SURVIVAL SUNDAY MORNING

It's Sunday morning and I am up before the wife, as usual, and thinking about things. One of the things I am thinking about is J.W.Rawles statement that Prophecy went away from us with the last of the Apostles. What a huge dose of malarky! To think that God has left us with no word is just about as defeated an attitude as I could envision. Where do these little small-minded ideas come from? It's pathetic.

God has not left the human family but rather the human family has left HIM. But I will tell you this. I pray to no man. I pray to the Father. If there is any help for us poor humans it is with the Father. He only has immortality. He only knows the date of the fullfilment of the prophecies of old. He is the key to the whole deal and he can help you survive the coming tribulation. And true prophecy is not gone. Far from it. There is a shortage of it right now but that is because it is a special time when things are being prepared.

I am a survivalist for many reasons and one of them is a question. "Who can make war with the Beast?" Hah! I'll give old Beastie a few rounds anytime he shows his ugly face. I might not be the deciding fighter but I can still squeeze off a few shots. I don't believe the propaganda of the Beast. He ain't invisible and bulletproof. He goes down just like regular folks when hit with a properly aimed round.

I saw an advertisment for Ragnar Benson's book on Urban Survival this morning. Now I don't know who Ragnar Benson is and I don't know where he lives , but I can tell you that anyone who talks about surviving in an urban setting is not hitting on all cylinders. Or else he is trying to make a quick buck off the poor hapless folks before they turn in their right-to-live cards The great urban settlements of America will become the great killing zones of the tribulation to come. Get out of town, says the Michael. When the trouble starts the denizens of urban America will become pieces of meat hanging in a butcher shop. GET OUT OF THE CITIES!

How plain does it have to be spoken? The cities are doomed. And that means the urban sprawl around them is doomed also. The supermarkets aren't going to work any more. Wally World will be empty. The police and fire departments are going to cease to exist. Medical assistance will be non-existant. Your commodes won't flush anymore. The water taps in your home will be dry. If you have any food it will become a target of opportunity for freebooters. The cities will become a den of rats. The televison you all love so well will be silent and dead. But a lot of you will never make it out. And you will become victims of poor thinking. I can't help that. I can offer help and advice but you have to listen or it is for naught.

If you trust the word of any government then you have not been paying attention to the world for the last few decades. Governments are for the survival of governments, not the poor dumb pukes who feed them tax money. Come election time the candidates are all full of talk about the importance of voters and the necessity of lowering taxes. But the day after the election it is back to business as usual. They cheated the electorate again. They got the line of BS over to the public once more.

The ignorance of the voting public in America is almost humorous if it were not so damned dangerous to life and limb. And they fall for the BS election after election after election.

I am reminded of a scene I watched over 30 years ago. A young man had raised a large flock of chickens over the Winter. He must have had almost 300 chickens in his little flock, with about 10% of them roosters. And he had quite a mixture of species. I remember Buff Arpingtons, Rhode Island Reds, Domineckers and Leghorns, to name some of them.

And the young man put them to an old barn and put up a chicken fence and the whole flock would get be out in their little chicken yard looking for bugs and other goodies. They had a time.

One peculiar trait of those chickens was the ruse that the roosters used to fertilize the hens. At least it was peculiar to me. A rooster would go around scratching in the earth and looking for bugs. Then he would pull back and crow like crazy. And some little hen would immediately run over to see what the rooster had found that was so appealing. She would figure is was a tasty morsel of food and her head would go down to seek it. As a chickens head goes down, it's butt goes up. That's the way chickens are made. And when that hen's butt would go up in the air that rooster would mount her and give her a good dusting to fertilize her next egg with
his own kind.

The crazy part of the whole ordeal was that the hens fell for this all day long. A rooster never failed to attract a hen to his little game. The hens were eternally locked into falling for the trick. Was I watching the American electorate? I think I was.

Stay alert and stay alive.

Michael