I find it troubling how the easily the general public has accepted forced vaccinations and VaxPorts. When the state wanted us to download the COVID tracing apps, to let is know if we were around someone who may have been exposed to the virus; I thought there would be an outcry from people, I was wrong. The citizenry was scared into submission, and downloaded the app.

The willingness to comply to this loss of freedom, and individuality makes me wonder if there will  be any resistance to the "Mark of the Beast," described in the Book of Revelation? I seriously doubt it.  The dark forces in this world have witnessed us failing the test; and now know, that the compliance of many is a given.

People are willing to get the experimental jab, to get back to normal. How long will the lines be to take the Mark of the beast work, eat, buy, and sell; and be come a member of the "new normal?" From COVID19 to 666...

'It Will be the End of Freedom': Oregon Gov. Requires Proof of COVID Vaccinations to Enter Churches, Businesses | CBN News

​NY Now Has 'COVID-19' Passport to Prove Vaccination - Will Colleges Also Require Students to Be Vaccinated? | CBN News
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Workplaces can require employees to get vaccinated, federal agency determines (yahoo.com)

Everyday we inch closer and closer to the return of Jesus. The technologies are developed, or being developed, that will fulfill many of the Book of Revelation. Take the time to read and study the Revelation. You will see today's news throughout the Book. 

While no one knows "the day or the hour," of Christ's return, and the end of this world; but everyday someone dies, and their world ends. 

Are you ready? Have you made the decision of where you will spending eternity? We can see the battle between good and evil everyday. Turn to Christ for peace and clarity, in these time of trouble and confusion

Breaking! Klaus Schwab Calls For Global Health Pass Based on Implantable Microchip (infowars.com)
  
free-gift.html

         The problem with our country is that white people don’t like the way black people look at them; black people don’t like the way white people look at them, Hispanics don’t like the way blacks and whites look at them, and vice versa. Women do not like the way men look at them, men don’t like the way women look at them. Skinny people hate the look of fat people, fat people hate the look of skinny people, and average size people hate the look of both, and both hate the look of them. People do not like the way gays, lesbians, bisexuals, or transgenders look, and transgenders, etc., don’t like the look of other people as well.

            Basically, we don’t like each other’s look, we don’t like the way we look at each other, or the way other’s look at us and, yet, have a hard time looking away from each other’s look.  My solution if elected president would be to have the government gouge everyone’s eyes out, so we could get all this lookism eliminated, and begin hating each other for the way that we sound.

​After twenty-eight long, very long years of marriage, things begin to become clearer. As the relationship drags on, you become painfully aware that you’ve fucked yourself so bad that you won’t return your own calls. Things about your partner that you may have overlooked, or just chosen to ignore as a kindness, rear their ugly head so much, it’s like a constant horror movie.

As the relationship soured, we did less and less together, which was fine with me. My ex-wife was never a pleasure to be seen with; she was uncouth, loud, and tipping the scales at 275. One of my most memorable, and painful memories, of my ex-wife involves and eating binge of epic proportions. If only I was exaggerating this tale; but why lie, when the truth is even more outrageous.

The morning started as most mornings did. I made sure I was out of bed, coffee in hand, and laptop on, before my big bundle of misery entered the house after working the night shift as a nurse at a personal care home. The reason she like the night shift was there were no bosses around, the patients spent most her shift sleeping, she could sit, eat and rifle through the prescriptions. I’m saying she stole prescriptions, but people left, or died. 

At 7:15 am the “Big Fat One” came bursting through the door, complaining about sleeping patients, new policies, and having to cut and paste patient reports all night. She plopped herself down on the couch, grabbed a Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup from her bag, and began going through her night at work. I, of course, was so uninterested at this point, that if it wasn’t for the small chunks of chocolate leaving her mouth as she spoke, I wouldn’t have even looked at her.

“You know,” she stated, “I’m hungry. Let’s go to Eat n Park for breakfast. Are you drinking coffee?”

“Obviously,” I replied taking a long pull on my blueberry coffee.

“Get me a cup, then we’ll go. Remember, I want seven sweet and lows, and about an inch and half of Irish Creamer.”

“You know it’s blueberry coffee, right?”

“So? I want Irish Creamer! What difference does it make?”

I dutifully make her creamer and sweetener, with a dash of coffee. In the meantime, she has ordered a sausage breakfast bowl. The pre-breakfast done, the BFO changes, sans showering, and we head on out the door to begin an unforgettable odyssey. 

We get to Eat ‘n Park. The BFO requests a table near the salad bar, orders a diet Dr. Pepper and the all you can eat breakfast. I get coffee, black, and the all you can eat breakfast. I should point out that, at this time, I had just had stomach surgery, and was transforming, with diet and exercise, from a fat pig to a more natural weight. My food intake habits had seriously changed, for the better. This was also a strain on the relationship, needless to say.

Trip One. The BFO heads to the salad bar, muscling a five-year-old, who was blocking the plates, out of the way. Two scoops of scrambled eggs, six strips of bacon, two sausage patties, a biscuit, and one scoop of fried potatoes, and she’s off to the table. I had a couple of eggs, a sausage patty, potatoes and toast.

Eight minutes later, Trip Two. She gets five pancakes, because they’re small, three sausage patties, potatoes, a couple of cream puffs, and buries the pancakes and sausage in butter and syrup. I grabbed some eggs, toast and cantaloupe. She gazed over the blur that was her fork, and asked, 

“What, ain’t you hungry?”

I calmly sipped my coffee, and reminded her of my past stomach surgery. Watching the BFO eat was at times, and at others, disgusting. It always amazed me that a 5’5,” 130 lbs, woman could expand into a 275 lbs and blame it on an “overactive thyroid condition. That, I must tell, was self-diagnosed, as was her deviated spectrum. The problem was never the constant stream of food to mouth, and exercising on the couch.

“Well, I’m just a leeeelte bit hungry,” she said as she pushed herself up and out of the booth. 

Trip Three. She returned with a mountain of eggs, potatoes and sausage, three pieces of toast and a chocolate muffin. By this time the waitress had place our bill on the table; obviously in the hopes of suggesting an end to the assault on the breakfast bar. Ah, we all live in hope. 

Trip Four. Time to eat healthy. Two pieces of cantaloupe, strawberries, a slice of green mellon, a couple of pieces of watermelon, and a scoop of ambrosia. The rainbow of colors swirled and vanished before my eyes. Heads began to turn, and I could hear the whispered conversations about the plates stacking up in front of the BFO. 

Undaunted, Trip Five. I often wonder what motivates a person to do the things they do, and I sat in wonder as she returned from the salad bar with an assortment of breads and fruit. In the space of less than an hour, my ex, had consumed enough food to feed a small African village. I knew I had just witnessed something special in the annals of eating, but little did I know that my adventure in Gluttonyland was just beginning; I had just stepped through the serving tray.

​To be continued…