Dong Jun, who was appointed defense minister last December, is reportedly placed under investigation for corruption.The Chinese regime has rejected claims that its defense minister, Adm. Dong Jun, is…

You just have to look at the headlines to see how the media is spinning President-elect Donald Trump's pick for Secretary of the Navy. NBC reports, "Trump picks John Phelan, a businessman with no military…

Thanksgiving Eve preparations are underway!

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David Rockefeller, The CFR, Bilderberg Group, The Trilateral Commission, & The Depopulation Agenda - The Corbett Report - FAIR USE FOR EDUCATIONAL PURPOSES Mirrored From: https://old.bitchute.com/channel/corbettreport/ ********* This is a MUST SEE: - DEBORAH TAVARES: UN / USA GLOBAL PACT FOR DEPOPULATION. WHY YOUR GOV. IS TRYING TO KILL YOU - https://rumble.com/v1ypix6-deborah-tavares-un-usa-global-pact-for-depopulation.-why-your-gov.-is-tryin.html ********** United Nations 1994 Global Depopulation Agreement by 160 Countries to Kill Off 7 Billion by 2030. Rockefeller Calls for Depopulation Dec 8, 2008. Genocide, in their Own Words - I Posted This Thursday, February 3, 2022 on Before It's News in my Previous Incarnation @OratorBlog - UN AGENDA 21 EARTH SUMMIT 1994 IN CAIRO EGYPT DEPOPULATION AGREEMENT - https://beforeitsnews.com/agenda-21/2022/02/united-nations-1994-global-depopulation-agreement-by-160-countries-to-kill-off-7-billion-by-2030-rockefeller-calls-for-depopulation-dec-8-2008-genocide-in-their-own-words-3498.html - (((If you search United Nations Genocide Convention in Egypt for global depopulation. You Will Not Find Anything. If you search with Yandex my post comes up number one at the top))) - It doesn't always translate everything from Russian, (In Most Cases it Does Automatically) And it provides a means to find Everything They Don't Want the People to See. Duckduckgo can go take a Flying FFFF))) - IN 1994 160 NATIONS AGREED TO REDUCE THE WORLD POPULATION TO 800 MILLION BY 2030 - 16 videos (2 Deleted by YouTube) and multiple articles linked... *** (This is a Must See Document) - UNITED NATIONS 1994 GENOCIDE CONVENTION IN CAIRO PLAN TO DEPOPULATE THE WORLD POPULATION BY 80% - THIS IS A REPORT BY LAROUCHE PAC - Genocide in Cairo: Conference Plans To Sterilize the World - Direct PDF Download: https://larouchepub.com/eiw/public/1994/eirv21n15-19940408/eirv21n15-19940408_014-genocide_in_cairo_conference_pla.pdf - Next September, in Cairo, Egypt, the United Natiolils World Population Confer­ ence, according to its biggest promoters, will demand that all nations stop the growth of their populations... * THIS IS ESSENTIALLY A TREATY OR PACT THAT WAS APPROVED BY EVERY UN MEMBER NATION - While China actually had a more Humane means to enact this policy through the China One Child Policy, Western Nation's knew Damn Well their Citizens would NEVER AGREE TO SOMETHING SO INSANE - So They Chose to Depopulate their Own Citizens through a Stealth Attack on their Health through Toxins in our Food, Water and Air, Deadly Pharmaceuticals, Vaccines, Sterilization and Abortions. Later followed by perpetual Chem Trail Operations. - ***Essentially, this is known as the SILENT WEAPONS FOR QUIET WAR TACTIC*** - According to the U.S. Federal Policy Adopted by their Commitment to the 1994 UN Genocide Convention - - The mRNA Vaccine Genocide would Not Only Be LEGAL, BUT LEGALLY REQUIRED - THAT IS WHY WARP SPEED WAS A MILITARY OPERATION - IT IS A WAR AGAINST THE

My cell phone buzzed Saturday evening as I left the “wine and spirits” store with a selection of fine vino. It was my cousin Drew. I hastened to answer because when I miss a call from Drew, it’s hard to reconnect. Drew is confined to a wheelchair and can’t use his hands like he once could. He has multiple sclerosis (MS), one of the unusually high number of Gulf War veterans afflicted by the neurological disorder. He lives at the Veterans Administration (VA) facility in Butler, Pennsylvania. I grew up a mile from that VA building, the same time that former Pennsylvania Sen. Rick Santorum’s parents worked there. It’s just down the road from the Butler Farm Show Grounds where Donald Trump was shot on July 13. Sirens had wailed past the building as the former president was rushed toward Butler Memorial Hospital in town. Among vets from the Korean War, Vietnam War, and World War II, Drew stands out. He’s only 57 years old but has been confined to a wheelchair for years now. Growing up, Drew was an athlete, a wild man, and a fun guy to be around. He was the quarterback for his high school football team, an impressive achievement anywhere in western Pennsylvania, where our high school QBs become college QBs and sometimes NFL Hall of Famers: Dan Marino, Joe Montana, Jim Kelly, Joe Namath, Johnny Unitas, and George Blanda. Drew went on to play in college, though scholastic life wasn’t for him. He instead joined the military and served his country in the 1991 Gulf War, commissioned aboard a battleship. Something happened during that time that severely affected Drew’s health. He has various theories. Shortly thereafter, his body shut down from a strange form of MS. The condition has been called Gulf War Syndrome. Drew had called to talk about Pennsylvania college football — Pitt was getting trounced by Louisville and Penn State barely edged out Minnesota. Our conversation turned to Thanksgiving at our grandparents’ house. This would be my dad’s parents and Drew’s mom’s parents. I haven’t talked about that side of the family in my columns for The American Spectator. I tend to focus on my mom’s side, the Italians, who are crazy, raucous, loud, loving, and in so many ways plainly indescribable. Every wedding was like the scene from the start of The Godfather. My dad’s side was nothing like that. It was quiet, subdued, smaller. Those gatherings were comprised of about a dozen in all, unlike the Italian side, where hundreds amassed and shouted and laughed and acted like maniacs. Unlike the Italian side, we visited my dad’s parents in New Kensington, Pennsylvania, only once or twice a year. That included Thanksgiving. Drew and I last Saturday reminisced about those Thanksgivings, recounting every type of food and drink we imbibed every November. Aside from the obvious — turkey and stuffing and pumpkin pie — we recalled a unique kind of nut-roll cookie that my grandma always made as well as Rice Krispie Treats done in her special way. There was also an odd type of local mint ginger ale that my grandfather picked up. Drew and I remembered the name: Tom Tucker Ginger Ale. As Drew and I talked, we laughed. And as usual, he never once complained about his situation at the VA. He never complains. He has always been thankful. He was thankful again as we talked about Thanksgiving memories. That brings me to new Thanksgiving memories, being made today. Here at the Kengor household in November 2024, we’re making our own. Some very unique ones. As I write, I hear gobbles outside. They emanate from our turkey coop. Currently, I have only two, a male and a female. They’ll be spared the blade this Thanksgiving because our freezer already holds several from the previous harvest. These two are for mating, for creating little turkeys next spring. The male will do his part to help ensure the eggs laid by the female are fertilized. Each year, that happens like clockwork, part of the natural biological order divined by the Creator. No “gender dysphoria” there. I will do my part by incubating and hatching the eggs. This time next year, my current gobblers will face their dénouement and find themselves an unwitting part of the Thanksgiving feast. As I write, I also hear the crowing of our rooster. In July, we picked up from Agway, 12 newly hatched Barred Plymouth Rock chickens. We had thought that all were female — i.e., egg-layers. But as often happens, you sometimes accidentally end up with a rooster. He truly rules the roost. There’s no gender-identity confusion for this cock. The woke liberal might insist that my rooster suffers from “toxic masculinity.” Lately, he has been hopping on the backs of the hens, sinking his beak into their necks as the poor gals scream. One such violation that I witnessed this week was so vicious that I grabbed the Louisville Slugger, approaching the male perpetrator Buford Pusser-style. With cocky defiance, the rooster thought about taking me on but relented from the hen’s neck and strutted off, biding his time until the next female victim. Dear progressives, you might think a lecture on misogyny would have been best at that moment, but I instinctively went for the baseball bat. Your crowing about sexism would have made no difference with this crude creature. Upon observing such violent displays, I resolved that the rooster needs to face the blade this Thanksgiving week. As I wrap up this column, I’m heading out to the coop to wrestle him, grab his spurred feet, shove him into a cage, and cart him off to Amish country to be butchered. Wish me luck! And don’t feel bad for the feathered beast. If he can’t get along with his peers, even the gentler sex, drawing blood from them, stressing them out (they’re not laying eggs), then he must go. Rejoice, feminists, he will be punished for assaulting the hens. Capital punishment. All of which is to say, we’re expecting a hearty feast at the Kengor house this Thanksgiving. We’ll be enjoying a home-raised turkey and perhaps a fresh chicken as well. For that and more, I shall give thanks. We’ll say grace and I’ll express gratitude for the cooked birds, for my family, for the freedoms bestowed by America’s forefathers, for God, and for my cousin Drew — who’s always thankful, no matter his circumstances. READ MORE from Paul Kengor: ‘We Win, They Lose’: Remembering Richard V. Allen Justice Comes to HHS: Trump Taps Kennedy That’s How You Overturn an Election The post Giving Thanks for Thanksgiving Memories appeared first on The American Spectator | USA News and Politics.

Have you ever met someone and become instant friends? All my best friends have been instant friends. One shared a tent at summer camp when we were eight years old and that was it. One sat at the back of a political conference next to me and we chortled out loud at the same absurd assertions. One walked into my biology class and made a beeline, hand outstretched for a shake, to another friend and me, and became our permanent third bestie through grad school. One sat across the room from me in a support group and I just knew I had to know her and sure enough, instant friend. One was the parent of my daughter’s best friend and I called her and said I wanted to be her friend. We’ve watched our children grow up together and now wait for grandchildren. And so it was with Michael Valentine. He was a donor to The American Spectator and I needed to get to know him better, so I set up a phone call. Two minutes in, he was an instant friend. Like me, Michael is a midwesterner. We discussed our families and their migration. We discussed interstate rivalries and personality differences between Michigan, Ohio, and Indiana. We discussed business regulations and politics and policies. We didn’t talk about radar for cars (something he invented), and we didn’t talk about my previous life as a doctor. We discussed important things like children and homes and dreams for the future of the country. Instant friends. Michael died just over a month ago and it grieves me to think of it. He was a good man; decent and kind and devoted to family. He’s the sort of man who makes America great: an engineer and inventor who put it all on the line to do something no one else had done. America is full of these men and women. These are people who don’t take their freedom for granted but use it and make something for their fellow citizens — and in this case, something very useful to avoid getting caught speeding. Freedom, baby! The death of Michael caused me to meditate on friendship of the best and instant kind. What magical thing happens to cause this sort of connection? It can’t really be explained — the attraction and inner knowing. In one case, it was shared laughter and an eye roll. In another, it was a warm, strong handshake paired with a booming voice and eye contact. In another, it was the absurdity of owning chickens and having them in her suburban backyard. Her open face and self-awareness, made me feel that thing. In another, it was the quiet intelligence and wry comments. There was more to this lady. I think back to meeting a different friend at a conference. He was young, nerdy, and overly confident in his outrageous opinions. I thought he was full of shit and immediately liked him. My friends tend to be a strange cast of characters. I like individuals, mold-breakers, the people who are wholly and unapologetically themselves. It’s probably why I like writers so much even though, as a species, they’re royal pains in the ass. They have points-of-view and they’re whip-smart, usually funny, and with an “off” sense of reality. At The American Spectator, I have the privilege of interacting daily with these lovable weirdos. I’m better for it. I admire people who ever seek truth and a court jester’s ability to see through the artifice and reveal the contours of our culture while making us laugh at the same time. Writers have called me at midnight and said things like, “Melissa, I have this story. I can’t write about it yet, but I just had to tell somebody!” I’ve had the privilege of doing first passes on chapters of books and giving feedback. Sometimes, writers even listen! It’s an honor to sit alongside writers, encourage them, watch their thoughts come to fruition, and see their anguish as they get their work across the finish line. Creation is an arduous business or can be. How blessed am I to have the friendship of these amazing people? I’m so grateful. So this Thanksgiving, a shout-out to instant friends who become friends for life. What started with kismet, that ephemeral soul-knowing, in so many cases, turned into enduring kinship. When one of these instant friends dies, it’s a painful reminder of the impermanence of life. I felt confident that Michael would just be there. He was relatively young (although, as I get older, young keeps getting redefined) and so alive. It seems impossible that he’s gone. It’s been over five years now since one of my other instant and lifelong friends died of cancer. She shared a tent with me when we were eight and we knew all, and I mean all, of each others’ secrets. I miss her every day. Friendship, of all the blessings we have as humans, is quite possibly the greatest because it’s not, as C.S. Lewis points out, necessary. Friendship just adds color and texture to life. Friendship makes life worth living. Michael Valentine made a difference in the world in so many tangible and important ways. What I’ll remember him for, though, is the instant friendship we formed on a phone call a couple of years ago. It was a small connection that made a significant difference in my life. For him, I am grateful. May his memory be blessed. READ MORE from Melissa Mackenzie: Mitch McConnell Did Not Win a Mandate What Trump’s Cabinet Picks All Have in Common: They Don’t Give a ____ About Tolerance The post Thankful for Instant Friends Like Michael Valentine appeared first on The American Spectator | USA News and Politics.