My father loved Judy Collins.
Judith Collins is the lady after whom my hero, Joan Mitchell, once modelled, and for whom she wrote, before my friend, Noah Lerner, an Emmy-Award-Winning Director, along with his father, Murray Lerner, an Academy-Award-Winning Documentarian, memorialized her performance in the only film from the Isle of Wight.
As Joni Mitchell wrote Clouds, and Stephen Stills wrote Suite Judy Blue Eyes, for Judy Collins, my father was not the only incredible person to have a crush on this beautiful woman.
My daughter and I had the privilege of watching the Silver Fox perform as a raconteuse, at the Paramount, in Charlottesville, running down the hallways of the Omni, to the pool and the ice machine, and back to our room on the corner, before the scum estranged us from each other.
Funny, how they always booked us into a Pyramid Room, as the trash who worship Egypt, and Babylon, destroy our country.
That was before the Illuminati, the Freemasons, and their slaves in the so-called intelligence community murdered my father, in slow motion, for years, making him shit in his pants, while he lay on his back and lost his mind.
My father’s lingering death was caused by microwave harassment, like most ailments, as the NSA, DHS, and CIA, not to mention GCHQ, use our tax dollars, and their control of television, to drive us to pharmaceutical solutions, to the tune of trillions, while they bankrupt our governments with the false solution of socialized medicine.
Plus, let’s not forget the Jews in MOSSAD, whose slaves in the Democratic Party cannot so much as return a Merry Christmas with a Happy Hanukkah, but they just want everyone to shut up, and share their miserable excuse for existence, while they are run by the English Freemasons who ran the Nazis, making the Holocaust so they could make Israel.
When I predicted, before the Shutdown, that COVID was a plot to drive us to forced vaccinations, the Anti-Defamation League, or the ADL, which claims to fight hate, and defend Jews, while it excuses the actions of the Sonderkommandos who helped the Nazis kill the Hebrews, chose to attack me, when I had never written a single word about Jews or Israel.
Like Senator Barry Goldwater, a real American, whose father had Jewish blood, I am proud to be the extremist they called me!
Charles Dickens had it right, as he portrayed the child molester, Fagin, and he satyrized Thomas Malthus, who went to my college, at Cambridge, while he gave an intellectual justification to the mass-murder of the vast majority of humankind, in an ongoing Genocide that far exceeds the Holocaust, putting his theories in the mouth of Ebenezer Scrooge.
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As I remembered my father, who once said of a villain, “He might as well be a Jew,” I was listening to Judy Collins’ lovely album, Christmas at the Biltmore, today.
The scum chose this time to renew their microwave attacks against me, although it is very obvious that I know how to fight back.
That’s why I have written more than three hundred (303) articles on this website, which now has more than one and a half million (1,675,823) hits from every country in the world, except five, including military installations in Iran, Greenland, and Antarctica.
That’s why I joined the Board of Targeted Justice, along with doctors, lawyers, journalists, former police chiefs, and federal officials.
Another man who fought back, in his own way, was George Vanderbilt, a good father, whom they murdered, after he sought a retreat in the mountains and he built the Biltmore.
It behooves us to remember this fine man, who rushed to pick up a tray a maid dropped, on her first day, getting down on his hands and knees, to clean up after his servant, before he gave orders, because the tray was clearly too heavy for the new young lady, that she be given lighter work and kinder treatment.
So, as I remembered George Vanderbilt and my father, James Shelley, I listened to Silver Bells, sung by Judy Collins, at the Biltmore Estate.
The song celebrates a lovely shopping experience, in the city, where people feel the Spirit of Christmas, as they wish each other joy, and buy presents for others.
That is a small aspect of the War on Christmas, as they seek to lead us to commercialism.
But they won’t even leave it there, where we spend, drink, and eat more than we should, any more than they would leave George Vanderbilt, my father, or any of us alone.
Today, I bought stocks for the larder, and spirits for the board, and I wished two different people, at the till, a Merry Christmas, a holiday the scum pretend to celebrate while they bombard us with movies, sending the wrong message, out of season.
I got no return, and, as the sales clerks scowled, and sneered, you would have thought I had insulted them.
So, here’s how it turns out.
Merry Christmas is the new fuck you, at least the way the enemies of our country take it, while it remains a friendly greeting, that means good will to all men, and women, of whatever faith, as we celebrate a time of giving, in the Heart of Winter, to all good people.
I encourage you to give the challenge.
Say Merry Christmas!
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Our enemy depends on silence.