One World Religion is coming…in increments…and it ain’t Christianity, Judaism…or even Islam.
It’s a “REVELATION.”
No, it’s Gaia. The worship of the creation and not the creator:
The Case For Making Earth Day a Religious Holiday. From an article that is way too long to cover here. But it continues.
God is not amused.
Tucker Carlson fired. Fox shall comply no matter what…to the Obama led Uni-party (Democrats) and the globalist agenda of the UN and WEF. The fall of the US as the world’s number one power continues from within.
Must get out of the UN
Have to dissolve the WEF.
But…but, I love Hulk Hogan!
Typical
Canadian
“I never forced anyone in Canada to take the vaccine.”
Say….what?
Liar, liar, his pants are on fire. He has got to go. Tucker Carlson hear my prayers. Narcissist of the highest order.
Our National Public Servants strike continues unabated. Canadians have lost interest and have no sympathy:
Thousands of them appeal to CRA (Revenue Canada) to extend tax deadline….FOREVER. “Because, we should not have to pay taxes…ever. Because we are Federal employees with gold plated benefits and pensions….AND YOU’RE NOT!”
“Yesssss. Solidarity, equity, inclusiveness, fraternity. We want…no demand to work from home….forever. We demand a huge pay raise. We want…no demand a one hour work week…with an hour off for lunch. Yessss. Because Federal Employee’s Lives Matter. Fook you Canada.”
Trudeau ways in. “If they are Quebecers then of course we will give them anything they want. If they are from anywhere outside of Quebec then…then…Fook you and get back to work.” So there.
Why? Because Quebecers run Canada…don’t you know. Most Canadians don’t.
Trudeau’s government.
Kurofune and other books I have written. Good reads with great reviews.
I have been told that I am curmudgeonly due to some of my posts. Well, I met someone the other day who is the same age as me (senior) but whose curmudgeonist views make mine the stuff of a Sunday School picnic. He was an upholsterer and I hired him to re do some of our outdoor cushions.
If there ever was a curmudgeon school of thought this man would be the principal. Interestingly, we got on like a house on fire. Funny that. So what does that say about me? Oh, I don’t know. Ask my MP of whom many of my tirades are directed against. Or our illustrious boy Prime Minister. Blah, blah, blah, blah.
We had a great conversation in his driveway, on one of our many early spring cloudy days. Just like our school of thought. Gloomy.
“Where ya from” he says to me
“Ontario…Toronto,” I says
“Me too. Scarborough. Grew up there and worked in my Dad’s upholstery shop.”
“Oh yeah?” says I. “Etobicoke for me.”
“Yeah, My Dad’s business was called the Ontario School of Upholstery but it was no school, I can tell you that.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah and across and down the street a few blocks from us was the Canadian School of Upholstery, but it was no school either. They took their cue from us as our names had some sort of panache to them. Can I say “them,” by the way?”
“Sure can…why?”
“Yeah ,well you never know in this f%^ked up woke world of ours. I hate wokeness. What does it mean anyway? Woke?
“Don’t know. Progressive shyte I think, where you can be, or identify, as anyone or anything you like. Even that horse over there, if you have an inkling for hay and oats.”
“Yeah? A horse? Really?” Chuckling. “Well I have been called a pig a few times in my life.”
He went on….
“But I had a great time growing up in Toronto. Great summers, cold winters but loved the outdoors. Hockey, skiiing, in the winter; fishing camping up in northern Ontario during the summer, if you can stand the mosquitos and horse flies. Brutal. Horrendous. How I miss that.”
“Met my wife there in Toronto but she is from here so we moved back here, to…be…with…her…. family.” He spit. “What family? We never see them. We are only about a 40 minute drive from them but they feel they have to pack a lunch to cross the Malahat Mountain and do forty clicks. Can you believe it? Crikey, I drove more that that to work every day in Toronto…and out here? No, the people out here are a strange lot. It must be the water. Well, you can’t see the mountains in Ontario. It’s so flat, my wife would whine. You can’t see the mountains here either cause of the trees and the continuous rain. But I love my dog. He agrees with everything I say.
“Worst thing I ever did.” He continued. “Come out here. And she hates it here too. Her hometown. Probably gets that from me.”
“Well, how long have you lived here by the lake?”
“Goin on 40 years.”
“What. That’s a long time to be unhappy.”
“Who says we are unhappy? Or me?”
“Well you did…I think.”
“It is all a matter of perspective. Or if you have rose coloured glasses on. Or, if your glass if half empty…like mine is. “But…”and he raised his arm as if making a point of it all….for emphasis. “When everything feels the shits…you don’t expect much, and so you are never disappointed.”
Why don’t you just go back then?”
“Wifey would never go for it now. Grand-kids you know. Nah, I’m…er we are stuck here.”
“Yeah” I agreed. “The politics out here will drive you nuts.”
“Just a bunch of no name idiots.” He continued. “Looney left wing nuts out here. NDP…or Dippers? Dipping into the public till. Useless. Provincial Liberals? A waste of space. Just like the dippers…and scandal prone, just like their federal counterparts. And don’t get me going on those greenies. Aliens from another planet of thought I can tell you that. Just look around you…here? Trees everywhere. And ya can’t cut them down. Protected species they say. Power lines going right through them and across tree branches. We have brown outs and full blown power outages on a weekly basis. Whenever the wind comes up. They worship these trees out here as if they were some idol out of biblical times. Gaia? Phewy.”
“And ya can’t fart around here without somebody raising a stink. No siree Bob. It sucks.”
The Politics here? Suck. The weather? Sucks. Crime? Sucks. The homeless problem? Sucks big time. The Cowichan Valley Regional District? All sucking on our hind tit. For all its worth.” He said with a wide grin on his face. He was both stoic and animated…almost comical. I was not quite sure if he was pulling my leg to get a rise out of me.
“And look at the roads. Potholes everywhere. They don’t know how to fix potholes. They could learn a thing or two from Ontario, I can tell you that.
“We pay our taxes. Exorbitant! And for what? I am on a septic system and a well. No sidewalks and no street lights.”
“You are rural out here you know.” I offered.
I know but why do I have to pay such high taxes. And there is a tax on a tax on a tax. Now we have to pay a tax to breathe. TO BREATHE.
“What is that?” I asked.
“The effin carbon tax. A tax on Carbon Dioxide…C…O….2. Cause we all exhale CO2. So they tax that…or us and the air that we breathe. Canadians are sooo stupid to let this happen. They don’t care as long as they have their 6 packs, Doritos and Hockey Night In Canada. And to rub our faces in it they add the GST to the Carbon Tax. They are taxing everything now because they need more money to maintain their looney left wing social programs. And look at our cities. Victoria? A shit hole. Duncan? A little shit hole. And their fifteen minute cities? What on earth is that? Just another crackpot looney left wing bull crap, I tells ya. I didn’t vote for that. And our schools are terrible. Indoctrinating our kids with woke ideology? Transgenderism, pronouns. No respect for authority or our traditions. Man oh man oh man. Good thing I am old and won’t be around here much longer to have to put up with this shyte.”
“I gotta go.” I left the cushions with him, hopped in my car to leave.
“Okay” he said. “I’ll have these done in a day or two.”
“Great.” says I.
“By the way’ he added, with a wide grin on his face. “Have a wonderful day.”
I drove off, my mind trying to comprehend all that he said. Funny actually. Meeting a real curmudgeon…a curmudgeon’s curmudgeon. And while in deep contemplation I heard a loud bang from the front end of my car as I hit one of the many potholes on his street. Karma?
Kurofune and other books I have written. Good reads with great reviews.
With all the crap going on right now with the WEF, UN, Climate Change, Religious persecution, Lockdowns, Mandates, Fear, Segregation…think again. History will repeat itself if we let it.
Love that. Don’t think about we or they or them. Think about us.
We are being deceived big time. Stop the madness.
Kurofune and other books I have written. Good reads with great reviews.
Here is an excerpt from my very first book, Kurofune: The Black Ships
“The routine at Tripler didn’t change much. Sleep, eat, read,
Saturday night movie, terrace, workshops, and group therapy and on
and on it went. Group therapy, as in how to survive being a gimp, for
the rest of your life. Being a cripple. Disabled. Many of the inmates,
as Ted liked to call them, were very vocal and angry about their
predicaments, cursing the therapists, nurses, and doctors for their
perceived pity and condolences.
“I don’t want your fuckin’ pity,” one soldier cried. “I want my
fucking leg and arm back, my life, for Christ’s sake.”
Ted was beginning to dread these daily afternoon sessions. He
was more reserved with respect to his own condition. He felt that he
would rather wallow in his own self-pity than to face the group and
wallow collectively.
“Corporal Culp?”
“Yes, Major.”
“Would you like to share your story with the group?”
Ted looked around at the group, about thirty amputees, of various
degrees of exposure.
“Uh. Nope,” Ted answered.
“C’mon, Corporal. Don’t be afraid, we’re all friends here.”
“I’m sure that these guys have heard a story like mine many, many
times, here or back in our ward. I don’t think they want to be
reminded on a continuous basis of their own misfortunes and why
they are here. At least, that’s the way I see things.”
“Okay, okay, I can see that,” the Major responded. “But there is
some comfort in numbers, Corporal Culp. That you are not alone
here. As you can see, there are many of us here just like you.” And
with that the Major raised his right pant leg to reveal a prosthetic.
“Is that supposed to impress me, sir, or us?” Ted responded in
kind, looking around the room for mutual support. “So, you’re one of
us. A gimp just like me.”
“I guess I am, Corporal,” the Major said.
“Well goody, goody for you… sir,” Ted said.
Gladys was watching Ted throughout this whole discussion. She
cringed at that last bit of verbiage from him.
“I think we’re good for now, men. Dismissed.”
“That went over rather well, wouldn’t you say, Corporal?” Gladys
remarked, as she came over to wheel him out of the room.
“You think, Sergeant? That’s fine.”
“I’m taking you back outside so you can cool off.”
One day, Sergeant Gladys noticed a few unopened letters in Ted’s
waste basket. They all seemed to be from the same person, from a
Miss Noble out of Bremerton, or Seattle. She had seen this before but
would have to be very careful about how she broached the subject
with Ted. For all of Ted’s bravado and jibes against her, she sensed a
young man who had a heart of gold underneath a rough and cynical
exterior. She would have to focus on that side of Ted to get him out of
his funk.
“Who is Ruth, Corporal?” Gladys asked one day out on the
terrace.
“None of your business, Sergeant Gladys,” Ted responded.
“Hmmm, okay, Corporal. You don’t have to tell me, but I think I
can guess.”
Silence.
“A beautiful view from up here, isn’t it?” Gladys said.
“Humm,” was about all Ted could say to answer her.
“Y’know, I was up here on this very spot when the attack started.
We were all in disbelief, at first thinking that it was some sort of air
show or display being put on by our military. That is, until we saw the
markings on the wings of those planes. And then the explosions.
Chaos!
“It was hell to see what was happening. Helpless, to think that
there was absolutely nothing we could do to stop it. It was an awful
feeling, standing here in abject horror and terror as our island was
under attack, without provocation. The sad thing about all of this was
the loss of life. Young men and women, in their prime, lost their lives
that day trying to stop or respond to this act of Japanese aggression.”
Ted just looked out across the wide blue expanse of the Pacific
Ocean. He was listening to her, and not listening to her. How peaceful
and inviting it all looked to him. He just wanted to dive right in to the
azure waters of the Pacific and drown himself. “Pacific, to pacify,
meaning peace, so nice,” Ted thought.
Gladys left him on his own.
Ted wheeled about. He watched with interest the hustle and
bustle of the port of Honolulu. He could also see various ships:
destroyers or cruisers entering and leaving Pearl Harbor. “Where are
they off to?” Ted thought. “What is their mission?”
It was amazing to see and witness the resilience of the island and its ability to recover from what must have been a devastating blow to its sense of wellbeing, security, and fair play. But they did respond and stepped up to
the crisis. You could see that response in the hard work as evidenced
all over the island in overcoming the odds that were pitted against
them that terrible day.
“You know, Gladys lost her husband in the attack on Pearl,” one of
the patients remarked to Ted. “He was a worker in the yard. His shop
took a direct hit. They never did find his remains. Yet Gladys
remained here on duty, working all hours to care for the wounded
and dying, even after receiving the news about her husband. Rough
around the edges perhaps, but she is a wonder to behold.”
Ted thought of his own father, Eddie, who also died in a shipyard,
in a freak accident. But his death and his contribution to the Puget
Sound Naval Yard did not go unnoticed and was no less tragic than
the death of Gladys’s husband during an air raid.
Ted nodded but said nothing. He wheeled around in his chair just
as Gladys was returning.
“Well, Corporal, feeling better?”
As tough and as cynical as Ted tried to be given his current
circumstances, his sense of compassion and empathy for his fellow
human beings could not be suppressed. Thoughts of the Katagiri
family, the Chamorro schoolgirls, the Japanese soldier he killed at
Betio, and the mother and child lodged in the burrow on Saipan
choked him emotionally. As hard as he wanted to be, he just couldn’t
stand to watch or hear about the suffering of others.
“I am so sorry to hear about the death of your husband, Sergeant
Gladys. And the sacrifice that you endured while working here
during the crisis in spite of your loss. It must have been very hard for
you. I am so sorry. I did not know. Please forgive my indifference
toward you these past few days.”
Gladys looked down at Ted, but in a different light, at this somewhat
pathetic looking young man sitting there in his wheelchair
looking back up at her.
“You can call me Gladys, Corporal.”
She pulled up a chair and sat beside Ted.
“I know it is none of my business, Ted, but I think you are doing
that young lady a disservice by not responding to her letters to you.”
Ted looked at Gladys, saying nothing.
“She is probably being torn apart by the lack of interest or the
indifference that you are showing for her feelings for you. Oh, I can
tell, Corporal. I have seen this before, many, many times. A young
man comes in here, downtrodden and in the darkest depths of
despair as a result of his own personal circumstances, feeling so
much sorrow for himself and self-pity yet never acknowledging the
pain and suffering that his loved ones are experiencing on his behalf.
You may have lost your leg, son, and your will to live, but your loved
ones are equally impacted by this injury because of their love for you
and concern for your well-being. I can only guess that this Ruth girl is
anxious to hear from you and is willing to bear your tragedy on equal
terms with you in dealing with the pain and the suffering that you are
experiencing. I think you owe it to her to at least listen to her feelings
for you and to give her a chance.”
Ted looked out to the horizon and could feel the tears starting to
well up and fall down his face. He started to cry on hearing those
words. He couldn’t stop. It was as if all the events of the past few
weeks and months and years had come to the fore for an emotional
release.
Kurofune and other books I have written. Good reads with great reviews.
The Department of Indigenous Services will not tell MPs what it spent on legal fees in a 16-year dispute over First Nations child welfare funding. A firm represented by one lawyer in the case, former Liberal Senate appointee Murray Sinclair, was paid $169,365 for two months’ work: “The department cannot speak to a specific amount in legal fees.” (Blacklock)
For two months work? I should be so lucky. Anything Indigenous in this country of ours equates to…..Moe Moneeeeeeeeee.
Hey, he is laughing…al the way to the Liberal bank of Canada. Whoopee. How! On earth do they do this?
Hey, $169K here, $800K there, another $750K over there. Hey, it pays to be part of the Liberal Family Compact.
Love this. Our world today:
And this. Our values….oooo. I am sooo thirsty…NOT!
…for a Molson’s. Or my favorite from the early 70s….Raindeer…Beer..erm Rainier Beer:
Two, true blue Canadian Hosers.
Love it.
And for those high tech video game millennials:
I’m thirsty. Drink ya later.
Have a beer. Forget the government BS. Enjoy nature, admire God’s creation and Enjoy the Silence.
