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THOUGHT FOR THE DAY

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A lot more jobs are going that route. 

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I wanted to share a website with you that is a good idea to visit. 
 
It is www.familywatchdog.us
 
When you visit this site you can enter your address and a map will pop up with your house or church as the small icon of a house and red, blue, green, dots surrounding your entire neighborhood.
 
When you click on these dots, a picture of a person will appear with an address and the description of the crime he or she had committed.
 
This site was developed by John Walsh. Another tool to help us keep kids safe.
 
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I don’t think this could have been said any better and it definitely is about time someone said it.  Hopefully, this will go out over EVERYcomputer in the U.S. and maybe, just maybe, these sports people will get the message of just how ridiculous they are to disrespect our flag, and how little what they do in sports compare to what our great military has done for this country..
 
NFL protesting the flag - POWERFUL!!
Ret. Marine Col. Jeffery Powers wrote to the NFL commissioners the following:
 
Commissioners,
 
I’ve been a season pass holder at Yankee Stadium, Yale Bowl and the Giants Stadium.
 
I missed the ’90-’91 season because I was with a battalion of Marines in Desert Storm. 14 of my wonderful Marines returned home with the American Flag draped across their lifeless bodies. My last conversation with one of them, Sgt. Garrett Mongrella, was about how our Giants were going to the Super Bowl. He never got to see it.
 
Many friends, Marines, and Special Forces Soldiers who worked with or for me through the years returned home with the American Flag draped over their coffins.
 
Now I watch multi-millionaire athletes who never did anything in their lives but play a game, disrespect what brave Americans fought and died for. They are essentially spitting in the faces and on the graves of real men, men who have actually done something for this country beside playing with a ball and believing they’re something special! They’re not! My Marines and Soldiers were!
 
You are complicit in this! You’ll fine players for large and small infractions but you lack the moral courage and respect for our nation and the fallen to put an  immediate stop to this. Yes, I know, it’s their 1st Amendment right to behave in such a despicable manner.
                      
What would happen if they came out and disrespected you or the refs publicly?
 
I observed a player getting a personal foul for twerking in the end zone after scoring I guess that’s much worse than disrespecting the flag and our National  Anthem. Hmmmmm, isn’t it his 1st Amendment right to express himself like an idiot in the end zone?
 
Why is taunting not allowed yet taunting America is OK? You fine players for wearing 9-11 commemorative shoes yet you allow scum on the sidelines to sit, kneel or pump their pathetic fist in the air. They are so deprived with their multi-million dollar contracts for playing a freaking game!
 
You condone it all by your refusal to act. You’re just as bad and disgusting as they are. I hope Americans boycott any sponsor who supports that rabble you call the NFL. I hope they turn off the TV when any team that allowed this disrespect to occur, without consequence, on the sidelines. I applaud those who have not.
 
Legends and heroes do NOT wear shoulder pads. They wear body armor and carry rifles.
 
They make minimum wage and spend months and years away from their families. They don’t do it for an hour on Sunday. They do it 24/7 often with lead, not footballs, coming in their direction. They watch their brothers carted off in pieces not on a gurney to get their knee iced. They don’t even have ice! Many don’t have legs or arms.
 
Some wear blue and risk their lives daily on the streets of America. They wear fire helmets and go upstairs into the fire rather than down to safety. On 9-11, hundreds vanished. They are the heroes.
 
I hope that your high paid protesting pretty boys and you look in that mirror when you shave tomorrow and see what you really are, legends in your own minds. You need to hit the road and take those worms with you!
 
Time to change the channel.
 
Powers originally sent his letter to former Florida congressman Allen West. West then posted the letter to his news website.
 
As of last week, at least 18 NFL players had protested the anthem by either kneeling during the anthem or raising their fists, according to USA Today Sports.
 
If you agree with what the Colonel said, please pass this on. 
 
 
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I would give that a million LIKES if I could Don. Great read.

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Well That link went NO PLACE !   LOL

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Sorry HF maybe this will help:

A man should forget his mistakes. There's no use in two people remembering 

the same thing for 20 years. 

 

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Ahhh But some things need to be remembered for  Eternity !   Like Today.  09 11 ...    You realize today is One of Many Reasons I have a special Place in my Heart for the Followers of Islam ?

Edited by homefire
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                          EVERYTHING I NEEDED TO KNOW ABOUT ISLAM I LEARNED ON 9/11
                                                        How September 11 made me what I am.

"In the name of Allah, the Most Merciful, the Most Compassionate," a terrorist declares on the Flight 93 cockpit recording. That's followed by the sounds of the terrorists assaulting a passenger. 

"Please don't hurt me," he pleads. "Oh God." 

As the passengers rush the cabin, a Muslim terrorist proclaims, "In the name of Allah." 

As New York firefighters struggle up the South Tower with 100 pounds of equipment on their backs trying to save lives until the very last moment, the Flight 93 passengers push toward the cockpit. The Islamic hijackers call out, "Allahu Akbar." The Islamic supremacist term originated with Mohammed's massacre of the Jews of Khaybar and means that Allah is greater than the gods of non-Muslims. 

Mohammed Atta had advised his fellow terrorists that when the fighting begins, "Shout, 'Allahu Akbar,' because this strikes fear in the hearts of the non-believers." He quoted the Koran's command that Muslim holy warriors terrorize non-believers by beheading them and urged them to follow Mohammed's approach, "Take prisoners and kill them." 

The 9/11 ringleader quoted the Koran again. "No prophet should have prisoners until he has soaked the land with blood." 

On Flight 93, the fighting goes on. "Oh Allah. Oh the most Gracious," the Islamic terrorists cry out. "Trust in Allah," they reassure. And then there are only the chants of, "Allahu Akbar" as the plane goes down in a Pennsylvania field leaving behind another blood-soaked territory in the Islamic invasion of America. 

Today that field is marked by the "Crescent of Embrace" memorial. 
Thousands of Muslims cheered the attack in those parts of Israel under the control of the Islamic terrorists of the Palestinian Authority. They shouted, "Allahu Akbar" and handed out candy. 

But similar ugly outbreaks of Islamic Supremacism were also taking place much closer to home. 

On John F. Kennedy Boulevard, in Jersey City, across the river from Manhattan, crowds of Muslim settlers celebrated the slaughter of Americans. "Some men were dancing, some held kids on their shoulders," a retired Jersey City cop described the scene. "The women were shouting in Arabic." 

Similar Islamic festivities broke out on Atlantic Avenue in Brooklyn, a major Islamic settlement area, even as in downtown Manhattan, ash had turned nearby streets into the semblance of a nuclear war. Men and women trudged over Brooklyn Bridge or uptown to get away from this strange new world. 

Many just walked. They didn't know where they were going. I was one of them. 

That Tuesday was a long and terrible education. In those hours, millions of Americans were being educated about many things: what happens when jet planes collide with skyscrapers, how brave men can reach the 78th floor with 100 pounds of equipment strapped to their backs and what are the odds are of finding anyone alive underneath the rubble of a falling tower. They were learning about a formerly obscure group named Al Qaeda and its boss. But they were also being educated about Islam. 

Islamic terrorism was once something that happened "over there." You saw it on the covers of Time or Newsweek back when those were staples of checkout counters and medical offices. But even after the World Trade Center bombing, it wasn't truly "over here." But now it was. The war was here. 

Each generation is born into history out of a moment of crisis. We are defined by our struggles. By the wars we fight and do not fight. On a Tuesday morning in September, my generation was born into history. 

Some of us were born into it better than others. 
At Union Square, I passed NYU students painting anti-war placards even as the downtown sky behind them was painted the color of bone. They ignored the crowd streaming up past them and focused intently on making all the red letters in NO WAR line up neatly on the white cardboard. 

In the years since, I have seen that look on the faces of countless leftists who ignore the stabbers shouting, "Allahu Akbar" in London or the terrorist declaring, "In the name of Allah, the merciful," among the bloody ruin of a gay nightclub in Orlando. Instead they focus on their mindless slogans. 

"NO WAR," "Stop Islamophobia" and "Refugees Welcome." The world of the cardboard sign and the simple slogan is an easier and neater one than a sky filled with the ashes of the dead. 

On September 11, some of us opened our eyes. Others closed them as hard as they could. 
That Tuesday irrevocably divided my generation. Some joined the military, the police or became analysts. Others turned left-wing activists, volunteered as lawyers for terrorists or converted to Islam. 

The passengers on Flight 93 who took the lead were in their thirties. But the two firefighters who made it to the 78th floor of the South Tower, Ronald Bucca, who did duty in Vietnam as a Green Beret, and Orio Palmer, a marathon runner, were in their forties. Those men and women had the most meaningful answers to the old question, "Where were you when it happened?" 

I was just one of countless people moving upstream away from Ground Zero. 

The great lesson of that Tuesday morning was that it wasn't over. It wasn't over when we understood that we wouldn't find anyone alive in that twisted mass of metal and death. It wasn't over when the air began to clear. It wasn't over when the President of the United States spoke. It wasn't over when the planes began to fly again and the TV switched from non-stop coverage of the attacks and back to its regularly scheduled programming. It wasn't over when we were told to mourn and move on. 

It still isn't over. 

After every attack, Boston, Orlando, San Bernardino, New York, Paris, Manchester, London, Barcelona, we are encouraged to mourn and move on. Bury the bodies, shed a tear and forget about it. 

Terrible things happen. And we have to learn to accept them. 

But Tuesday morning was not a random catastrophe. It did not go away because we went back to shopping. It did not go away with Hope and Change. Appeasing and forgetting only made it stronger. 

Everything I needed to know about Islam, I learned on September 11. The details of the theology came later. I couldn't quote the Koran while the sirens were wailing. But I learned the essential truth. 

And so did you. 

"Where were you?" is not just a question to be asked about September 11, 2001. It is an everyday question. What are you doing today to fight the Islamic terrorists who did this? And tomorrow? 

I found my answer through my writing. Others have made a more direct contribution. 

But it's important that we keep asking ourselves that question. 

The 9/11 hijackers, the members of Al Qaeda, of ISIS, of the Muslim Brotherhood and the entire vast global terror network, its supporters and fellow travelers asked themselves that question every day. 

They are still asking it. 

From the Iranian nuclear program to the swarm of Muslim Brotherhood organizations in America, from the Muslim migrant surge into Germany to the sex grooming gangs of the UK, they have their answers. 

Our enemies wake up every day wondering how to destroy us. Their methods, from demographic invasion to WMDs, from political subversion to random stabbings, are many. 

A new and terrible era in history began on 9/11. We are no more past it than we were past Pearl Harbor at the Battle of Midway. Its origins are no mystery. They lie in the last sound that came from Flight 93. 

"Allahu Akbar." 

 

We are in the middle of the longest war in American history. And we still haven't learned how to fight it. 

September 11 has come around again. You don't have to run into a burning building or wrestle terrorists with your bare hands. But use the day to warn others, so you can answer, "Where were you?" 
 

 

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NEVER FORGET

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Let this sink in for a minute... Hundreds and hundreds of small boats pulled by countless pickups and SUV's from across the nation headed for Houston and then Flordia. Almost all of them driven by men. They're using their own property, sacrificing their own time, spending their own money, and risking their own lives for one reason: to help total strangers in desperate need.Most of them are by themselves.

 

Most are dressed like the redneck duck hunters and bass fisherman they are. Many are veterans. Most are wearing well-used gimme-hats, t-shirts, and jeans; and there's a preponderance of camo. Most are probably gun owners, and most probably voted for Trump.
 
These are the people the left loves to hate; the ones Maddow mocks; the ones Maher and Olbermann just *know* they're so much better than.
These are The Quiet Ones. They don't wear masks and tear down statues. They don't, as a rule, march and demonstrate. And most have probably never been in a Whole Foods.
 
But they'll spend the next several days wading in cold, dirty water; dodging gators and water moccasins and fire ants; eating whatever meager rations are available; and sleeping wherever they can in dirty, damp clothes. Their reward is the tears and the hugs and the smiles from the terrified people they help. They'll deliver one boatload, and then go back for more.
When disaster strikes, it's what men do. Real men. Heroic men. American men. And then they'll knock back a few shots, or a few beers with like-minded men they've never met before, and talk about fish, or ten-point bucks, or the benefits of hollow-point ammo, or their F-150.
 
And the next time they hear someone talk about 'the patriarchy', or 'male privilege', they'll snort, turn off the TV and go to bed.
 
In the meantime, they'll likely be up again before dawn. To do it again. Until the helpless are rescued. And the work's done.
They're unlikely to be reimbursed. There won't be medals. They won't tell stories. They won't care. They're heroes. And it's what they do.
 
We should all take a moment to give thanks for this type of an American person that is and always will be the foundation of our great country.
 
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https://i1.wp.com/knuckledraggin.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/05/mime-attachment.jpg?resize=589%2C395

An old cowboy walks into a barbershop in Red Lodge, Montana for a shave and a haircut.
 
He tells the barber he can’t get all his whiskers off because his cheeks are wrinkled from age.
 
The barber gets a little wooden ball from a cup on the shelf, and tells the old cowboy to put it inside his cheek to spread out the skin.
 
When he’s finished, the old cowboy tells the barber that was the cleanest shave he’d had in years, but he wanted to know what would have happened if he had accidentally swallowed the little ball.
 
The barber replied, “Just bring it back in a couple of days like everyone else does.
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On Being A Mother
 
After 21 years of marriage, my wife wanted me to  take another woman out to dinner and a movie. She said, "I love you, but I  know this other woman loves you and would love to spend some time with  you."
 
 
The other woman that my wife wanted me to visit was  my MOTHER, who has been a widow for 19 years, but the demands of my  work and my three children had made it possible to visit her only  occasionally. That night I called to invite her to go out for dinner and a movie. "What's  wrong, are you well," she asked?
 
 
My mother is the type of woman who suspects that a  late night call or a surprise invitation is a sign of bad news. "I  thought that it would be pleasant to spend some time with you," I responded. "Just the  two of us."
 
 
She thought about it for a moment, and then said,  "I would like that very much."
 
 
That Friday after work, as I drove over to pick her  up I was a bit nervous. When I arrived at her house, I noticed that she,  too, seemed to be nervous about our date. She waited in the door with her  coat on. She had curled her hair and was wearing the dress that she had worn to celebrate her last wedding anniversary. She smiled from a face that was as  radiant as an angel's.  
 
"I told my friends that I was going to go out with  my son, and they were impressed," she said, as she got into the car.  "They can't wait to hear about our meeting."
 
 
We went to a restaurant that, although not elegant,  was very nice and cozy. My mother took my arm as if she were the First Lady.  After we sat down, I had to read the menu. Her eyes could only read large  print.
 
 
Half way through the entries, I lifted my eyes and  saw Mom sitting there staring at me. A nostalgic smile was on her lips.  "It was I who used to have to read the menu when you were small," she said.
 
 
"Then it's time that you relax and let me return  the favor," I responded.
 
 
During the dinner, we had an agreeable conversation  nothing extraordinary but catching up on recent events of each other's life.  We talked so much that we missed the movie. As we arrived at her house later,  she said, "I'll go out with you again, but only if you let me invite you. "I  agreed.
 
"How was your dinner date?" asked my wife when I got home. "Very nice.  Much more so than I could have imagined," I answered.
 
 
A few days later, my mother died of a massive heart  attack. It happened so suddenly that I didn't have a chance to do anything for her.
 
 
Some time later, I received an envelope with a copy  of a restaurant receipt from the same place mother and I had dined. An  attached note said: "I paid this bill in advance. I wasn't sure that I could be  there; but nevertheless, I paid for two plates - one for you and the other for your wife. You will never know what that night meant for me. I love you,  son."
 
 
At that moment, I understood the importance of  saying in time: "I LOVE YOU" and to give our loved ones the time that they deserve.
 
 
Nothing in life is more important than your family.
 
 
Give them the time they deserve, because these  things cannot be put off till "some other time."
 
 
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No way to respond to that one. 

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Here we go again, tomorrow at 0145 get on the bus for a 4 1/2 hr. bus ride so I can be at the Doc's 

place so he can put another "little hole" in my belly button to "drain the swamp". This will be trip 

number 6, hope the last one. 

Getting desperate to get out of the house and do some beeping. Since I use a hip stick I wonder if

that would be enough weight taken off the belly. Hope to give that thought a try next week. 

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Got back in the house at 2030, nine hours on a bus ain't a good thing.

The Doc cut a 1/2 hole in my belly just above the blood clot. 

Got a lot of crud out with gauze and then a liquid. 

I ask the Doc if I could video the surgery so he gave me a local instead of the sleep option. 

Got to video the entire procedure but now I have the video on my cell phone but it won't send to another cell. 

Guess I'll try putting it on my computer next, then post it. 

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Dang,  At least they didn't  just hooked you up to a vacuum machine, turned you all prune  like  and send ya home. 

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Skip wish I could get the video on here. It's 10 minutes long could be the problem. 

The way he took those scissor looking things with wads of gauze on the end about 2 inches inside

he would have found any gold in there. At one point he did pull out some stringy looking stuff. 

Then he squeezed a lot of the blood out. I did the same thing yesterday when I took the bandage off. 

All seems to be better tonight. 

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