Never Read Half!

I’m curious, how many people do you know that will pick up a book, magazine, newspaper or other printed matter, read only half of it, then tell you they know the entire story?

I’d be willing to guess we all know lots of people like this.

Now, how many people do you know that will admit to doing this?

If you said none, nil, nada, zilch, or zero, you’re probably right on target.

Pathetic, isn’t it? Yet this is the philosophy of a large percent of people.

Now, think this through a little. What is propaganda?

According to the Cambridge English Dictionary, propaganda is: “Information or ideas that are spread by an organized group or government to influence people’s opinions, esp. by not giving all the facts or by secretly emphasizing only one way of looking at facts.

The Cambridge English Dictionary defines propaganda as: “Information or ideas that are spread by an organized group or government to influence people’s opinions, esp. by not giving all the facts or secretly emphasizing only one way of looking at the facts,”

If you look at this sideways, you might see a similarity between reading only half the book and getting only half the facts, right?

Yep, thought you would.

America is currently under attack by professional propagandists posing as various experts, news commentators and educators. Those who would question their positions are brow beaten and denied the Freedom of Speech those same propagandists laud as a given right.

The rights and responsibilities of the tax-paying American citizens are being usurped by foreign interventionists set on remaking our beloved country into a satellite of a globalist world empire.

We are being fed bits and pieces of a very large instruction manual designed for the overthrow of our Republic. Our Constitution, the basis of our laws and freedoms is being chipped away at; eroded with half-truths and outright lies.

Ask yourself one question, throughout our history, which political party has had more members commit assassinations and mass murders?

It’s an easy one; the Democrat Socialists. Think about that and read the whole book.

Sixteen Year Old Voters?

This morning, while attempting to enjoy my breakfast I heard a report on the news about the Democrat monarchy struggling to get new voters by demanding a change in our laws to allow sixteen-year-old, legal and illegals living in America to vote. Let that sink in a minute.

The argument was this: We allow seventeen-year-old citizens to join our military. We train them then send them into battle zones where they have to make life and death decisions. If we can do that, we can allow sixteen-year-old’s to vote. Again, let that sink in.

Ready for this?

Re-read both paragraphs carefully; see the problem with the claim?

One word sticks out like a large carrot shoved up my nose.

Did you find it?

Whether you did or not, I’m going to tell you. The one word that destroys the Democrat monarchy’s argument is “TRAIN.”

Enlistees in our military are rigorously trained in basic training (Boot) camps where their mental and physical skills are sorely tested. There is an average 10+% drop out rate for numerous reasons, not the least of which is an inability to work in a team. The successful ones are sent to other facilities to further their training in specialized areas.

The key to the success of our military is team work. Each successful enlistee becomes a part of the military team; each to know his or her role in the success of the team.

How, in the name of all that’s sacred in America, can anyone compare any one of our military personnel to a sixteen-year-old? What kind of stupidity makes them think there is a fair comparison?

For me, it is an another insult to the American voters to think that a sixteen-year-old has the life experience, training and maturity equal to that of seventeen-year-old American soldier, airman, seaman or marine.

In defense of sixteen-year-old’s, I know several and have, over my lifetime worked with a number of them through my religious affiliation. There’s no denying the knowledge and drive of these kids but most lack life experience and the basic principles of our Constitution and electoral processes. I blame our liberal controlled education systems for that.

Do I think Sixteen-year-old’s should be allowed to vote? NO! Not because they’re sixteen, because we have failed to teach them what they need to know to make logical choices for themselves and their future families.

Communicate: An Ode to your Death.

Where once was I, a lad so young,

My before had not begun.

I thought my words told true my heart,

My strengths and knowledge, to all impart.

But alas a fire no more does burn,

Loss of love, life’s cruel turn.

Now it’s over, no time for hate,

To love anew please communicate.

Not a great ode, but then I’m no May Angelou. I think it puts my point across about the value of learning how to communicate.

“So what does that mean? I talk, I communicate!”

Umm, no, talking is not necessarily communicating in my book. Talking, as valuable as it is, is not necessarily communicating: relating information.

Get it yet?

We all talk to ourselves, others and even, on occasion complete strangers. guess which is probably the only one we really communicate with.

My guess is we communicate better with strangers than with anyone else. My reason is simple, more often than not, either strangers are seeking information from me or I from them.

“How do I get to the bus terminal?”

“Where’s the best place in town to get a hamburger?”

Long ago, and I can’t remember who taught me, I learned that there are six words that identify my need to communicate: Who, What, Why, When, Where and How.

For me, using any or all of those words is conveying to the person I’m talking to that I need information: I am communicating a need.

How does that work in a relationship? Well, tragically not well in many cases.

“Why did you lie to me?

“Umm, I didn’t lie, I simply fibbed.”

The question being asked is “Why did you lie to me?” The communication is, I know you lied, but I don’t know why you did.

An honest answer might be; “I lied because I didn’t want you to know I was cheating on you.” The communication is, I’m an asshole and not worth your time. OK, a bit extreme, but you get the idea.

To communicate effectively with someone you want in your life, you must learn to communicate your true thoughts, feelings and needs.

“Could you please explain to me why you felt the need to cheat on me then lie about it?”

Confronted with this question from someone you know you love and do not want to lose, how would you communicate your feelings without telling another lie?

Personally, I think the best way is to communicate the truth.

“I was drunk and made a terrible mistake. I regret it and would love to change it but I cannot. I’m sorry.”

At this point, I believe it contingent on the other party to communicate their feelings to you.

“I’m mad at you; angry and betrayed. I don’t know what to do or say right now.”

What would your response be?

Communicate does not mean accuse, lie, name call or physical attacks.

In this instance, it does mean to say, “You hurt me.”

“Can we talk about this later?” You’re communicating a willingness to be open.

“Maybe.” You’re hearing “I am willing to at the right time.”

Don’t push it by saying, “When?” That’s communicating your impatience. not your need to solve the problem.

For me, communicating is using truth, facts and tact to express my thoughts and needs.

Democrat Lebensborn Agenda?

Without fail, almost each and everyday, the Democrat monarchists show their true allegiances are not to America; their corruption is endemic.

Yesterday, the Democrats in our Congress blocked passage of a bill designed to save the lives of innocent babies. In essence, they declared that since babies who are strong enough to survive the butcher’s tools of the abortionists, had no right to live.

It made no difference to them that the child may have grown up to be another Marie Curie, John-Paul II, JFK, or MLK. No, it only meant a fighter had to die.

Was it fear of that fighter growing up to be another President Reagan or Trump?

When one adds the other actions of the Democrat monarchists such as

“Senate Democrats on Thursday blocked a bill that would fund veterans’ benefits and military construction, in an effort to push Republicans to negotiate a larger budget deal.”

“They issued press releases praising the bill, but they seem prepared to block the Senate from even debating this bill, too,” he said. “It’s all part of some half-baked Democratic scheme to get more money for the IRS and the Washington bureaucracies.” (Senate Majority Leader, Mitch McCconnell).

Here, I see the Democrat monarchy holding our heroic military veterans hostage for more money to fund their, the Democrat monarchy’s agendas. They are willing to allow our veterans to die on the streets and in the waiting rooms of our VA hospitals to get their way.

If one removes political bias from the scenario and closely examines the apparent agenda being followed, you may see similarities to those of the “great” Socialist leaders such as Lenin, Stalin, Hitler, Mao, Pol Pot and so many others.

If my hypothesis is anywhere near correct, the next step, if not already taken in secret, will be the elimination of the unproductive elderly and disabled people of all ages.

Once this is all completed, what will happen?

I predict the creation of the Democrat Monarchy Lebensborn program; the selective breeding of Democrats to form a more “perfect union.”

It is easy to say, I’m full of shit, but just look at those supporting the Infanticide Agenda. Who are the leaders, who are the breeders and who are the ones declaring who may live and who must die?

I Remember Pauline


In 1963, I was nineteen and beginning to show some of the symptoms of, what I call, Childhood Trauma-Induced Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (wow, a long title there). However, in retrospect, I am unable to give it any other name. It is, what it was and came at a very terrible cost.

I did not drink, nor do drugs back then, nor did I act out other than being very insecure, sensitive and lonely, those showed, at least to people who cared which excludes my family.

I met Pauline when I started working as a kitchen helper at the Veteran’s Administration Hospital in Minneapolis, MN, where was the Dining Room supervisor, aka my boss. Almost from the first day, it seemed as though she hated me for some odd reason. It seemed, at least to me that I was her private punching bag when things went wrong. The dishes were not done correctly; I was using too many eggs, I was not overseeing the diet line, I missed a zillions spots on the dining room floor, and my hair was too long. You cannot believe how much I hated that woman. I wanted to kick her ass from one end of the hospital grounds to the other and back again.

Then one day, she assigned me to work in the small kitchenette on the 5th floor of the hospital. It was a room about twelve by twenty feet with a steam table serving line and small tables. I thought it was pretty cool, but I was a bit naïve; it was in the psychiatric ward, so I was a bit nervous. Fortunately, patients were not allowed in without the nursing staff, or so I was told.

            At noon, a sous chef would come up to help swerve, then leave when at one when the kitchenette was supposed to close. On this day, we only had four or five patients who were in and out fast, so we finished early. As I was cleaning up, a patient walked in with a bizarre look on his face. He stood in front of me and looking right into my face and said: “Do you know the president was shot?”

            The first thought that came to mind was, is he was going to tell me about President Lincoln? I did not need that, so I told him he had to leave, but of course, he was not about to leave; he took a chair by the window and started crying.

            Not wanting to upset him more, I quietly grabbed up all the sharp knives and slipped out the employee door only to find a woman in white, kneeling in the middle of the hallway. Now, since this was a men’s ward floor, I was now starting to get a little more nervous.

            I edged my way past this woman, and ran, not walked down the hall to the locked nurse’s station where a nurse (female) was sitting at the desk crying. As I attempted to tell her about the patient in the cafeteria, and the woman on the floor, she blurted out, “They killed the President.”

            Remember now, even though I had pretty much been on my own since age fifteen, and often neglected before that, I was still naïve in many ways. OK, I am lying, I was scared shitless.

            I ran back to the cafeteria to find the patient had left, so I quickly locked all the doors and ran down the back stairway to the main kitchen and dining room. You will never guess what I found there!

            I found more people crying and telling me the President has been shot and killed.

            Luckily for me, Pauline, the woman I whom I had thought hated me, stopped me, took me in her arms and hugged me.

            “It is going to be all right, baby.” She said, and she wiped away the tears I do not remember shedding.

            She held me close, as though I were her child; telling me that things I would be safe with her.

            After I had calmed down, she told me to go to the locker room, get into my street clothes and meet her out by the employee entrance.

            When I got there, she, and her husband were waiting for me. They took me to a local café where we had some coffee and watched the news. After about an hour, they took me home to the room I rented. Pauline gave me her phone number and told me to call her if I did not want to be alone.

            From that day, until I quit the hospital a year later, Pauline remained the tough, demanding boss. She made me do things over until I did them right. She made me admit my mistakes and make them right. She showed me color and gender make no difference in real friendship. To this day, I cannot help but wonder if, when she died, did she meet Nana and Henry, my best friend in elementary in heaven; they were so much alike.

Rest in Peace, President John F. Kennedy, May 25, 1917 to 12:30 PM, November 22, 1963

“Tell me you love me.”


Challenging the Myth of Modern Love

“The Greeks had the good sense to break love into four levels: “storge” was kinship, “philia” was friendship, “eros,” sexual and romantic love, and finally divine love was known as “agape.”

They might interpret the sentence, “I love you, but I am not ‘in love‘ with you” to mean, “I feel philia toward you but not eros.”

However, while the Greeks gave love four spots in the dictionary, this emotion was feared.  Both Plato and Socrates saw this emotion as, “Love is a serious mental disease,” and “Love is madness.” Moreover, it was the Greeks who coined the phrase, “lovesick.” [1]

Here I go again, stirring up the brown; acting the man of the town. However, given the state of our world, I thought I might add a thought or about what I feel is missing.

For the past few years, we have been inundated with attacks on our vocabulary relative to whether it is conservative, progressive, independent or just plain ridiculous chatter inspired by those challenged in the arts of logic and reality.

“He told me he loves me, but how do I know?”

“She said she loves me, but she did not say it in a politically acceptable manner, so I am wondering if she does love me.”

It appears to me that the use of the phrase, “I love you,” is more of an emotional tool than an expression of true love. To my thinking, saying I love you projects an emotion that may, or may not be honestly felt by the person saying it because it has become mechanical for too many people.

I see nothing wrong in saying I love you, but let us not allow it to become complacent.

“I told you I loved you when I left this morning; all you said was “same here.” Gee thanks, love the effort!

            “I Love You” are three words, not proof of love; anyone who thinks they are is, at least in my book, a damned fool and ignorant of what love is.

            I would rather hear, “I am here for you because I love you.”

            “I am always on time to pick you up for dinner because I love and respect you.”

            I will never understand how people can relate sex to love. “I am going to go home and make mad passionate love to my mate!” Bullshit, you are going home and have wild sex, at least you hope you will. The love part comes in after the sex when you realize that the person in bed with you did not charge for his or her services, did not jump up right after climax to hop in the shower and leave, but stayed in your arms.

            Men are notorious for not saying I love you but equally notorious for using non-verbal forms to communicate their feelings. In relationships, women, or partners if you prefer, tend to listen for the words of love; they want oral communication. Men, on the other hand, tend to show their feelings of love and dedication to their mates with actions. The problem being, their mates, do not always see, or maybe appreciate those actions.

            Do you want examples? OK, how about the man who makes you breakfast, helps with household chores and kisses you, just because you are with him. Is he sending a message? I think so.

            What about the man you are dating; is he always on time to pick you up? Does he take out to beautiful places for dinner, maybe to the theatre? Does he act protective or dominating?

            There are millions of ways a man demonstrates his feelings for someone via actions, but there is only one way to say: “I love you!” You have to ask yourself if not hearing those words every day is more important than all the little things he automatically does because it pleases you.

            Now someone is going to ask, what about the gay relationships? What about them? You have to be a biological male to want to demonstrate your love, nor do you have to be a biological female to receive that love. The key, at least for me, is both the verbal and physical demonstrations of love and union between humans, they are equally important.

“What one does is more important than what one says as in Politicians need to be reminded that actions speak louder than words. This statement, a proverb found in many languages, including ancient Greek, was first worded in precisely this way in English in Colonial Currency (1736).” [2]

I say, look to the mountain to hear the voice in the wind.

[1]              How Do You Define Love? | Psychology Today, (accessed February 20, 2019).

[2]           The American Heritage Dictionary Of Idioms : Npr, (accessed February 20, 2019).