Para Yah yah - yah yah yah yah yah !.Para Brothers and Sisters, rise and be seated, I am having a Pat Robertson moment. My hand is on my forehead and I can see a multitude of people sitting at their computers. You didn't tell me you were sitting at your computer, did you?
Para Some of you are scantily dressed. The woman wearing red long handles, stand up, Sister. You are suffering from terminal ignorance and God is healing you. I see others whose bodies are covered inside and out with scabrous nodules of nonsense.
Para And I rebuke these warty little lumps of lunacy. Examine yourselves, people, these protrusions are in the shape of a hexagram and have been put there by the twofold sons of hell, but they can not withstand the sparks of light coming from reading these articles.
Para Don't you laugh at me. I know some of you mordant meat-heads like Mike P., Larry K., Des G., 50 Caliber Underwood, and hundreds of others are laughing. Stop it. This is serious stuff!
Para God has given me and all of you two very special gifts. These gifts are the gifts of reading and interpretation. And the command of the hour is to go and tell my people.
Para Never, in my life time have our enemies been so insanely exposed, so vulnerable, or so easily refuted. Seize the moment, Saints. God needs a thousand good men of letters who will pick a single subject, one thesis at a time and exhaust it.
Para Don't even try to argue with them in their three ring circus arena. By 'three ring circus' I mean that if you best them with truth, in one area, they invariably turn to another purview of pilpul. They go from arguing about Mel Gibson's movie to the Protocol of the Learned Elders, to the Holocaust, to the history of anti-Semitism, and on and on, they waddle. Don't go there.
Para Anti-Semitism, my Celtic butt, everybody and everything is Anti-Semitic, if they say it is. I was standing behind a Jew lawyer one time who was trying to get a coke from a malfunctioning machine. When he inserted his coins it gave him nothing and kept his money, he kicked it and called it an"anti-Semitic son o'ma bitch!"
Para Now dear hearts, buckle your sanctified seat belts, and I will give you an example of how to focus on a single subject. Granted, this is a minor case in point of today's Judeo-apostatizing. But notice how I pick at it as if it were a sore, a festered, scabbed-over lesion, which I rub raw, then pick away the scab, and rub it again and again!
The Hatikvah
Para Of course, you have heard it. In Pentecostal and Fundamental circles it is almost as venerated as is Amazing Grace. They sing the tune; they dance to it, and even use it as a back-ground-sound-track music for their Judeo-Christian- Prophecy-Novelists.
Para You can see them on the Jesus channels with their eyes closed, fantasizing, seeing themselves dancing with Israelites, Hebrews, in Davidic worship.
Para Well, get ready to have yo little spiritual bubble busted. The song ain't Hebrew; it's Israeli but not Israelite. It is yet another piece of Khazar-Yiddist donkey dung from the dung hill of Zionism.
Para During the latter part of the eighteenth century, Naftali Herz Imber composed a poem named the Hatikvah. He was a Turko-Mongol-Khazar-Jew who knew only German and Polish styles of lyric writing.
Para Subsequently, Samuel Cohen, a resident of Rishon LeZion, set the words to music. Well, some would call it music. He chose a melody from his Ashkenazim childhood. It was stolen from a Moldavian-Romanian folk song entitled "Cart and Oxen."
Para Cart and oxen? Bless God and General Lee, how can you get spiritual over 'cart and oxen?' Don't tell me, I saw you shouting, talking in tongues, falling down jerking around on the carpet, snot, tears and slobber every where and all this to the tune of 'cart and oxen!'
Para Let's dig a little deeper; rub this sore a little rawer. Who was Naftali Imber? He was a wandering Khazar who went to Bombay, India and got his mind befuddled, sucked-up to some missionaries to avoid starving to death, made his way to America, lived ostracized from the so-called Jews, in squalor and misery, and died of alcoholism. So goes the story of Saint Imber as recorded in that repository of eternal truth, the Encyclopaedia Judaica.
Para Irony of ironies, there are some so-called-pious Jews who refuse to sing this dirty little Yiddish ditty, feeling that it is repugnant to their religious sensitivities, and that they deserve better. The vilest congregation on earth, or under the earth, the Knesset, won't formally proclaim it their national anthem.
Para Well, Mr. and Mrs. Judeo-Christian, the next time you get all glassy-eyed, and spiritually mesmerized while singing this devil music, just stop and think of me, old Jim, trying to heal this nation of its terminal ignorance and from the pandemic plague of Judaism.
Para I will close this missive with the same shout of praise that I used after seeing the Passion; YEA JESUS, BOO JEW!
Yours in mischief,
James FloydPara Look, I know some of you want me to drop the serio-comical and get back to God, Christ, Paul, and John the writer of the Revelation of Christ, on the destruction of Judaism, Jerusalem as the Great Whore and Judaism as the Beast. And I will.
Para But every time I am ready to write serious stuff some village idiot like Sean Hannity comes out with something that makes me want to match his humor;
"Everybody knows the Jews didn't kill Jesus.
It was the Scribes and Pharisees that did it."
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