Wake Up Before it’s too Late!

I have been paying attention to what’s going on with the debates between president Trump and the so called leaders of the Iranian caliphate. It became obvious to me what is happening because of my personal experience with the Muslim people. Id like to try and explain, as a business man who has worked with the Muslims.

I’m a carpenter/ contractor who has worked to master all aspects of the building field. Around 2008, most contractors in my area had experienced a crushing, or economic downturn as the famous housing bubble of 2008 exploded. Suddenly there was no work. I watched contractors with crews of sixteen, dwindled down to three. I survived by working for the Muslims. Ironically, as everyone around me was loosing thair shirts, it was the muslim that seemed to have the money and continue to expand and grow. A majority of my work began to come from the Muslims, as they began to buy up many of our stores, and much of our housing. I eventually gained their trust and was referred from family to family.

The Muslim had a way of working together to buy businesses and buildings. Multiple muslims from multiple different countries would come together to upstart a single business. Over time, these muslims who are having multiple children were buying houses. I worked in both their businesses and their personal homes. I developed a trusted relationship with them, and they passed me around from family to family as a referral.

It didn’t matter if they were Pakistanian, Palestinian, Yemenes, or Lebanese. As Muslims, they were all coming out of the same mosque in New York City, and they worked together. They shared their financing, in order to succeed. Soon I learned how they worked. How easily I could get ripped off, and how to navigate their bargaining and haggling skills.

A Muslim sees us Americans as less than them. They need to feel like they have the upper hand. If you let them, they will play with you like a cat plays with a mouse.

When it comes to finances. They didn’t need everything in writing. They didn’t need contracts. What we needed was a strong and very precise verbal contract. One that they would constantly verbally  try to wiggle out of. No matter the country, no matter the family, they all had a very similar haggling style.

Before the job started. We would seem to have an agreement, we’d lay out the plan and the cost. Rarely would they accept the verbal contract at first meeting. They would have you back multiple times to discuss things. They would work to haggle you down. They would look for loopholes, to haggle for cheaper materials. To try to get you to do more for less. Eventually, a handshake would occur, the verbal contract would be solidified in stone, and the job would begin. Almost every time, while trying to haggle me down, they would point to how much other future work they have. Insinuating that if I gave them a good price, they would have plenty of work for me.

During the job, the money would come in as agreed, but they would still constantly work to get you to do more work, or extra work, without changing the price of the verbal contract. A few times, in the beginning, I got in trouble for doing extra work, or even entire extra weeks, without receiving any extra money. They were tricky and savvy in that way. Any poor unsuspecting soul would be taken. I learned this quickly, and just as a real work contract would work, every change had to be verbally, worked out before the work was initiated. Just like a written contract, no work should be performed without having it in writing, only with them in only had to be accomplished verbally. If you weren’t careful, at the end of the job, you would wind up short.

Finally, at the end of the job, there was always a balance. I eventually learned that I could not leave this remaining balance very high. They would make me squirm for my final payment. They would work to make multiple payments very low.

It often went like this:

Let’s say they owe me $5000.00. They would give me $250.00 and ask me to come back in a week. Upon returning, they would make you stand in the store and wait, sometimes for a half hour, sometimes forty five minutes or more, then, they would reach in their drawer and pull out $25.00 dollars and say, “come back tomorrow”. Next day would come, they would do the exact same thing. They would make me wait for forty five minutes, reach in the drawer, pull out $75.00 dollars ect… This would go on for a year. But they would pay me. Always in cash. I’d got the feeling they were hoping you would just go away. Suddenly, as that final payment was due, they are not very friendly either. As if you’re causing them, some huge burden. It wasn’t long before I learned that I needed to keep that final payment as low as possible. I wouldn’t give up though. I’d keep going back for my small payment. I’d be dammed if I let them win, and just walk away.

Even though, for a while there, it would seem the Muslim was the only one who had money,. I eventually stopped working for them. I saw how they lied, manipulated, cheated, demeaned  and belittled, teenagers, drug addicts, nieve young Americans and even our governing institutions; from zoning and town hall, to even the federal government; by way of tax fraud. Or,  by buying food stamps at fifty cents on the dollar. By playing dumb with town officials, such as zoning and building inspectors. I learned that every Muslim I worked for was no good,  and they were working together towards the downfall of the very towns we lived in. I swear I’ve worked for about two dozen Muslim families. I’ve watched them bring in up to twelve to sixteen children per one father. I’ve watched them multiply like rabbits.

Anyway, I share this now because I see that our president is going through these very same trials. I want people to understand how these people work. I want you to see the trickery, they’re demeaning ways, the lies, and the runarounds. President Trump is experiencing this firsthand, as our nation is also trying to figure out what’s going on. While he deals with the Iranian caliphate, two faced words, and broken peace agreements.

The Iranian people realize that they are dealing with a nation that is torn in two. They’re going to try and drag this out through the midterms, if not all the way out to November. They would like nothing more than to get our treasonous democrats back into office. So that they can maintain thair systems of control over multiple nations economies. They will drag this process on as long as possible. The press and the democratic socialists are on their side, and they know it.  – Andrew Hoffman

Dumbocrat Voters

BLEXIT and come on over to the right side … you’ll love it here.

Tsunami

230,000 people died that morning. At one beach in Thailand, everyone survived — because a ten-year-old girl had paid attention in geography class two weeks earlier.

The morning of December 26, 2004, arrived perfect and calm on Mai Khao Beach in Phuket, Thailand.

Families were scattered across the sand. Children built castles near the waterline. Parents relaxed in beach chairs under a cloudless sky. For ten-year-old Tilly Smith from Surrey, England, this Christmas holiday felt magical — her first major overseas adventure, half a world from home, with her parents Colin and Penny and her younger sister.

Tilly wandered near the water’s edge, enjoying the warmth.

Then she noticed something wrong.

The ocean wasn’t behaving normally. Waves weren’t rolling in and retreating the way they should. Instead, water surged forward repeatedly, creeping higher up the beach with each pulse. The sea’s surface had turned frothy — bubbling and fizzing like carbonated water, strange and wrong in a way that most people would have dismissed as an unusual tide pattern and gone back to their morning.

Tilly felt her heart start racing.

She had seen this before.

Not in person. In a classroom.

Two weeks earlier, at Danes Hill School in Surrey, geography teacher Andrew Kearney had taught his class of ten-year-olds about tsunamis. He showed video footage of the devastating 1946 tsunami triggered by an Aleutian Islands earthquake — the destruction, the scale, the power of water moving in ways it was not supposed to move. But the most important part of the lesson wasn’t the footage of the aftermath.

It was the warning signs.

Tsunamis give clues before they arrive, Mr. Kearney explained. Sometimes the ocean pulls far back from shore. Sometimes it behaves erratically — surging strangely, pulling in ways that defy the normal rhythm of waves. The water might become foamy or bubbly as pressure builds underneath the surface. If you ever see the sea acting strangely, he told them, get away from the beach immediately.

Tilly had listened carefully. She had absorbed every detail.

Standing on Mai Khao Beach, watching the bubbling, surging water creep up the sand, her stomach dropped. The unusual waves. The frothy surface. The wrong rhythm. Everything matched what Mr. Kearney had described.

She ran to her parents.

“We need to get off the beach,” she said.

Her father looked confused. Around them, hundreds of tourists continued enjoying the peaceful morning. The sky was clear. No wave was visible on the horizon. Nothing looked dangerous.

“The water’s bubbling,” Tilly said. “It’s moving wrong.” She used the word she had learned in that Surrey classroom two weeks before. “Tsunami.”

Her parents hesitated — not because they doubted her, but because nothing around them suggested danger. The morning was still beautiful. Everyone else was calm.

But Tilly wasn’t guessing. She wasn’t frightened by something she didn’t understand. She was frightened because she understood exactly.

She started shouting. There’s going to be a tsunami. We have to leave now.

Her parents saw something in her face they had not seen before — absolute certainty combined with terror that had a specific shape, the terror of someone who recognizes what they are looking at. Colin Smith made a decision in a split second.

He chose to trust his daughter.

Nearby, a Japanese tourist heard the commotion. When he heard the word tsunami, something clicked — he had heard news that morning about a massive earthquake near Sumatra, Indonesia. Suddenly a ten-year-old girl’s warning didn’t sound like childish fear.

It sounded plausible. It sounded urgent.

The tourist helped alert hotel staff. Within minutes, resort employees were clearing the beach — urging tourists toward higher ground, toward the buildings, away from the water. Some people looked confused. Some laughed nervously. But many listened, and the movement started, slowly at first and then faster, people abandoning the sand and heading inland.

Penny Smith stayed behind briefly, helping staff warn stragglers, encouraging people to move quickly.

The beach emptied.

Then the sound came. Distant at first — like thunder rolling in from the ocean. But it grew louder and closer, a deep roaring that seemed to come from everywhere at once, that shook the air before anything was visible. Penny ran for the hotel stairs as the water began rising behind her.

The wave struck Mai Khao Beach at nearly thirty feet high.

Water exploded onto the shore with a force that snapped palm trees, obliterated beach furniture, and tore across the coastline like a moving wall that destroyed everything in its path.

The beach was empty.

Everyone had already gone.

Across the Indian Ocean that morning, the 2004 Indian Ocean tsunami — triggered by a 9.1 magnitude earthquake off the coast of Sumatra — was killing people on a scale that would take weeks to fully comprehend. Waves traveled thousands of miles. Entire villages disappeared. Cities flooded in minutes. More than 230,000 people died across fourteen countries — Indonesia, Sri Lanka, India, Thailand, and beyond — in one of the deadliest natural disasters in recorded human history.

At Mai Khao Beach in Phuket, despite the massive wave that demolished the shoreline, not a single person died.

Over a hundred tourists had evacuated in time.

Because a ten-year-old girl had paid attention in geography class two weeks before Christmas.

In the days that followed, as the scale of the disaster became clear and the world searched for stories of survival inside the catastrophic loss, Tilly’s story traveled everywhere. She appeared on Good Morning America. Journalists flew to Surrey to speak with Andrew Kearney, the geography teacher whose lesson had echoed across half the world. The story was translated and retold in dozens of languages — a small, specific act of knowledge passing from a teacher to a student and then outward into a moment of genuine crisis, saving everyone it reached.

Mr. Kearney, when asked what he thought about what had happened, said what teachers rarely get to hear confirmed so directly: the lesson had mattered. The information he had considered important enough to teach had found its way to exactly the moment it was needed.

Tilly Smith was asked repeatedly in interviews how she had known what to do, what she had felt standing on that beach with the water behaving wrongly around her.

She said she had remembered what her teacher taught her.

She had seen the signs. She had recognized them. And she had understood — in the way that children sometimes understand things with a clarity that adults complicate — that recognizing danger and doing nothing about it was not an option.

230,000 people died that morning across the Indian Ocean.

At one beach in Thailand, everyone walked away.

Because two weeks before Christmas, in a classroom in Surrey, a teacher taught a lesson — and one of his students listened.

Pastorwardclinton.com

Democrats in 1964

They haven’t changed in actuality

Democrats Created Hassan Piker

The hatred they’ve been spewing created this mess.

Choose Wisely

When God chooses a leader, the leftists don’t like him.  God has demonstrated that He chose Donald J Trump by sparing him, more than once.

If you’re claiming you are a Christian and you’re spending more time talking bad about President Trump than you are spending praying for him, then YOU have and are the problem.

Professing Themselves to be Wise, They Became Fools

This is so incredibly ridiculous that it almost reads like parody.

The WNBA is the Women’s National Basketball Association. The entire point of the league is that it exists for women. Yet the league is now holding discussions over transgender eligibility while saying there are “no immediate eligibility matters” and denouncing what it calls “bad-faith efforts” around the issue. The league’s own collective bargaining agreement says only women are eligible to play, but reporting on the controversy notes that it does not define the term.

How did women’s professional basketball get to the point where “who is a woman?” requires meetings, task forces and corporate language?

This is also a breathtaking missed opportunity.

Caitlin Clark helped bring enormous attention to the league. The WNBA itself called 2024 a record-setting season, with its highest attendance in 22 years, record television audiences, record merchandise sales, and a single-season attendance record for the Indiana Fever. Clark’s rookie season was at the center of that explosion in interest.

The league had momentum. It had new fans. It had people watching women’s basketball who had never cared before.

Instead of protecting that opportunity, WNBA leadership and some of its coaches have allowed the league to become a progressive political shitshow.

Then came the Sophie Cunningham incident. Chicago’s DiJonai Carrington struck Cunningham in the head and neck, the foul was reviewed and upgraded to a Flagrant 2 because officials found windup, impact and follow-through. Carrington, who is Black, later posted “WHITE PRIVILEGE” and tagged the Fever, although she later said she was not claiming the foul call itself was white privilege.

And somehow the conversation again became about rhetoric, divisiveness and everyone’s feelings instead of simply defending the women who are supposed to be the reason this league exists.

Now former NBA players are making a mockery of the eligibility loophole just to force the question the WNBA should have answered immediately.

Biological women. Period.