feel insulted, and it’s also filling up with Indian and Chinese tourists who are not always fun to be around. Staying in Cancun is like sleeping in a college bar.

I never thought I would say this, but I am not interested in seeing Switzerland again. I used to love it, but that has changed. You only have to charge me $7.50 for tap water once to make me understand that I’m unwelcome.

My wife doesn’t want to go back to Rome, ever. The illegals really got to her. She says she would make an exception so our children could see it. I liked Rome a little better, and I like Italians (real Italians in Europe), but I’m not hot to go back.

Singapore feels like home. When we arrived for our second visit, we felt like we were home again. It’s the strangest thing.

Singaporeans do everything well. They shame Americans every day.

To get back to the day I just had, I don’t know what I did to deserve a life this good. Actually, I know I didn’t do anything. I was rotten and immature. I deserve evil, and the Lord gave me the good he deserves.

I look forward to a bright future. The millennium. The New Jerusalem. Seeing God face to face. And maybe before the rapture or the day my body gives out, I’ll get to see Singapore a few more times.

You’ll Need the Official Hat and Shirt

I need to stop looking at the news. My general rule is to avoid it. Sometimes people tell me about stories, though, and occasionally, I see something I feel I need to look into. When Charlie Kirk was murdered by a liberal Mormon boy who cohabitated with a homosexual transvestite, I looked at a number of stories.

I am cutting back again, but I still heard about Ryder Corral, a sloppy, spoiled leftist baby man who trampled the objects set out as a tribute to Kirk in front of the offices of Turning Point USA. He did this in front of Fox News cameras along with a crowd of conservative and Christian mourners, one of whom slung him to the ground and put a stop to his antics.

Corral was wearing a shirt featuring the same design the coward Tyler Robinson wore when he shot Charlie Kirk with a deer rifle in front of his young wife and two small children. The design shows a flying eagle in front of our flag, along with the words “Land of the Free Home of the Brave.”

Pretty ironic, on the front of a sadistic, chickenhearted leftist punk who shot a man for exercising his freedom.

I would guess Robinson picked that shirt so he would look like a harmless conservative as he moved around the campus of the university where he shot Kirk.

Corral’s infantile rampage isn’t the big story. I don’t think people realize this. His shirt is the story.

Kirk had his neck blown apart on September 10. Corral threw his sociopathic tantrum on September 15. He already had the shirt. How did he get it so fast?

Sick leftists are selling copies of the shirt online. That’s how Corral got his shirt. In order for him to have it to wear on September 15, he must have ordered it no later than September 13. That’s how quickly Democrats seized on the opportunity to celebrate a brutal, bloody, public murder.

Today I Googled, and I found all sorts of ads for Tyler Robinson shirts. I took some screenshots on my phone, and I will show them to you now.

For a while, you could buy them on Walmart’s site.

This isn’t the first time this has happened during the last year. When another leftist coward, Luigi Mangione, shot down an insurance executive, other leftists lined up to buy hats identified with a video game character named Luigi. They wear them at their events. Not a few of them. Many of them.

If you don’t understand that America is in a very bad state, you need to wake up. Stop comparing today to yesterday. Compare it to the 20th century.

Imagine it’s 1963. John Kennedy’s brains have just been scrubbed off the car he was riding in when a communist shot them out of his head. Then imagine seeing people walking around in hats and shirts celebrating Lee Harvey Oswald.

Imagine it’s 1981. President Reagan is still hospitalized after being shot by a lunatic who thought it would impress an actress. Then imagine seeing people wearing T-shirts with the assassin’s picture on them.

We are going to have a civil war. Leftists will not leave it alone. For all their “coexist” bumper stickers and lying about peace, they are going to keep tormenting the rest of us until there is a nationwide reaction.

While I was taking a shooting class (not a killing class or militia preparation class), one of my instructors said something to us about how people were going to have to rise up and do something about America’s situation. He was talking about going to war.

There are a lot of problems with his thinking. One big one is that he’s talking about a war that can’t be won.

In order to truly win a war, you have to have a sane enemy, or at least one whose sanity can be restored. Otherwise, after the battles are over, you have to occupy his territory forever. A sane enemy will come around and let things drop. The Japanese, Austrians, and Germans were vicious and disgusting, but they made peace with us because the demons that motivated them were not told to keep going. American leftists are ruled by apocalyptic demons, sent to figuratively raise hell until after the tribulation. They are not going to stand down.

Another problem: there can be no front. Even in states that are fairly politically pure, the population is mixed. We work alongside lefists. They sit around dinner tables with us. They are our groomsmen and maids of honor. Our close relatives. They’re not going to show up as a separate force at a clearly-defined border. Americans will be killing each other all over the place, and they will be sneaky about it, just like the Viet Cong. You’ll be sitting at Five Guys, and an IED will go off. You’ll be gassing up your car, and an Eagle Scout wearing a Tyler Robinson shirt will shoot you from cover.

People we associate with all the time will become hidden dangers. It’s very difficult to deal with that kind of enemy.

There are potential killers and their helpers all around you. You don’t know they’re against you. You may find out who they are one day.

My buddy Mike posted something nice about Charlie Kirk on Facebook, and one of his “friends” excoriated him and spewed the usual lies about Kirk. Then she went after Kirk’s children. Look:

His daughter is three, and his son is one.

Aren’t women supposed to be child nurturers? Did I imagine that?

There is no military solution to the problem. We can’t put a third or half of our population in prison. We can’t occupy every big city. We can’t bomb them; they live in our houses.

America had a civil war a century and a half ago, and we have pretty much gotten over it, but it was different. Americans weren’t insane. They were divided by their opinions on important issues, but they never felt the people on the other side didn’t deserve to exist.

Leftists believe people like Charlie Kirk and me should not be allowed to exist. We should not have jobs. We should not be allowed to speak. No one should be able to see or hear us.

This is a common thread with Satan’s children. They don’t just want to win. They want their victims to cease to exist, and they want it to look like they never existed. This is why God would not let the Jews cremate their dead, and it’s why the Nazis used cremation to get rid of their bodies.

In the supernatural world, one of the worst types of harm is to have your name and memory blotted out. This is why some religious Jews call Yeshua “YESHU,” which is an initialism for, “May his name and memory be blotted out forever.” The problem for leftists isn’t just that we exist; it’s that we ever existed in the past.

Ryder Corral’s sick actions show that demons still want to erase the memory of those who oppose Satan. Charlie Kirk is dead, and his work will not continue. That should be sufficient to satisfy leftists, but it’s not. The demons are furious that people remember him. The memorial display Corral and his demons attacked is a reminder Satan can’t stand.

The thing that makes you Satan’s child is to have a character similar to Satan’s. Satan wants all the attention, because he’s like a gay man who wants to be the queen bee; the only Cher impersonator at the party. It enrages him that people even know who Yeshua is. His children are enraged that people know who Charlie Kirk was.

A man in Colorado put up a display honoring Kirk. He put a banner on his fence. A cowardly leftist came in the night, burned the banner, and threw a rock through his car’s rear windshield. Anyone who expresses sympathy for Kirk in public will make cowardly enemies.

In 2017, God told me the hatred that would drive leftists and pagans to murder us was already here, and increasingly, we see it manifesting. It’s so strong, it has even united homosexuals with Muslims who murder them. Satan’s children are like billions of rocks in billions of slingshots, pulled back and waiting to be released.

There is nothing we can do to prevent the final conflict or prevent them from taking over. It has been prophesied. We can do little things here and there to protect ourselves, but the earthly war is lost. There is no remedy for the world, but individuals can draw close to God and get protection. They can be isolated from the world and set aside in relatively friendly areas. They can learn to pray and do battle in the supernatural realm.

There is no reason to feel doomed. That’s not for us. It’s for them. Leftists will only with in the natural realm, on a macroscopic scale. We will have complete victory in the supernatural realm, and eventually, we will see a world without leftists, paganism, war, and hatred. A world of peace and love, and not just the false kind we read about in stickers on the backs of hybrid cars.

You know people who, right now, are willing to kill you. I mean people who are friendly now. You’ll find out about them soon enough. You need to separate yourself from them as much as you can. You need to get away from their culture. There is no point in building bridges God is going to burn.

Last night, I told my wife I had seen a lot of disaster movies, but it was really something, finding myself living in one. I said the end of civilization was quite a spectacle. A rare experience, since it only happens once.

Well…twice, if you count the flood.