On Which Hill?

Guest Post by T.L. Davis

I don’t usually title a piece before I write it, preferring to let the piece speak for itself, but I wanted to keep myself on track with this one. As the title suggests, on which hill do we die? We all die, it’s just a matter of how much pain and anguish goeth before the end.

The only thing more emotionally difficult than watching the perfection of the United States die such a horribly corrupt and meaningless death was watching my father die of cancer. I don’t usually get into personal issues here, or talk much about my family; it’s just not relevant. But this time, in anticipation of death, both of myself and my nation, I’ll go outside that restriction.

My father was a farm boy, just a rural kid who watched in amazement his father work long, hard, endless years to build something out of the soil. He was plucked from that pastoral existence to shoot Koreans, or, more likely, Chinese, across the frozen plains of Korea. He was a machine gunner and spent a year and a half on the front lines, earning him a quick discharge. I don’t know how he lived through that, most didn’t.

He returned to his home not so much different from when he left, but immeasurably, inwardly, older. Everything I just related about him was unknown to us as kids. He didn’t even keep many pictures, but there was one with him standing between two others with sandbags as a background and the cockiness of men in the thick of it; it showed in their eyes, their stances. I asked my father about the two others in the picture. He took a moment and said: “well, this one here,” he pointed, “was shot in the head about three minutes after that picture was taken.” I didn’t learn any more than that until I returned from the Air Force, when he opened up more about it.

So, my reverence for my father and what he did with his life had nothing to do with his service, but how he lived it. Honesty, integrity and doing what was right were the qualities he was known for, so watching him wither, eaten up by cancer, knowing what I know now, that it was probably injected into him when he started taking flu shots encouraged by his doctor and others, grips my heart with a hatred and a thirst for vengeance.

What I find so appalling about the reaction of Americans to this vaxx insanity is they are watching their innocent children, their wives, brothers and sisters die from this, their teenage boys and girls, just starting out, having not lived at all, being culled, brought down, destroyed or permanently maimed by this cabal of Satanist clowns at the WHO, FDA, CDC, in every hospital, every clinic, encouraged by every celebrity and politician, with no interest, no curiosity as to those dropping dead all around them. Still, the push continues. Mask compliance in hospitals is still the norm, STILL! With all of that, no organization for those victims, no mass uprising of the bereaved? Just roll over?

The fact that all of this could take place in America, where the press is free to investigate anything it finds amiss; where whole divisions of the federal bureaucracy is founded on investigating the most powerful, the highest, the biggest without fear; where the courts can remedy the worst abuses, right the worst wrongs and address the greatest issues of the times…in silence…without a peep from any of them about the mass annihilation of two entire generations, the very old and the very young, tells me that whatever America was, whatever it might have strived to be and could have been has morphed into a totalitarian police state with the ease of knocking over a chessboard.

We stand now on the precipice of world calamities of several different constructions: the genocidal vaxx; the economic maelstrom brewing in the markets designed to usher in the Central Bank Digital Currency (CBDC) and with it enslavement by a social credit system; World War III growing increasingly powerful in Ukraine that’s likely to end in a nuclear exchange; the rising power and arrogance of the Satanists demonstrated by the Grammys, of all ridiculous things.

We are here. We are left. We are the ones called on by our ancestral brothers and sisters in freedom to fill the gap in the front lines, to take up that position vacated by a bullet from a communist muzzle. We are healthy, because we saw through the enormous propaganda of the whole world trained on us. We are prepared with stores and supplies. We are armed with some of the most sophisticated arms and valuable training. We are legion in number and most are guided by a faith in God.

Most of us have known this offensive would come for decades, it’s been on the horizon like a brewing storm. We’ve had the time to write the wills and settle the debts. Our drafting in this cause is not as abrupt as a farm boy fresh off the tractor getting his draft notice in the mail. We’ve known.

The only question left is: “On which hill will we die?” Because, die, we will.

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Anonymous
Anonymous

My father was suckered into Korea as well.

rhs jr
rhs jr

My dad volunteered for WWII Marine Corp Aviation, shot down five planes, got 20 wounds, he called me chickenshit because I argued Vietnam was a stupid war; that still hurts. I saw his medals, his paper work, his many wounds, his aircraft parts, his friends like Pappy Boyington, photographs, we both flew and talked flying, his military ceremonies, his hobby was aircraft of all kinds, took us to airports instead of movies or parks etc. My father-in-Law was in the front line when the Battle of the Bulge exploded and he only had about 10 bullets because of the Longshoreman strike. He said there were incidents that our guys made the Germans pay for some of their war crimes, enough said. My only uncle was a USAF MSgt. My brother ran away to fight in Vietnam but came back to become VN Vets Against The War N. Fla Coordinator. My Marine cousin volunteered for two tours in Vietnam. My son is an Army Major.

mark
mark

rhs jr,

I was raised around men on both sides who all served in WW2 & Korea…two Grunt Uncles and one Sherman Tanker with Purple Hearts. The two Grunts obviously had what today is called raging PTSD.

The tanker seemed to have dealt better with it…even though his back was a tangled scar of burns being the only one who got out of his Sherman tank alive. There were many family episodes that were epic in the two ex-Grunt’s destructiveness who never tamed the lurking post war demon…but they saw long drawn out battles and much time on the line…while the Tanker survivor was wounded just after D-day in his first and only engagement.

Had another Uncle, Navy Dive Bomber Pilot who sunk a submarine (he only talked about it once I was told) and another Uncle who killed the Chinamen with a Recoilless Rifle on many hill battles, but was one of the mildest sweetest Uncles out of the large combat veteran batch. When he would get in his cups he always sang a Japanese song he had loved and memorized.

My Dad and two of his buddies joined the Marines in early 1944…he was 17…but my Dad was rejected because he had had a mastoidectomy as a boy on one of his ears that left him scarred, and the Marines thought he wouldn’t be able to take concussions. So he then joined the Navy and they made him a 20mm gunner on an aircraft carrier! He did fine.

His two buddies were killed in Iwo Jima.

Just before the Korean War started my Father was an out of work Coal Miner with two kids, and two other WW2 Vets and current buddies (who were also Coal Miners) came over to see if he wanted to go with them to join the Army Reserves. They laid out the money, and how it was just two days a month, and the bonus for WW2 Vets for signing back up, and it was just two weeks a year…yada, yada, yada. He almost went with them…but said a little voice told him not to.

They both were called up…and killed in Korea.

flash
flash

WAS THE GREATEST GENERATION REALLY THE WEAKEST GENERATION
Bob Whitaker explains the source of “social programs” from the “Obedient (to professors)” generation, the WWII generation. They never stood up for their children when Anti-Miscegenation laws got over-turned and the stealthy passage of the Immigration Act of 1965. No one stood up!

Ken31
Ken31

I said similar words against my sister’s father in law who was a ‘Nam vet. To clarify I thought the war was justified and he said they are all chickenshit. I learned to eat crow by the time my waring days were over.

Anonymous
Anonymous

‘war crimes’

flash
flash

Some men love the adventure of killing. It’s in their blood and that’s why war is so easily fomented with the young men. I am related to many who served for this very purpose… the adventure of killing.

I overheard a kid, with arms like pencils and the statue of Ben Shapiro exclaiming how he couldn’t wait to get to Parris Island . I asked him had he even been. He said no. I laughed and told him there was only one road on and off…and don’t drink the water. I’d love to see his face when he gets off the bus.

nothing new

pull on your boots
lace up your thrill
pump up the psyche
get ready to kill

forces against us,
believing as we
the only solution
kill all who disagree.

bombs and missiles
ready for death
believe in opposition
until the last breath

puppets we elect
laugh in our face
the beginning of the end
of a civilized human race

the dollar is a mirage
a fantasy writ in blood
some can’t understand
why it was never understood

days will be long
toil covered in pain
lifeblood you shed
always in vain

get on with your life
like today is your last
beyond your control
the die is cast

the corrupt always rule
of this be sure
the only recourse
is God as the cure

mark
mark

Wrote this in 1972 a few years after I was home.

THE CASUALITY

I laid between the crisp white sheets
trapped in the folds
of the hospital corners
bleeding from wounds
no one could see
dreaming
sweating
floundering
in the surreal nightmare
of my doubts, fears, trauma and survival…
a scarred statistic
unconsciously mourning
his dead youth (Killed In Action)
and not really sure of anything
especially all
once held to be noble
staring up at the ceiling
hour after day after week
counting the cracks
in my mind

Perfect Stranger
Perfect Stranger

As a man, one of the most painful lessons in life is when you mature enough to understand and realize that your father can be wrong.

mark
mark

Yep, there are many deceptive lessons and assumptions passed down from good Fathers who have been fed propaganda and deceptions and don’t realize it.

Cherry picking the truth through your own prism of experiences and especially outside the historical narratives force fed you become critical.

You have to become a reseacher/investigator to escape the world of lies we all are surrounded by.

grace country pastor

Several years back I was speaking to my Navy vet dad about the events of 9/11, of which he believes the official narrative. I thought I was being careful, to explain things gently. In mid story he stopped me and said; “Ted, even if what you’re saying is true, I don’t want to know.”

I lost so much that day. To this day I remain saddened and ashamed.

I visited him a few weeks back. Lives with my sister in northern VA. He’s not at all well. Had the opportunity to witness to him likely for the last time. He actually listened and asked a question or two. Prayers for his salvation please.

brian
brian

Until the last breath, there is still opportunity. Praying

mark
mark

Oh yea brother my Dad came to Christ at the very end. He was a walking muscle most of his life, and shut me down a number of times when I brought up Christ…but I have come to believe a devastating stroke was the best thing that happened to him once he got his mind back.

I read the e-mail my sister excitedly sent me just before he went home of him telling her he had come to Christ…as part of his eulogy.

Ken31
Ken31

They are all suckers wars. The real casualties are the family of the survivors.

mark
mark

Yep…War is a Racket – many decades ago that book and my research into the Gulf of Tolkien False Flag started me on the path of realization that Butler was 100% correct…that was the catalyst for me into the Creature from Jekyll Island…on and on and on.

Harrington Richardson
Harrington Richardson

Being born in the 50’s I grew up with tons of crazy drunks in the neighborhood and a lot of the “get off my lawn” types. I realized as an adult that these guys had all seen the elephant too many times and had what was then called shell shock and now is PTSD. When I was born WW1 vets were in their 50’s and 60’s along with the WW2 guys in late 20’s to 40’s and the new Korean vets in their 20’s.
We grew up around a lot of great people, but many had serious damage. There is a hell of a lot to the Aussie song, “and the band played Waltzing Matilda…”

Anonymous
Anonymous

Suckered (enlisted)? Or forced at the point of a gun (drafted)?

Anonymous
Anonymous

The only question left is: “On which hill will we die?” Because, die, we will.

At this point it must be obvious to most, Mt. Complacency, or possibly, Mt. Obliviousness.

rhs jr
rhs jr

Insouciant, a very pleasant pastoral governmental park.

Walter
Walter

Well, that’s very direct.

bidenTouchesKids
bidenTouchesKids

On which hill will we die?

I’d have thought it would be mutilating and allowing grown men gang bang our most innocent, but I was wrong.

Far too many apparently are happy collecting likes and virtue as it all burns down. Don’t think they’ll wake up until the bread and circus runs out, by then it’ll be far too late.

rhs jr
rhs jr

I have to enter this comment a second time because the first time it suddenly disappeared! Our hill will probably be to go to Hell by taking The Mark Of The Beast (MOTB), or to not take it and be cut off from banking, from all commerce, etc. A personal QR Code will be required later this year to enter large chain retail stores, and to buy or sell using FedCoins (your only choice) by Jul2024. The MOTB might be printed on your right hand using invisible (except using UV light) Lucerferase. Most people will take it just like they wore useless masks and took COVID clot shots

YourAverageJoe

Yes, what you just stated.

mark
mark

rhs jr,

I have thought long and hard about the thundering hoof beats and the Mark of the Beast…have had talks with my wife about it.

Wanted to make sure she understands and agrees that the first death is nothing compared to eternity…and she does.

We are on the same page!

Anonymous
Anonymous

Why is that the MotB, rather than the covid shot, or credit cards, or real ID, or SSNs, etc.?

World War Zero
World War Zero

or Costco Membership.

WTF
WTF

ROFL!!

Anonymous
Anonymous

do you really think that isn’t part of the training? big stores with or without membership, facial recognition camera, self checkout, pay with an app, scan and go, now everything based on qr codes and cameras.

It’s all part of the same thing. If they chip you in the arm is that okay because it isn’t your head or your hand?

rhs jr
rhs jr

I’m just guessing : the MOTB is Required to buy/sell , and to Not accept it will result in Serious punishment. The FedCoin and Banking For Everyone Act is mighty close. All that’s needed for any of the above is for democrats to demand the resistors wear a yellow star or something like that.

Eddie
Eddie

I want/wish to be proven wrong.

Most of us have already died on our hills (and we didn’t make much of a fight).

We are Dead Men Walking……………

Only a very few of us rejected (and not nearly enough), the BS and the Death Shot.

Ken31
Ken31

Well said.

mark
mark

I have many friends who are Christian Pure Bloods Eddie.

Many are well armed…and Preppers.

Ken31
Ken31

Me too. And the rest would die on the hill of freedom, if it came too it. No seething from the camps.

Their Achilles heel is that people with nothing to live for can be dangerous and that they are hedonists.

WTF
WTF

Bible in one hand and my .300 Blackout in the other.

ryan
ryan

Great post. I was telling my son just the other day that he should never think, after I am gone, that the choice that I made which resulted in my death was made because I didn’t love him enough to want to stay alive. What man knows where his hill is? Only that it is coming into view.

TS

Posted this a couple years ago.
Seems like a good reminder about the dynamics of choosing that Hill.

A Hill To Die On

Aunt Acid
Aunt Acid

Capitol Hill?

J6 folks only engaged in an unannounced and unauthorized group tour of the joint.

Have we all forgotten those photos of the FEDGOV cowering behind riot fencing and barricades as the true colors of the coup were shown. The “enemy” is not China or RUssia; the enemy is the American people.

Things need to get spicier , think 7,000,000 Scoville units spicy, before getting most Murkins off their sofas and easy chairs. Yay! Super Bowl is this Sunday. Go team!

rhs jr
rhs jr

Sports might become delayed 30 minutes in the future as TPTB make sure that any player that suddenly falls over dead isn’t seen by 300 million Americans live on TV. Like the Weather Radar and satellite pictures that used to be live but now are computer generated or AI whatever to wipe out the chem-spray trails (so they don’t show up). I live in flyover country and monitor the temperature on cold nights myself, and can prove that the NWS’s official cold temperatures on real cold nights average 5 degrees F warmer than the True temperature, and on extremely cold nights they adjust the official temperature up maybe 10 degrees F.

Junious Ricardo Stanton

The myths and lies about American exceptionalism are being shattered daily as more and more people begin to realize we live in a kakistocracy a society ruled by the worst elements, the most vile, incompetent and degenerate strata/class in the nation.
The state and corporate coercion (the Draft), propaganda, varying levels and degrees of miseducation facilitated the writer’s father being sent to a far off land to maintain the corporate elite and their system under the guise of defending “freedoms, rights and liberties” https://www.heritage history.com/site/hclass/secret_societies/ebooks/pdf/butler_racket.pdf that many residents of this country (most Native Americans and Blacks were not full fledged citizens of this nation at that time) did not have access to.
Because the plutocrats control of the narratives (historical and current), most Americans are totally unaware of the US ruling class’ role in the global Eugenics movement https://smleo.com/2022/06/07/the-american-eugenics-movement-and-its-influence-on-nazi-germany/, a movement that is very much alive today and is the foundation on which the current depopulation agenda: COVID, the mRNA injections, the coming food shortages and wars are built.
Death is unavoidable and inevitable, the question is do we have anything we are willing to die for (so others may live), will we acquiesce and be passively put down by the Globalati and their miscreant flunkies? Time will tell and time is of the essence.

WTF
WTF

“The myths and lies about American exceptionalism are being shattered daily as more and more people begin to realize we live in a kakistocracy a society ruled by the worst elements, the most vile, incompetent and degenerate strata/class in the nation.”

I just went on a rant yesterday about this very thing to my youngest son and my son-in-law.

Ken31
Ken31

This clown lost me at 1862.

bigfoot
bigfoot

About that hill to die on:

It was front page news across America. My brother, Buff, enlisted with the Army before the Korean thing. That “Peace Action.” He was tall, strapping, barely eighteen-years old, fresh off the farm and wanting to travel somewhere different than up and back across a field on a tractor. From Japan he was sent to Korea among the first to go there. Not long after, his company was attacked and his commander died in his arms, saying “Get out, it’s an ambush!” Buff was the only one in the company to make it out. The North Koreans captured a dozen or so boys. Buff watched from a hill with binoculars his buddies who were forced to run up and down the road without boots until they fell and who were then shot by laughing soldiers. Buff said he had felt the sharp rocks on that road through his boots. He got back to his lines and reported his experience and the story hit the papers on the front pages with a picture above the fold of him in his combat uniform. I was nine and I walked into a market where newspapers were sold from a stand and I immediately recognized my brother. I ran home distraught to tell my parents, but they were there crying and already knew. I cried, too, but stopped when my fifteen-year old brother said, “What are you crying for, he escaped.”

About a month later in the night Buff went over to comfort another boy soldier who was sobbing in his foxhole. The guy shot Buff three times in the gut. He died crying for his mother. Our mother received a flag, a Purple Heart, his body, and $10k. We buried him in Walla Walla, WA. He had been a farm boy at my uncles place in nearby Dixie, WA. Ironically, he went there to escape the brutality of my father.

I remember my nightmares. I hoped with all my might that the war, which was on the front pages of the newspapers, sickenly, daily, for years on end, would be over by the time I was eighteen. It was, but then Vietnam came along. I escaped that one, too, because I was classified 4F for having seen six months in the County Jail for store burglaries across four or five states. My brother was a pro and spent time in three different prisons. I mended my ways. He never did and got a very long story in People Magazine about his exploits. A very, very bad end.

My father was a violent, wife-beating, sentimental man. Hard worker, poacher, drinker, bar fighter, story teller, and so on. He had a beautiful tenor voice and spent several years going from one gig to another. He’d sing “Old Shep” for me, reluctantly, while driving the car. It was the song I always requested and he’d say, “Oh, Mike,” not that one.” And the tears would flow as he sang. At other times his backhands would make my own tears flow. He never went to war. He was born in 1901, so he certainly could have. He and my mother met when they were picking apples to make a buck. He did become an “essential worker” as a lineman for public electric companies (PUD). Those guys were some tough assholes in them days: out of bed in the dark during high winds using spurs to climb up tall, slick, wooden poles during electrical storms. Not a few of them died from “burns” as it was called from live-wire contact. More of them fell and broke their backs. A brotherhood they were. My dad quarreled with superiors who came onto jobs and directed things according to “book learning,” as my father put it. “College boys.” He’d argue with them and punch them out if they did not listen to reason. Things were different then, and the Union was strong, so when he’d get fired, up we’d go to another little city where he’d get another job, soon to become “foreman” once again. He wrote poetry and self-published a little book he titled, “Wires.” Older, he went around to various public utility buildings and tried to sell “Wires” to the brotherhood. He didn’t sell many. He’d come back out of a building where he’d once been employed and say, grinning wryly, “Well, no one threw a goddamn punch at me. That’s good, right?”

Yeah, shit happens. Then and now. Yet there were opportunities then that have been lost these days. I got my Social Security card when I was eleven. I set pins in a bowling alley where you’d sit above the pit as the ball hit the pins and everything fell into the pit. Then you’d jump into the pit to lift the ball and place it on a track so gravity could send it back up the alley. Then you’d pick up the pins, as many as you could at once, and throw and slid them into the slots of the rack with as much speed as possible, especially if you were working two alleys at once. After, the second ball was sent or there was a strike, and after you’d gotten all the pins in place, you’d grab a cross-bar and push it down to reset the pins. Later on, that last procedure became electrified and all you had to do was pull a string and the rack would fall and set the pins automatically. I loved doing it and did that for money until I was fifteen and got a job as a boxboy in a locally owned supermarket at.85 cents per hour. I worked there for nine years, with one hiatus. I became the assistant manager at nineteen and bought all the groceries, dairy, bread, specials, etc. Did the work schedules. Trained people. All of it. I was scheduled nine hours per day, six days a week and I made more money than my probation officer, who made humorous comments about that to his fellow office workers.

It was work that saved me from what my middle brother became. He was a star athlete in high school and college. Football, then wrestling. I mean he was good. “Shorty ‘tank’ Meek,” he was called in high school. His college Freshman year he was second in the Pacific Coast wrestling tournament. He lived with his coach, who was certain he had a national champion on his hands at 167. My brother would starve himself down from his usual 180 to wrestle guys who looked a little puny next to him. Some of them pinned themselves lest they get hurt. But he liked to steal, often got caught and finally the judge said, “Prison or Army?” Off to the Army he went. Of course, the Army recognized what it had and all my brother did in the Army was sports. Mostly football. Privileged all the way, as per usual and after the Army he was back to stealing, getting caught. and finally state penitentiary time. The last time he was released and on parole he managed to keep ahead of the law for many years, until the end time for him as chronicled in the People Magazine spread. Murdered several people who tried to prevent him from keeping something.

At one point he and I were in the same county jail while I (20 years old) waited to come before a judge and my brother awaited being sent back to prison for violating his parole. He managed to get a trustee to send one of his buddies to a house my brother had rented to store our stolen goods in and where a pot of money was at hand. For his services, the trustee was to provide my brother with some hacksaw blades. At night the jailers put everyone inside a barred space where all the cells with beds were. My brother went to work on those bars which were about three inches in circumference. You have to understand that my brother was “Famous among the barns” to borrow a phrase from Dylan Thomas. But not only famous and well-liked, but known to be dangerous. Anyway, as he sawed on those several bars for two days, without him saying a word, jailees would stand by the entrance to the lockup and tap their tin drinking cups on the steam pipes if a jailer was seen coming around.

To be continued should there be any interest. I’m tired right now.

flash
flash

Interested…lol…I want to read the book.

WTF
WTF

Me too! I’d buy it!

mark
mark

Let the rest rip bigfoot!

Michael Meek
Michael Meek

Page 2

As with many feted high school athletes and other popular boys and girls, the best days of their lives were their high school days. My brother was one of these. The teachers loved him, the girls did, his buddies did, and the town fathers did. And really, the town did. He dated a sublime and well-heeled girl whose father owned a car dealership. My brother would spin tales about his troubles at home and for this he would gain the sympathy of any listener. Here was an achiever, knocking down all the obstacles he faced. And he would do things like enroll in Home Ec and be the only boy ever to take that class. Imagine a plebe taking that class in the fifties. But the most manly boy in town? Awesome, and adds to the sorcery. Yes, high school football heroics are endearing to the hoi polloi, but for my money it was boxing where you could see what my brother was made of.

Back then some high schools actually had a boxing program! It was the best and most entertaining. My brother went head first in on this, both literally and figuratively. He went his own way as per usual while completely ignoring the coach, who regularly put up pictures in the locker room of my brother showing his opponent’s fist on his jaw and my brother’s eyes closed tight. Unfazed by all that, my brother hit the ring swinging, nothing but and only roundhouse “punches.” He’d chase his opponent around the ring swinging all the while with his face looking like a wild Indian on a scalping raid. The opponents would try their best to get some licks in while backing up the while, but perseverance on my brother’s part would almost always carry the day. He had such power a hit on a guy’s chest or shoulder spelled disaster for the back-peddler. One exciting evening a boxer from the little one-horse town of Dayton appeared in the ring with my brother. Delaney was his name. Irish, I assumed. I remember that fight like it was yesterday. Swing after swing after swing and nary a one touching Delaney, anywhere, ever. But Delaney got a lick in countless times as he was chased around and around and around. The crowd went nuts. You’d have thought we were seeing Max Baer and Max Schmeling up there under the lights.

I was upset. My hero lost. When my brother came out of the locker room, I was there waiting. His face. Multi-colored and swollen from top to bottom. The numerous white patches covering his cuts looked as if Dr. Frankenstein was about to unveil his masterwork. I was crying at the sight of him while he was smiling and laughing and looked as happy as he’d ever been. I’d seen him in another fight that also made me cry. That was when he challenged our father in John Day, OR. It took place toward the end of a summer vacation to Michigan and back after Buff’s death and the receipt of that $10k, which my mother used to buy a new ’52 Pontiac and to fund the trip. She invited my father to come along. Crazy, I know. I don’t recall what specifically pissed my brother off, it usually didn’t take much anyway, but he at fifteen was filled out muscle-wise and must have felt ready to challenge the pack leader. My dad was standing on a stoop in front of the motel’s door when my brother came for him, angry and swinging those roundhouses. My dad did not back up. Instead the old, seasoned pack leader threw straight jabs down to the nose every time my brother came close enough. It was over in a trice as my brother let his arms fall to the side, head down, and he cried himself in frustration. Losing was not on his agenda. Literally, a half-hour afterwards he had me on a raft in the middle of a small pond where he was laughing and joking as he threw cherry bombs at the carp that were “finning” in the shallows.

I may continue this if there is interest. As I started writing the first comment, I somehow got to telling tales that are only peripherally related to the post’s topic, but whatever!

John Doe
John Doe

“Military men are just dumb, stupid animals to be used as pawns in foreign policy.”
-Henry Kissinger

flash
flash

He ain’t wrong.

Leah
Leah
zappalives
zappalives

Which hill ?
Take your pick.
The US fed/corp/gov is attacking the AMERICAN people daily.

Harrington Richardson
Harrington Richardson

Heard a new one today. The SPLC has convinced the FBI that the Catholic Church is a hotbed of anti-Semitism and doesn’t approve of all kind of commie/prog/rainbow flagger BS. Supposedly people who like the Latin Mass are more dangerous than climate change and election deniers.
Apparently they want to put infiltrators and spies in local parishes. WTF!?

rhs jr
rhs jr

Not the Pope, he’s fine with the NWO.

Anonymous
Anonymous

The biggest problem with a representative republic that uses democracy to choose it’s government officials is idiots can vote themselves into repression and destruction if they outnumber the people that prefer freedom and liberty.

flash
flash

My Uncle was 1 of 2 rangers in his entire company that survived the war, but those commies, bruh…gotta’ fight them over there to pertect muh capitalism.

hardscrabble farmer
hardscrabble farmer

I had three great-uncles who served in WWII. One was killed at the battle of Kasserine Pass in Sidi Bou Zid on Valentine’s Day in ’42, another lost his leg at Anzio on his 18th birthday and the third disappeared and was considered missing in action in New Guinea until he rolled out of the jungle a couple of weeks before VJ Day weighing less than a hundred pounds. He just walked through the front door one morning after his wife had gotten used to him being KIA for close to four years and picked up his life where he’d left it.

The surviving Uncles never spoke about their experiences, at least to me, but they always gave off the aura of dangerous men. They would all be spinning in their graves if they knew what America was goiing to turn into.

Lager
Lager

Agreed. My Pop served, but after D-Day. In fact, well after the Allies had taken control in the European theater of operations. After boot camp, his assignment: Oversee the holding and treatment of xx number of German POWs, as well as the crating up of M1 Garands, for return shipment to the U.S.
Be nice to have one of those pieces.
One POW was a craftsman, who created a silver or pewter keepsake small box, engraved with the 4 countries Pops had seen and spent time in.
It was a gift, and a testimonial to how he treated the POWs under his watch, I believe.
Unfortunately that piece, under my older brothers care, was stolen, along with other weapons, during a break in burglary, when brudder was away from home, with his fiancee. In Detroit. Go figure, right?
Dad too, would be disgusted with today’s society.
My dream? To rediscover that piece, at a pawn shop or estate sale, to buy, and return the sentimental value of a precious gift, to Dad’s heirs.
If it be God’s will, let it be done.
Seek, and I shall find.
I read that somewhere.
Hmm..

flash
flash

My Uncle served with 101st during WWII and then re-enlisted to fight in the Korean war. He loved the killing and so did a cousin who fought in Vietnam, two tours, and, because of, spent the rest of his life in a wheelchair. I never heard either one of them say anything about protecting anyone’s freedom. They just liked to fight.

hardscrabble farmer
hardscrabble farmer

I choose to pick a hill to live on.

flash
flash

America is no longer We the People. America is an occupied country. Deep Shekels will get their war. Time is short….tribe up or die.

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“One of the regular panelists on “Sixty Minutes” then faced the cameras directly and said that Russia’s nuclear doctrine is under revision in light of these aggressive plans being aired in the United States, so that Russia is headed towards a policy of ‘preventive’ tactical nuclear strikes, similar to what the United States has. Moreover, if Ukraine targets Crimea and heartland Russia, then Russia will respond according to plans now being laid down. These plans foresee counter strikes against U.S military installations in Europe and in the Continental United States using hypersonic missiles. The panelist calls for this threat of counter strikes in Europe and the US to be made public and explicit, so that no one is in doubt about what to expect from the Kremlin.

So here we are. The Russians are stripping away the fiction of a proxy war and revealing the co-belligerent status of the US and its NATO allies in preparation for a kinetic war with NATO. As our illustrious former President, a man of few words, would say: “Not good!”

Allow me also to share with my readership the bitter medicine that I just shared with our daughter: look for an escape hatch!

Either, as I fervently hope, there will be an anti-war movement in the USA, in Europe arising from the shock therapy news now developing with respect to the coming kinetic war between NATO and Russia, OR failing that, it will be every man for himself.”

The Coming Existential Threat: Do We Act in Common OR Is It Going To Be Every Man for Himself?

Anonymous
Anonymous

To the Author:
What makes you think we can stave off the last chapter of the bible? I’m actually looking forward to it.

Oldtoad of Green Acres
Oldtoad of Green Acres

Yes, the forgiveness part is the toughest for me.

WTF
WTF

You’re not gonna do what you can? Just gonna sit on your self righteous rear end and do nothing? You must not have any children or grandchildren.

The Central Scrutinizer
The Central Scrutinizer

The Grand Tetons!

anon a moos
anon a moos

They are stunning, well worth the visit.

WTF
WTF

“We are here. We are left. We are the ones called on by our ancestral brothers and sisters in freedom to fill the gap in the front lines, to take up that position vacated by a bullet from a communist muzzle. We are healthy, because we saw through the enormous propaganda of the whole world trained on us. We are prepared with stores and supplies. We are armed with some of the most sophisticated arms and valuable training. We are legion in number and most are guided by a faith in God.”

Correct on all points.

flash
flash

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Empty
Empty

I know Romans 12:19, but I’m sorry and may well pay for my trespass, but I don’t intend to wait for punishment in our court system. Very few plaintiffs are satisfied with the overall outcomes. If someone kills someone so close to me and I know factually those who are to blame, they’re dead. Today.

Random63
Random63

A bit negative don’t you think? Every time we fought back, resisted a shot no matter the threat, lost family and friends because we stand on our principals and live by them, refused to stop prepping, use gold/silver, researched and decided for ourselves on actions and issues, etc., we have not only chosen and fought on a hill, but won it. I don’t plan on dying on a hill, but to continue to win them one by one and let the other side die on their hills.

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