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Mark Glenn: Independence Day

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    Independence Day Mark Glenn Tuesday, 04 July 2006 http://www.ziopedia.org/content/view/483/1/ I have to get home to my mother, she will be so worried if I am
    Message 1 of 1 , Jul 4, 2006
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      Independence Day
      Mark Glenn
      Tuesday, 04 July 2006
      http://www.ziopedia.org/content/view/483/1/


      "I have to get home to my mother, she will be so worried if I am not
      back soon." 9 year-old Mona clutched at the gaping hole in her
      stomach, blood pouring out of her as if someone had turned on a
      faucet. There was something so terribly and indescribably out of place
      in her frail words, the colliding of two disparate worlds, that of a
      mother's child, and that of a little girl facing down the ugliest of
      what life and humanity had to offer.

      The man who was kneeling at her side however knew better. He was a
      trained medical professional, and in a war zone known as Gaza of all
      places. He had seen this scenario a thousand times before, and a
      thousand times too many as far as he was concerned. This child would
      not be going home, at least not her earthly home, given the fact that
      she had just been shot in the stomach at close range by a soldier
      wielding a machine gun, the bullets from which produced exit wounds on
      her tiny body that were as large as golf balls. Had she known that her
      insides had just been turned to mush, it is highly unlikely that she
      would have been as composed as she was at this moment.

      Her gesture in worrying about her mother, about not wanting to cause a
      beloved parent any grief was partly genuine, and partly an attempt to
      distract herself from the fact that she knew something terrible had
      just happened to her. Indeed a child's sweetness knows no bounds,
      irrespective of where such a child can be found in the world. As she
      lie in a bath of her own warm blood that increased with each passing
      second, while frantic adults attempt to effect that which they know is
      futile, all she can think is that her mother must be worried, and how
      she wishes she could be home with her now, if only for enough time to
      give her one final embrace, tell her of a daughter's love, and to say
      goodbye.

      In the end, it all came down to sweets, an indispensable part of any
      child's life, even in places that have been torn apart by warfare for
      the last century such as this. Today, little Mona, despite having
      grown up in a world of bullets and mortars, allowed the carelessness
      of her childhood to overpower her reason just enough to persuade her
      towards venturing forth into that deadly world of never ending
      violence to buy some cookies at the corner store. The fact that
      Israeli soldiers were busy with their latest masterpiece in butchery
      nearby did not seem to arouse her concern. After all, when all things
      were considered, this was just another day in the life of someone who
      knew she had been born under a sentence of death and who had developed
      an intimacy of sorts with this fact as if it had been her own skin.

      On her way back, humming something sweet and armed with nothing more
      dangerous than the cookies in her hand, she was indiscriminately shot
      by an Israeli soldier, who, like all the rest of his ilk, had been
      told by both political and spiritual leaders that it is the religious
      duty of all good Zionists, a mitzvah, to cleanse the promised land of
      any impurities that may be infecting it, a process of sterilization
      which included, if it can be imagined, slaughtering helpless Arab
      children. And so, this courageous and obedient soldier from among a
      group of people who fancy themselves as being a light among nations,
      without the slightest hesitation pulled the trigger, simultaneously
      swatting away at the shred of what remained of his conscience as if it
      were some species of annoying insect.

      For little Mona, it merely felt like a lit match touching her insides
      momentarily, and it was not until she began to feel the sensation of
      warm wetness on her dress that she began to panic. Her first instinct
      was that she might get into trouble for having gotten her new dress
      dirty, since the last thing her mother told her before leaving the
      house was to make sure not to get it messy. Thus is the mind of a
      child, even when facing the awfulness of eternity that their thoughts
      are always to be found firmly rooted in something trivial and sweet.
      Perhaps it was the panic stricken appearances on the faces of those
      around her who were trying to help that caused her to realize the
      seriousness of what it was that she was facing, or perhaps it was the
      unseen whisper into her soul from some divine messenger telling her to
      hurry up, since time was running out. Either way, no one really knows.

      And so in that fifteen seconds before her spirit was liberated from
      the hellish existence that had been imposed upon her and upon the rest
      of the inhabitants of the Holy Land by the self-described `chosen
      people', the little Palestinian child of 9 years forgot all about her
      cookies, as well as about every other item of what encompasses a
      child's existence, grew up quickly, remembered everything she had been
      taught during the religion classes she had taken throughout her life,
      and made her last statement of faith. In her last words, there was no
      malice, no pulsa de nura--the infamous curses that rabbis and Orthodox
      Jews hurl daily at passing Christians or Muslims in Israel, no
      condemnations, no vows of revenge. Her composure, as she lie there in
      a pool of her own blood, was as graceful and as dignified as was that
      of any patriot or saint who has secured a rightly earned place in
      mankind's memory as a result of having had his or her life cut short
      by the actions of men hell-bent upon doing evil to others. For Mona,
      it would be one simple statement, without any fanfare or drama, final
      words that will probably be remembered by few, short of those who
      loved her more than they loved themselves.

      The little girl whose life had been snuffed out like a candle, the
      last fragrance of this little Palestinian flower who had been cut down
      by the hatchet of Jewish supremacism had nothing more spiteful in her
      final curtain call other than "God is great."

      From a bird's eye view, this was but one of several tragic scenes
      taking place on that day. A few miles away, a family of seven had just
      barely made it out of their home when the bulldozer crashed through
      where the living room was. There were no warnings that this demolition
      process was about to take place, and had it not been for the fact that
      14 year-old Ismail went to the window to see what the noise was that
      was coming from outside, the entire family would most likely have been
      buried beneath the rubble. This was a common occurrence these days, of
      not ordering the evacuation of a home to be demolished, since the
      Israelis cared nothing about the lives of the filthy Arabs who were
      polluting their sacred land, and thus preferred that the entire mess
      be hauled away, home and dwellers included.

      Under the gaze of 3 armed-to-the-teeth Israeli soldiers, the family
      stood by and watched helplessly as everything that encompassed their
      lives was reduced to rubble within a few minutes. There was nothing
      left of the meager example of their family's security and order now,
      and even though what they had called a life had been a miserable
      existence anyway, at least they had had a place to call home where
      they could eat, sleep, and find refuge from the rain. This home, which
      had literally stood for centuries, was just one of thousands in recent
      years that has been bulldozed in order to make way for a new apartment
      complex for "better people," the Zionists, who, if you were to ask
      them, were a race apart and chosen by God to be the bringers of
      enlightenment, peace and righteousness to the rest of humanity.

      Perhaps it was the colors of it that caught his eye, the green, black,
      brown and white that contrasted with the sand-colored rubble of his
      former home's exterior. Ismail went over to where his bedroom used to
      be and found it jutting forth from the rubble, the Palestinian flag he
      cherished and which he had used to adorn his room on the same wall
      upon which he hung the photos of friends and family members who had
      died fighting to liberate their land of its oppressors. He carefully
      pulled it out from the rubble, paying the same respect to his
      country's colors that is paid by other citizens around the world to
      their respective countries, and forgetting where he was, or possibly,
      because of remembering where he was, draped the flag over the rubble
      in what was the only act of defiance he cold muster at this moment. 14
      year-old Ismail turned and stared at his oppressors with a controlled
      yet determined stare.

      The three armed Israeli soldiers, recently arrived from the former
      Soviet Union and not able to speak even one word of the same Aramaic
      that was the language of the Biblical ancestors from whom they claimed
      to be descendents, finally got what they had been hoping for that day.
      After all, what good were guns for anyway if they remained cold and
      unfired? Was there no truth to the old saying that a weapon unused was
      a useless weapon? Therefore, without any concern paid for what might
      be future consequences, one from among them chuckled, lifted the
      American-made rifle that had been gifted to him by virtue of his
      ethnic superiority from a nation that dares to calls itself Christian,
      aimed its sights squarely between the boy's eyes, and in the plain
      sight of all who were present, launched one of his .22 caliber
      missiles traveling at 3,300 feet per second through the boy's head,
      resulting in a spray of pink mist that left the smell of human blood
      in the air.

      Even before the echoes of the gunshot had died, the family was
      screaming in agony and running to the spot where Ismail lie as
      motionless as a child's doll. His last act of defiance, of simply
      saluting the flag and of swearing loyalty to the land that his
      forefathers had inhabited for over a thousand years resulted in the
      execution of a death sentence under which he had lived from the moment
      he was born. And as the family members hold him in their arms,
      watching as his life flows out of him in rivers of red, wailing
      towards heaven and begging the Almighty who created him to spare his
      life, those who were responsible for authoring this misery-laden event
      simply walk away snickering, thinking to themselves that they are now
      one step closer to having finished the business of exterminating
      Amalek, the people whom their ancestors were commanded to eradicate in
      cleansing the promised land, Eretz Y'Israel and of making it racially
      and spiritually pure. Later that evening, there would be drinks and
      discussions of what kind of medals would be forthcoming as a result of
      the day's hard workÉ

      ...And these were just some of the thoughts going through his mind as
      he looked out the window that evening, watching the night sky as its
      darkness was interrupted every few seconds by brilliant displays of
      light. It was July 4th, 2004; Independence Day in America, but his
      thoughts could hardly be focused on the festivities that were supposed
      to mark this event. Not now, and not anytime soon. His eyes had been
      opened to something so horrible that precluded celebrating anything,
      much less the freedom that he was supposed to have as an American.

      It must have been quite a scene down there in town where all the
      fireworks were taking place. Over-sized Americans stuffed into
      under-sized clothing, beer in one hand and something to shove into
      their mouths in the other, congregating for the purpose of celebrating
      something that in reality they no longer possessed. Waddling around
      like penguins and peppering their base and trivial discussions with
      language that one would hear in an x-rated film, they had painted
      themselves into the ultimate picture of black humor, and had it not
      been for the fact that such terrible consequences were attached to
      this situation, one could have been moved towards laughing at all of it.

      But laughing was out of the question now, for to do so would have been
      as vulgar as telling dirty jokes at a funeral. The tragedy was too
      great, too monstrous, too serious. Besides the fact that it was the
      ultimate in contrasting images, as well it was all taking place in the
      midst of unimaginable suffering for millions of others around the
      globe. Just imagining the audacity of it all made the bile in his
      throat rise and caused his brain to scream out loud in pain. They were
      like a group of individuals who had inherited a great fortune
      generations past, but who today, unbeknownst to them were as penniless
      as street bums, and all of this the result of their having allowed
      shyster lawyers to administer their estate and bleed it dry of all its
      wealth. Tonight as they celebrate their perceived fortunes and
      congratulate themselves for having inherited them, that which they do
      not realize is that fact that they are bankrupt, busted, broke, and
      even now, as they drink and mingle with each other, laughing and
      talking as foolish heirs often do, the paperwork is being signed in
      remote places wherein their foreclosure and eviction is being planned
      and implemented. It had become the ultimate contradiction of themes,
      Independence Day in America, as much so as if there had been something
      known as Virtuousness Day in the ancient city of Sodom thousands of
      years ago.

      Our spiritually ex-patriate American, watching all of this from a
      distance remembered reading something once in a medical journal about
      schizophrenia and about how one of the telltale signs of this
      condition's presence was found in an individual's ability to
      simultaneously hold two completely contradictory ideas, and if this
      wasn't a description of what had happened to this country, he didn't
      know what could be. They had become a nation of madmen, wild beasts
      who couldn't think for themselves outside of the parameters that had
      been constructed for them by overlords who were capable of doing
      nothing but evil. Here they were, celebrating their freedom in an age
      where their lives had been reduced to that of mice within a cage, and
      they were too stupid to realize it. A corporate police state had been
      constructed around them, and their country resembled the land of their
      forefathers as much as a swine resembles a ballerina, and yet they
      were too blind to see it. But yet, as if on Pavlovian clue, here they
      were, shouting and hollering like a bunch of maniacs about how
      wonderful all of it was and how proud they were to be Americans, the
      freest people on the planet, how much God loved them and blah, blah,
      blah. He swallowed hard in contemplating these realities, and having
      ingested this nauseating gruel of clashing images, felt the beginnings
      of a sickness in his stomach that was not going to be chased away by
      anything over-the-counter.

      For whatever reason, he had not been infected with this virus that had
      gripped millions of his countrymen on September 11 2001, and in the
      interests of maintaining his as well as his family's intellectual and
      spiritual health, he had imposed upon himself and upon those who were
      under his charge a strict quarantine from his countrymen since that
      fateful day. Over the course of the following 3 years, from a safe
      distance he watched in horror as his nation slowly but surely came
      down with this plague of intellectual and spiritual paralysis, watched
      as his former countrymen marched uninterruptedly towards their own
      oblivion without so much as a trace of resistance.

      And so, in maintaining this agenda of keeping his loved ones off of
      the political version of the Titanic, on this night our American
      friend was at home with his family instead of participating in the
      mass-suicide that was taking place down in town.

      When the first "boom" had gone off, he and his wife had looked at each
      other simultaneously, each bearing a face that revealed the underlying
      sense of puzzlement mixed with a small amount of concern that each
      felt. It was followed by another distant "boom" and then another, and
      then both of them, remembering what day it was, nodded their heads and
      said in unison "July the 4th."

      The event shouldn't have taken them by such surprise, particularly
      since they had spent a good part of that evening watching Independence
      Day, that not-so-subtle piece of propaganda that was released upon the
      American people just prior to initiating the wars to save Israel. Talk
      about blatant, this unashamed effort of pumping up the American people
      into supporting what was to be the biggest bloodbath in history,
      theirs or anyone else's for that matter. A storyline wherein the
      planet is suddenly threatened with complete annihilation from hostile,
      fanatical un-humans bent upon the destruction of everyone who is not
      like them, an extra-terrestrial jihad which is defeated by the
      combined efforts of Jewish brains and American brawn. The only thing
      that could have made the film more obvious would have been bearded
      aliens dressed in sheets and quoting verses from some religious book
      that inspired them to do what it was that they were doing. We should
      suppose though that our couple should be given some slack for having
      forgotten where they were and in what time period they were living,
      since the events of the last 2 years in America have been a whirlwind
      of sorts that should have left anyone with half an ounce of sense
      somewhat senseless.

      It was only a few minutes of these distant festivities going on before
      there was heard the sound of small footsteps coming down the stairs.
      In single file, beginning with the youngest (who we can suppose were
      the most frightened by the noise and thus wanted to get to Mom and Dad
      as quickly as possible) up to the oldest came the 5 children who were
      suddenly awakened by what sounded like strange thunder. They made a
      beeline for the couch where Mom and Dad were seated, asking what all
      the noise was about, huddling in closely as children are biologically
      programmed to do. When "fireworks" came the answer, all the children
      turned their heads towards the window to see for themselves, relieved
      somewhat that there was no storm, or worse, that there was no new war
      that had just begun in their vicinity, a reality of present day life
      that they had come to understand better during the course of the last
      two years. The oldest boy, who by then had begun to feel the stirrings
      of his masculine nature already, was the first to recognize the light
      show for how it appeared, and walking towards the window to get a
      better gaze, said ominously "It looks like Iraq."

      Out of the mouths of babes, as the saying has always gone.

      It certainly did look like Iraq, at least that version of it that had
      been presented to Americans in the opening moments of the war, wherein
      the night sky in Baghdad was illuminated in dizzying displays of light
      that resembled any night in America on July the 4th. Perhaps this was
      how the puppet masters in Washington and Tel Aviv wanted it to be
      seen, this "shock and awe" as they characterized it, in trying to get
      the "freest" people in the world to acquiesce to the agenda of
      murdering 1.5 billion Muslims for Israel's benefit.

      The other children, understanding the importance found in the oldest
      boy's words, also walked towards the window to get a better view. They
      stood there, saying nothing, although everyone in the room knew what
      was on each other's mind. They winced at each flash, recoiled a bit,
      not displaying the `ooohs' and `aaahs' that children would normally
      exhibit at such a performance. The light show, paired with its distant
      booms and crackles was just one of several obscene spectacles that
      their young eyes had witnessed since the beginning of the present war
      to erect the Israeli empire. Prior to this were the images of the
      little Iraqi boy whose arms had been completely blown off of his body
      when the Americans dropped a bomb directly on his home, killing his
      entire family. And as sickening as this was--the image of this boy
      fighting to keep himself from succumbing to utter despair, the
      spectacle which followed was even worse; that of the American soldiers
      loading him onto a military transport to take him to a medical
      facility and cheering as he went on his way, a grandiose attempt by
      the Zionist media to gloss over this tragedy that had somehow slipped
      past the censors and made its way before the eyes of the American people.

      Of course, there were as well many other scenes that these children
      witnessed which brought the reality of this war to their eyes and
      which made them smarter than the average American as to what it was
      all aboutÑthe women and children of Palestine who were being shot and
      blown up on a daily basis for the last century by those who fancied
      themselves as the apple of God's eye--America's only allies in the
      Middle East, the Israelis, not to mention the daily destruction of all
      those monuments that have stood for thousands of years and which are
      considered sacred to billions of Christians and Muslims around the world.

      And so, what had taken place over the course of the last two years of
      watching the war on television and of discussing its awful realities
      with Mom and Dad is that these children had been robbed of their youth
      and their innocence. They understood life and the ugly side of human
      nature much better than children should, and this was the reason why
      there was no excitement in their eyes tonight while watching the
      rockets' red glare and bombs bursting in air. Rather, they looked upon
      the images as any decent individual with open eyes should in America
      of 2004; a disgusting display of patriotic pornography that was a
      bringer of disease and death. It was pure smut, a way of defiling what
      would normally have been the beautiful act of expressing one's love
      for the country in a wholesome, healthy way and of replacing it with a
      whorish, cheap, and sterile performance for lustful spectators. Worse
      yet is the fact that the national life and vitality that should have
      been produced by the consummation of this political marriage was (just
      as had been taking place in the literal sense over 4,000 times a day
      during the course of the last 30 years) torn to pieces by the
      political and cultural abortionists in Washington, New York, and Los
      Angeles, leaving in their wake a trail of death and destruction for
      hundreds of millions.

      And so, having had their fill of these ugly scenes and of being
      scandalized in such a frightful way, all went upstairs in single file
      as they had come down, a silent march, that, although not uttering a
      word, yet spoke volumes.

      Having had enough of it herself, his wife followed suit and went to
      bed, leaving our friend in solitude to ponder other thoughts that
      refused to be chased away the night on which Americans were busy
      celebrating their freedom, Independence Day.

      The phone ringing at 3 am in the morning could never be a good thing.
      It was either bad news or a prank. For this particular individual, a
      phone call at 3 am to this number was particularly worrisome, since,
      being the most popular actor in the world, he had only given it out to
      a handful of friends and relatives. He heard his wife and the youngest
      of their seven children stir as the rings continued.

      "Hello?" he answered, expecting to hear the voice of his father or
      someone else from the family with some kind of important news.

      "You think you're pretty smart don't you?" taunted the voice on the
      other line. It was a man's voice, menacing, with a thick Brooklyn
      accent. The actor had heard the voice before, since this was not the
      first time he had been called in this manner. The voice continued.
      "You made me and my friends really mad, and we're going to make sure
      that you pay for your crimes, you and your entire family. Think about
      that when you're trying to get back to sleep." The actor started to
      say something, displaying that angry, determined look on his face that
      he had famously worn in his movies and which had been seen before by
      millions of people around the world, but before he could get a word
      out, the line went dead.

      "How did they get this number?" he thought in disbelief. It was a
      brand new number, and only about 5 people had it. The only way
      possible was to break into the phone company's computer banks and
      retrieve it, which would have required the resources of a government
      or at the very least, its passive cooperation.

      His crime, the thing that had outraged this tiny minority of tyrants
      and which had driven them to the brink of madness was his decision to
      make a movie about the one man who was the most revered by the world's
      1 billion Christians and 1.5 billion Muslims, Jesus of Nazareth. In
      the months leading up to the release of the movie, the Zionist
      organizations had gone ballistic and had pulled the levers on every
      machine upon which they held sway in trying to destroy this man and
      his project. Under their direction, every newspaper, magazine, radio
      and television program had devoted a considerable amount of their
      attention to the campaign of smearing him and of making a mockery of
      his film. Some of these groups, the less cautious, actually petitioned
      the US government to have this man and his associates arrested as
      terrorists under the provisions of the Patriot Act.

      It was July the 4th, Independence Day in America, and not only his
      life, but the lives of those whom he loved had just been threatened,
      again, something that had become a regular event now for over a year
      as a result of his daring to exercise his freedom of speech and
      religion. He had gone to the police, the FBI of all people, but
      nothing was done short of periodic assurances by agency spokesmen that
      "they were looking into it."

      Our American actor should have known better than to call them, since
      after all it was this same agency that had allowed over 200 spies who
      had been directly involved in the attacks of September 11th to be sent
      back to Israel immediately following what took place on that fateful
      day. Added to this, the fact that the Zionist group that was
      responsible for making such a fuss about his movie, the ADL, was a
      registered agency of the Israeli government and the fact that it had
      enjoyed a love affair with the FBI over the course of the last 5
      decades should have signaled to him whose priorities were going to
      take precedence in this matter. And if these two items weren't enough,
      then that which should have brought his expectations into proper
      alignment with reality was the fact that the individual who was
      responsible for overseeing much of the FBI's investigations held dual
      citizenship in America and in Israel, and this fact, more than
      anything else should have underscored for him just how ridiculous the
      business of contacting them over this matter really was. In all
      fairness to our naive American actor though, what else could he do? He
      had a family whose safety he was responsible for securing, and he
      still, foolishly, believed in the system, at least somewhat.

      Tonight, the same people who flocked to see his famous movie in droves
      will don their baseball hats, their t-shirts emblazoned with such
      recently resurrected and popularized slogans as "United We Stand" and
      "God Bless America" and who, while clutching in their hands the
      millions of miniature American flags specially made for this event
      will celebrate their enslavement to the very same jackals who made the
      threatening phone call tonight, although none among the sheep will
      recognize this as being the case. They will nostalgically and
      schizophrenically lump the triumph of this man's movie and the war in
      the Middle East together as being two sides of the same coin--2 fronts
      in the war to save Christianity and its civilization--two battles
      being fought in defense of the faith and freedom, refusing to see that
      the very same people who were responsible for running this man's life
      through the meat grinder are the very same who are sending America's
      sons and daughters off to die in the Middle East for the benefit of a
      foreign power who is, despite all the propagandizing that has taken
      place, no friend.

      And while all this is taking place, in the very land where a war of
      liberation was waged by a peasant carpenter from Nazareth against the
      descendents of those who made the threatening phone call tonight a
      continuation of this war is raging at full throttle. At this moment,
      the gangsters who put to death the main character in the same film
      which Christians in America stampeded like buffalo to go see in 2004
      have returned after being chased out in 70 AD and are attempting to
      impose upon the world the very same nightmare that the Palestinian
      carpenter-turned-revolutionary tried to prevent. Tonight, all the
      spots that commemorate the great events of this carpenter's life and
      which have stood as some of the greatest monuments to the development
      of Western Civilization are being bulldozed and blown up by Jewish
      supremacist tyrants, while a group of Arab peasants attempt to prevent
      this disaster from taking place, even with their life's blood.

      Tonight, as Americans celebrate the memories of those who gave their
      lives for the liberation of their own country from a foreign invader,
      will at the same time curse and castigate those who are attempting to
      do the same in the lands of Palestine and Iraq.

      Tonight, "cowards" and "terrorists," as they have been called by the
      President of the United States and by his Zionist overlords, are
      fighting with every ounce of their beings to liberate their respective
      countries from the foreigners who have invaded their lands and who are
      slaughtering their women and children in the tens and hundreds of
      thousands. Adults, not having the sophisticated weaponry that is used
      against them by their oppressors will strap themselves with explosives
      and blow themselves up in order to take out the assassins within the
      Israeli military machine and their hired mercenaries from America who
      murder women and children on a daily basis. Children, in what is but a
      modern day repeat of the battle fought between David vs. Goliath will
      bravely go up against tanks and machine guns, often armed with nothing
      more than rocks and sticks and will fight this enemy with every ounce
      of their beings, knowing beforehand that they stand a good chance of
      losing arms and legs and even their lives. These "cowards" and
      "terrorists" will do so for exactly the same reasons and in exactly
      the same manner as was done by those rare Americans who, over 200
      years previously, drove out foreign invaders who were bent upon
      enslaving them and of robbing them of their own destinies. Every man,
      woman, and child in Iraq, Palestine and every other place where the
      beast of Jewish supremacism is on the rampage, are--whether donning a
      rifle, grenade launcher, bomb vest, or a vehicle laden with
      explosives--brilliant reincarnations of the patriots of 1776 who
      refused to go down without a fight, who refused to go quietly into the
      night, freedom fighters whose existence today has been reduced to one
      agenda that is beyond negotiation or surrender, which is simply, "give
      us liberty or give us death."

      Of course we will not find an ounce of this awareness among those
      Americans who have chosen to tempt the patience of fate on this night,
      July 4th, Independence Day. As they foolishly wave their flags, put
      their hands over the hearts and sing with a quivering voice the
      national anthem with tears welling up in their eyes, what they have
      chosen to do is to participate in an obscene display of hypocrisy and
      contempt for that gem of incalculable value known as freedom, as well
      as for the justice that must accompany its existence if it is to
      remain a viable entity. The contempt that they maintain for those who
      are paying with their life's blood so that they themselves may
      experience just a tasting of the same freedom that Americans presume
      to be celebrating on this night has become a perfect representation of
      the two minute's hate of George Orwell's nightmarish novel 1984.
      Tonight, as it will be for many future nights in the coming years, the
      cursing that the Americans will display against those in the Middle
      East for daring to defend their beloved homelands and families from
      foreign assassins has become the chanting of the contradictions in
      that infamous, prophetic piece of fiction turned-into-non-fiction
      which predicted a future state of madness for humanity: war is peace,
      freedom is slavery, ignorance is strength, and by such, has now become
      the process of spitting on the graves of those who gave their lives
      before them in the noble cause of freedom.

      What they are doing in effect by championing the war against Israel's
      enemies, in cheering like the mob at the coliseum for the hellish
      precepts of the Jewish supremacist agenda is to hold in contempt the
      war for freedom that their forefathers waged centuries past, although
      today, most of them are too stupid to recognize this as being the case.

      For in reality, what are they daring to celebrate this night? Freedom?
      They are as bankrupt of this currency as some indigent, homeless hobo
      on the street begging for food. Justice? Their political and cultural
      system is as anemic of this life-sustaining element to the point of
      near death. Truth? The fools who tonight are championing the slaughter
      of the last remaining impediment to the enslavement of the Jewish
      supremacist agenda stagger around aimlessly, inebriated on the drug of
      duplicity that they ingest on a daily basis by a government media
      complex furthering the cause of Zionist tyranny. Decency? Their
      society has become like a leper colony full of dying individuals who
      are rotting away from the corrosive effects of the plague, a plague
      that has resulted from poisons that have been deliberately poured into
      the wellspring of their culture by the very same assassins who bow at
      the feet of the Israeli agenda.

      After all, what is the event being remembered this evening, and for
      which all of this energy and effort is being expended? The day when a
      group of rugged individuals refused to be enslaved by a man named
      George who was a puppet to the business interests and corporations
      that controlled him? The day in which patriots stood up to the most
      powerful political, economic, and military power in the world at that
      time for the chance to run their lives free of those who would be
      their overlords? The day in which they fought back against an invasion
      initiated by foreign powers that threatened the peace and prosperity
      of their lives and the lives of those whom they loved? PleaseÉno more.

      It is something that, out of respect for the dead, should be put on
      hold for a while, this celebration of Independence Day in America. Not
      only out of respect for those who gave their lives fighting for this
      thing known as freedom 200 years ago in America, but more importantly,
      out of respect for those who are fighting for it today and who are
      being rewarded with nothing but scorn and derision by Americans for
      their efforts. The honor that is due to the minutemen at Lexington
      Bridge who were killed by the British is shamed and tarnished when
      remembering the event in which 35 of America's young men were
      deliberately murdered by the Israelis in 1967 when the ship that
      carried them, the USS Liberty, was torpedoed, napalmed and
      machine-gunned for almost 2 hours with the quiet complicity of the
      American government. The outrage with which Americans recall the
      unsuccessful assassination attempt on George Washington's life by the
      British is irredeemably defiled when paired next to what was
      successfully realized by a nuclear weapons-hungry Israel against the
      same John F. Kennedy who stood in her way of getting the bomb. The
      disdain that Benedict Arnold has suffered for 2 centuries now and
      counting as a result of his treachery in turning coat and siding with
      America's enemy at that time is but a grain of sand placed alongside a
      mountain when considering the manner in which today all the elected
      members of the American government have unflinchingly cast their lots
      with the worst enemy that America has ever had.

      Here they were this night, standing solidly behind the man who lied to
      them about the reasons for America's entry into the present war being
      fought in erecting the Israeli empire, King George, the man
      responsible for the deaths of thousands of sons and daughters serving
      in the American military and who has promised to send even more to die
      in the coming years, and they cheer. This man and his coterie who
      silently sent back to Israel the nest of spies, 200 or more, who
      played an indispensable role in the deaths of 3,000 Americans on
      September 11th sits atop his throne receiving the adulations of a
      compliant and conquered American people. They hoop and holler over
      their ancestors having thrown off the shackles of a foreign power 2
      centuries past, and yet drink themselves silly over the fact that they
      have become the useful idiots of a foreign power whose thirst for
      supremacy and blood makes what was `British tyranny' in 1776 look like
      paradise. Even now, as the next terrible event is being planned that
      will dwarf what took place on 9/11, these individuals who today inform
      on their friends and family to the Zionist thought police and who
      would have been the hated loyalists in America's war against Great
      Britain 200 years ago refuse to see the obvious for what it is.

      And it is in this light therefore that our American friend, watching
      from a distance as the fires of duplicity and treachery consume the
      land that he used to love becomes a refugee, a wanderer without a home
      and without a country to which he can swear his allegiance. He sees
      the circus in town for what it really is, a farce of unprecedented
      historical outrage that should be an abomination in the eyes of every
      decent human being on the planet. The presence of these individuals
      tonight at what should be the solemn ceremony of celebrating freedom
      and of commemorating the sacrifices made by selfless individuals for
      their beloved country is as appropriate as would be a whore clad in a
      red dress at someone's first communion ceremony.

      In the meantime, our friend must do the unthinkable, something that he
      never would have imagined doing in a million years, which is to find
      an escape route out of this `land of freedom' before this beast that
      is on the rampage snatches his own children and drags them off to
      fight and die for the benefit of a hostile, maniacal foreign power. He
      must begin preparations to flee, while there is time, to some safe
      haven lest the storm that is gathering comes and destroys everything
      that has given his life meaning. As a descendant of those who came to
      America looking for freedom from their respective countries, he must
      reverse these events and bring the family name to distant shores,
      someplace where his children will be safe--not only from being
      physically kidnapped and dragged off to die in order to serve the
      beast of the Zionist agenda, but as well from the highly contagious
      and deadly mental illness that has destroyed their countrymen.

      And as he looks out the window, wincing as the mid-air explosions and
      percussions--meant as a celebration of this thing called independence,
      punctuate what would ordinarily have been a peaceful night, he thinks
      to himself, "If I could be president for a day, the things I would do."

      In his meanderings, he envisions what would take place in a world
      where freedom and liberty are celebrated and honored in the spirit of
      true justice, where vice and bloodthirstiness are contained and then,
      even if only temporarily, terminated instead of celebrated.

      And he concludes his thoughts by saying something that he always
      remembered hearing his grandfather solemnly say when speaking of
      future events, a man who was born in the same Holy Land where today's
      true patriots are fighting and who understood where life's importance
      lie; "Yam Yammi", which, when translated from the same Aramaic tongue
      spoken by the freedom fighters of Palestine 2,000 years ago against
      the beast of Jewish Supremacism simply means "the day will come."

      The day will come wherein Independence Day, on whatever date it falls,
      will be a day celebrated by all the world's peoples, not just by those
      in America. It will be a day commemorating the event wherein mankind
      fought and achieved its independence from the beast of the Jewish
      supremacist agenda, and wherein a wooden stake was driven through the
      heart of a vampire that terrorized the world in such an unimaginable
      and unprecedented way. It will be remembered as the day wherein those
      who were tyrannized in such a brutal manner by the descendents of Cain
      rose up and finally cast into the lake of fire this animal that has
      prowled about humanity's homestead and who has snatched the helpless,
      dragged them off towards oblivion and devoured them without any mercy.
      It will be the day wherein from the heavens, children like Mona and
      Ismail and all the others who were cut down by Hell's assassins are
      remembered and enshrined as some of the best individuals that humanity
      had to offer as a result of their having given their lives in fighting
      for the taste of freedom. It will be celebrated as the day in which
      the beast and his 2,000-year agenda was finally put to the torch, and
      permanently made a thing of the past, never to be resurrected again.

      And, with these last thoughts, our American friend turns from the
      shock and awe, walks towards where his wife and baby lie sleeping,
      thinking of the heroes whose exploits would one day tell the story of
      freedom and justice for all mankind.

      *********************************************************************

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