Tatoo, Part 42
The $696 Billion Defeat
THE LAST TWO EVENTS I.C. NEWS DOCUMENTED IN ADVANCE TOOK PLACE ON JUNE 13. THEY WERE THE BLACKOUT IN WASHINGTON DECEIT AND THE DEATH OF TIM RUSSERT IN WASHINGTON DECEIT.
Jews Jaws Four Up
Shark America Six Down
Number of Earthquakes in the Past Seven Days: ??? (The USGS Earthquake Hazards site had become too politically corrupted to be a valid source in I.C. News' earthquake study at this time.)
Virgil's Cell Phone Number: (530) 276-4923
Expect a Disastrous Earthquake on December 26, 2008.
George W. Bush Will Destroy the World.
The battle codes of God's attack on Israel and its drone ally, the USA, are: "Two Birds, One Stone", "Double Down", "Home", "Sirhan Sirhan", "Admiral Moorer", "Fadel Shana", "Topsy-Turvy", "Dead Soul Family", "Admiral Moorer 2", "Nipple", "Blood of Mars", "Wait", "Cowards", "That Settles It", "Stop Right There!", "Blackout", "Turnaround", "The Pig-Weasel Axis", "Bat Out of Hell", "Tell Me Something Good", "FIN" & "Snake".
Looking for the Peru-Chile God Event.
Today: Tactics of the Smallville Battle: The Secret Story, Tatoo (41)
Today's code is "190th Day, Last Year
So here we are, Dear Reader, on the edge of the Edge.
I had ten hours of blackout yesterday, and that seems to be quite a long time in this day and age, and as Simon and Garfunkel said of kangaroos, I am skeptical of changes in my cages.
I know what's going on. I know Big Money is anxious to be on the side of God, but it doesn't know how, so it sides with Satan because Satan gives credit.
Don't look for Big Brains in Big Money, look for Big Anger thrown at you by Big Money, but don't look for Big Brains in Big Money.
I appreciate that there are a number of Dear Readers who would like to send a few dollars my way, but this money business, this deadline Thursday morning, California time business, is between Big Money and Me.
Do I think Big Money will pay me a minimum of $30 million to publish I.C. News' God's Space War story in the daily news market?
All things are possible. Sooner or later even Big Money gets smart.
The question is, is Big Money smart enough to pay a minimum of $30 million by Thursday morning, California time; or down the road, when the God's Space War story gets so hot you can fry an egg on it, pay a minimum of $300 million for the same news?
Well, let's not worry our pretty little heads about it.
Since you are on the brink of going over the edge of the Cliff of Eternal Remorse, having less than two days to un-do Telepath torture-enslavement, my Old Pal God has asked me to tell you about the time God saved me from just such a plummet in the wilderness.
It was on my longest hike without resupply, six weeks, the last two following a stream to the Pacific Ocean with only deer trails to keep my footing on.
To my left as I walked a perilous trail was a high, steep face of a mountain. the ground cover being broken shale and impossible to walk upon; to my right was the same impossible shale going down at a very steep angle to the boulder-strewn creek about 200 feet below.
Like a tightrope walker I was walking the deer trail, and it had been this degree of difficulty for a week or more; impossible to go back, my food supplies down to oatmeal and curry powder, dangerous to go on, no Ranger Rick to call if I got in trouble, just me and life and death and a narrow dear trail.
(I love doing that stuff.)
The steepness of the what would have been a helpless slide to the other side of Life reminded me of a dream I had when I was six or seven or eight, and I recalled it as I walked along.
In that dream my family was driving from Washington State to North Dakota in our '41 Plymouth coupe, and my dad, who loved the mountains so much, had stopped at a scenic site in the Rockies.
And in my dream I fell. The slope in the dream was just like the slope I deer-trailed along that day, falling at a sharp angle, maybe 80 degrees, the dreaming Boy sliding for a while, with no footing possible, then over a steep cliff down into a valley so deep the pine trees looked like blades of grass.
What saved me in the dream was an old burned out tree just on the lip of the cliff. I stopped myself on the tree.
So, about 40 years later I am walking on a perilous path and I am reminded of that dream from my childhood, and so insistent is the reminder that I made note of the dream in my log when I camped that night.
The next night, in the uncertain light just before darkness I made a mistake a backpacker should never make, and kept hiking too late.
While there was no need to, I decided I wanted to make my way down to the stream and sleep there; and as I made my way down the slope, the slope became steeper and steeper, so much so that I could not carry my pack and instead tied a long line to it and would let it slide down the slope ahead of me, then tie the line loosely to a bush, inch down to the pack, pull the line loose, and do the same thing again.
I could not go back up, an impossible climb, The steepness and he shale would not allow it. I knew I was in trouble so deep in the wilderness no human being would ever find my bones.
In the failing light I saw what seemed to be a little flat area where I could bed down for the night, and sleep on this problem and solve it in the morning; but when I reached my illusion of safety I found it was not only just as steep as everyplace else, but was worse than the impossible shale; it was smooth granite covered with dry leafs.
The second I stepped onto that granite I was thrown back my so that I was lying on my back, and I immediately, helplessly I began to slide on my back, slapping my pack loose as I slid by it, the pack and I sliding side by side to the lip of the vertical cliff and the boulders in the stream waiting below.
As I slid, helpless, I noticed a dark object appearing out of the darkness; a log, a huge, long log that I and my pack were about to slide under, and I put up my feet and they hit the log and my momentum toward doom was stopped.
In the quiet of the night I could hear my pack sliding on, then no sound when it shot off the cliff and out over the stream, and then a loud bang when it hit the rocks below.
Well, I was still alive but I wasn't out of the woods yet. I climbed up on the log and was making my way along it, and my trusty Space Sailor Pal whispered in my ear, "Death is as easy as falling off a log".
I made my way to the end of the log, and getting off it taking steps so perilous I would have not taken them in the daylight when my eyes would have surely told my brain nonono.
Walking on a ledge no wider than a toad's toe, Certain Death drating the bad luck, no Virgil's body to dance around tonight, I chanced upon a tree growing at the edge of the cliff; so I spent the night there, my belt looped under a root of the tree to keep me from falling off the cliff as I slept.
So, 40 years later the dream came true. Saved by a dead tree; in dream and in real life.
The moral of this story is when you begin to slide down the precipice toward Calamity Thursday, don't give up, a helpful log might come your way.
Tatoo, Part 41
The Americans are wicked, and unprepared. They think we Angels of God just love them to pieces, but here we are, in ambush position, eagerly awaiting the order to fire on their Past Time.
To be Continued
Meanwhile, the United States of America, about to sacrifice its existence in support Israel's Victim Fascism, passed through the 190th day of its last year.
THE LAST TWO EVENTS I.C. NEWS DOCUMENTED IN ADVANCE TOOK PLACE ON JUNE 13. THEY WERE THE BLACKOUT IN WASHINGTON DECEIT AND THE DEATH OF TIM RUSSERT IN WASHINGTON DECEIT.
Jews Jaws Four Up
Shark America Six Down
Number of Earthquakes in the Past Seven Days: ??? (The USGS Earthquake Hazards site had become too politically corrupted to be a valid source in I.C. News' earthquake study at this time.)
Virgil's Cell Phone Number: (530) 276-4923
Expect a Disastrous Earthquake on December 26, 2008.
George W. Bush Will Destroy the World.
The battle codes of God's attack on Israel and its drone ally, the USA, are: "Two Birds, One Stone", "Double Down", "Home", "Sirhan Sirhan", "Admiral Moorer", "Fadel Shana", "Topsy-Turvy", "Dead Soul Family", "Admiral Moorer 2", "Nipple", "Blood of Mars", "Wait", "Cowards", "That Settles It", "Stop Right There!", "Blackout", "Turnaround", "The Pig-Weasel Axis", "Bat Out of Hell", "Tell Me Something Good", "FIN" & "Snake".
Looking for the Peru-Chile God Event.
Today: Tactics of the Smallville Battle: The Secret Story, Tatoo (41)
Today's code is "190th Day, Last Year
So here we are, Dear Reader, on the edge of the Edge.
I had ten hours of blackout yesterday, and that seems to be quite a long time in this day and age, and as Simon and Garfunkel said of kangaroos, I am skeptical of changes in my cages.
I know what's going on. I know Big Money is anxious to be on the side of God, but it doesn't know how, so it sides with Satan because Satan gives credit.
Don't look for Big Brains in Big Money, look for Big Anger thrown at you by Big Money, but don't look for Big Brains in Big Money.
I appreciate that there are a number of Dear Readers who would like to send a few dollars my way, but this money business, this deadline Thursday morning, California time business, is between Big Money and Me.
Do I think Big Money will pay me a minimum of $30 million to publish I.C. News' God's Space War story in the daily news market?
All things are possible. Sooner or later even Big Money gets smart.
The question is, is Big Money smart enough to pay a minimum of $30 million by Thursday morning, California time; or down the road, when the God's Space War story gets so hot you can fry an egg on it, pay a minimum of $300 million for the same news?
Well, let's not worry our pretty little heads about it.
Since you are on the brink of going over the edge of the Cliff of Eternal Remorse, having less than two days to un-do Telepath torture-enslavement, my Old Pal God has asked me to tell you about the time God saved me from just such a plummet in the wilderness.
It was on my longest hike without resupply, six weeks, the last two following a stream to the Pacific Ocean with only deer trails to keep my footing on.
To my left as I walked a perilous trail was a high, steep face of a mountain. the ground cover being broken shale and impossible to walk upon; to my right was the same impossible shale going down at a very steep angle to the boulder-strewn creek about 200 feet below.
Like a tightrope walker I was walking the deer trail, and it had been this degree of difficulty for a week or more; impossible to go back, my food supplies down to oatmeal and curry powder, dangerous to go on, no Ranger Rick to call if I got in trouble, just me and life and death and a narrow dear trail.
(I love doing that stuff.)
The steepness of the what would have been a helpless slide to the other side of Life reminded me of a dream I had when I was six or seven or eight, and I recalled it as I walked along.
In that dream my family was driving from Washington State to North Dakota in our '41 Plymouth coupe, and my dad, who loved the mountains so much, had stopped at a scenic site in the Rockies.
And in my dream I fell. The slope in the dream was just like the slope I deer-trailed along that day, falling at a sharp angle, maybe 80 degrees, the dreaming Boy sliding for a while, with no footing possible, then over a steep cliff down into a valley so deep the pine trees looked like blades of grass.
What saved me in the dream was an old burned out tree just on the lip of the cliff. I stopped myself on the tree.
So, about 40 years later I am walking on a perilous path and I am reminded of that dream from my childhood, and so insistent is the reminder that I made note of the dream in my log when I camped that night.
The next night, in the uncertain light just before darkness I made a mistake a backpacker should never make, and kept hiking too late.
While there was no need to, I decided I wanted to make my way down to the stream and sleep there; and as I made my way down the slope, the slope became steeper and steeper, so much so that I could not carry my pack and instead tied a long line to it and would let it slide down the slope ahead of me, then tie the line loosely to a bush, inch down to the pack, pull the line loose, and do the same thing again.
I could not go back up, an impossible climb, The steepness and he shale would not allow it. I knew I was in trouble so deep in the wilderness no human being would ever find my bones.
In the failing light I saw what seemed to be a little flat area where I could bed down for the night, and sleep on this problem and solve it in the morning; but when I reached my illusion of safety I found it was not only just as steep as everyplace else, but was worse than the impossible shale; it was smooth granite covered with dry leafs.
The second I stepped onto that granite I was thrown back my so that I was lying on my back, and I immediately, helplessly I began to slide on my back, slapping my pack loose as I slid by it, the pack and I sliding side by side to the lip of the vertical cliff and the boulders in the stream waiting below.
As I slid, helpless, I noticed a dark object appearing out of the darkness; a log, a huge, long log that I and my pack were about to slide under, and I put up my feet and they hit the log and my momentum toward doom was stopped.
In the quiet of the night I could hear my pack sliding on, then no sound when it shot off the cliff and out over the stream, and then a loud bang when it hit the rocks below.
Well, I was still alive but I wasn't out of the woods yet. I climbed up on the log and was making my way along it, and my trusty Space Sailor Pal whispered in my ear, "Death is as easy as falling off a log".
I made my way to the end of the log, and getting off it taking steps so perilous I would have not taken them in the daylight when my eyes would have surely told my brain nonono.
Walking on a ledge no wider than a toad's toe, Certain Death drating the bad luck, no Virgil's body to dance around tonight, I chanced upon a tree growing at the edge of the cliff; so I spent the night there, my belt looped under a root of the tree to keep me from falling off the cliff as I slept.
So, 40 years later the dream came true. Saved by a dead tree; in dream and in real life.
The moral of this story is when you begin to slide down the precipice toward Calamity Thursday, don't give up, a helpful log might come your way.
Tatoo, Part 41
The Americans are wicked, and unprepared. They think we Angels of God just love them to pieces, but here we are, in ambush position, eagerly awaiting the order to fire on their Past Time.
To be Continued
Meanwhile, the United States of America, about to sacrifice its existence in support Israel's Victim Fascism, passed through the 190th day of its last year.
posted by Virgil Kret at 7:33 PM
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