IMPEACHMENT: The fourth quarter opened with the ultimate threat, the threat of forfeiture, with Donald being forced from the field by the security goons. What became of this series of downs? An interception leading to another defensive TD. What idiots decided to let Jerry Nadler and Adam Schiff run this series of plays? Donald is up 21-0, just minutes into the final quarter. Even the Bookies in Hell had him at a 95% probability of winning.
Then the Enemy unleashed a series of plays no one saw coming. Plays never seen in any playbook. The Enemy put in a new quarterback, some guy with no face. His jersey said ‘Covid’, but nobody had ever heard of him before now. He wasn’t on the published roster, but the Media-Zebras let him play anyway. This guy unleashed a drive you can’t believe. Before you know it, they’ve shut down the concession stands (and bathrooms too), and the next thing you know, the scoreboard says 21-7. Nobody saw the actual touchdown, and the re-play tapes are still missing. Oh well. Game on!
Donald received the kickoff, but his team was in disarray. Penalty flags everywhere, even during time-outs. The Enemy got the ball at the fifty-yard line. Just then, some dude in the crowd passes out at the Wendy’s walk-thru line (at a smoldering food kiosk), and the cops decide to play tough. Real rough. The North-stand crowd goes nuts, and the game is temporarily halted. Donald refuses to take a knee at the decreed moment of silence, and he draws 3 personal foul flags. The ball is moved to the five-yard line. The next play, twelve camera-men flood the field and escort the Enemy fullback as he rambles untouched into the end zone. They go for two, and now it’s 21-15, with ten minutes to go.
Next thing you know, all the concession stands on the North side of the stadium are on fire, with fans (?) looting them. Gunfire everywhere, but the Media-Refs won’t allow the stadium cops to interfere. They de-fund them and send them home. The fire spreads. Fans are fleeing, and nobody notices that the Enemy has demanded that they receive the kick-off. I know, you can’t make this stuff up, right?
Meanwhile, the Zebras demand reparations for the dead fan, and another 7 free points go up on the scoreboard for The Enemy. The unnamed (but black) runner respectfully lays the ball into the casket containing the body John Lewis, lying in state in the end zone for his 38th state funeral. Now it’s 22-21, in favor of the Enemy.
That’s where things stood with five minutes left on the clock. The Enemy, inexplicably, gets the ball again, but suddenly, they can’t gain any yards. Too many fans dead on the field, which clogs the running lanes. The Media-Zebras are frantically trying to throw flags, but the South-side fans are starting to boo. Loudly. Very loudly. Fans on the North side start throwing bricks at Donald’s team. Then the Enemy demands that they should get extra downs for further reparations, as their fourth down attempt falls short. The Refs call a delay-of-game penalty, but fail to say which team is penalized.
They finally give Donald the ball. On his own one-yard line. His guy Fauci, the wide-out from Deep State U, suddenly drops three passes in a row. Donald takes his Fed’s off the field, after punting to the fifty. Again. The Enemy takes the field, totally confident that the Donald is finally rattled. And they’re up by one. But, just as the ball is snapped on their first play, the score from the Dow-Corona Game flashes on the scoreboard. Dow State has just hit 27, and Corona is looking rattled. The Enemy loses his concentration and get sacked for a forty-yard loss. Two plays (and 60 days of riots) later, they punt. But the punt is blocked, and while the Enemy recovers in the end-zone, it’s a safety for Donald. Now he’s back on top, 23-22, with two minutes left in regulation.
Donald still can’t get anyone to catch a pass, and so he punts again. But there’s another new player on the field. Some hulking 350 lb. monster from Beijing U (from one of their many American campuses). They call him The Chunk. This guy is just like Ndamukong Suh. He’s ready to step on anyone, assuming they’re already down. Unlike Ndamukong, this guy plays offense. He’s ready to offend.
That’s where we are today. Two long minutes left, and Donald is ahead by one. All he has to do is run out the clock. And win by a whisker, even though the national broadcast of the game on MSM TV refuses to update the score after Donald’s safety. The national audience is still hearing that the Enemy is still ahead, by one.
The last two minutes of every game take forever to unfold. Especially with instant replay. Which is never instant, by the way. These two minutes are going to last at least another 70 days (unless we have re-count overtime). The pressure has reached maximum proportions. Every move, every feint takes on crucial meaning. Any mistake by either side may decide this epic battle for the soul of the Nation (and conversely, The Empire).
Here is what I’m leading to. The possibility of an unforced error that gives the Enemy his prize, fairly or not. Generally not. What might this error look like? Well, let’s get back to that new player, from Beijing-Berkley. That Asian hulk, The Chunk.
What will Donald do when The Chunk does something incredibly brazen and dirty? Will Donald lash back, hitting The Chunk in the gut? And immediately drawing a flag? Or maybe worse, as The Chunk then decides to openly grab Donald’s face-mask, and twist it 180 degrees, along with a knee to the crotch.
The Enemy has thrown everything they had at Donald, to no real effect, for nearly four years. They cannot afford, from their infernal and eternal perspective, to lose this game. For them, this is it. It’s all or nothing. And so, anything, literally anything, is on (or under) the table. They are capable of anything.
Here’s my deepest fear. That ‘The Chunk’ will incite Donald into a Hot War, in the South China Sea. Incite him with an act so outrageous (like sinking a carrier) that Donald cannot fail to answer in kind. To Hell with the Refs, no leader can fail to respond to naked aggression. Unless he wants to lose. Either face—or the election—it makes no difference here and now. We know what the Zebra’s will do in any event.
Let’s draw back a moment and think. Think about the past, and the prophecies given then. The recurring theme of all of them in the past few centuries, since the Fall of Paris in 1789 (and even earlier, for those who read), is this: that the faithless West will be given a chastisement in reward for its loss of Faith. While this chastisement will not be The End, it will make many think it is. Many today seem to think that this chastisement will come as so many other earthly disasters have occurred; War, famine, or plague.
But no one seems to think like God, who always finds a new way to confound us in our pride. No one in Noah’s day could conceive of rain, let alone a Flood, and no one foresaw the Black Plague that took out a third of mankind (aided by the first global communications system, maritime trade). Prophecy usually only becomes clear in hindsight.
No one today seems to notice that the forewarned chastisement is already upon us. Once again it is a plague. But not a bodily plague. It is a spiritual one. A plague that decimates the soul. Robs it of its strength and vigor, by destroying its virtue. Replacing it with the virus of vice. And the biggest vice is lying.
That’s what began this whole current chapter in this sordid misery of mankind. Lies. From the very beginning, of course. Worldwide communications have made it possible to spread lies around the global-garden, instantly. That is what this whole ‘pandemic’ is, a lie of epic proportions. A lie designed to engender panic, not actual death. A panic of the fear of Death.
A panic that is better described as a loss of faith. This loss of what once filled your soul created the vacuum that is now filled by a new faith. A faith in Science. Ineffective Science, it seems. If you have lost your first faith, why wouldn’t you fear Death? Science has never defeated Death, and never will. Why would you not fear Death? And then, you succumb to panic. A panic attack no ventilator can stop.
In our antiseptic replacement world of Scientism, faith in God has been replaced by an unearned trust in man. Scientific Man. Fauci-Man.
Here’s the bottom line, to me, my brothers. Ignore the idiots in the play booth. Keep everyone away from The Chunk. Hang on to the ball yourself, Donald, and sweep to the right on every play. Run the clock as far as you can, and just remember, you’re actually ahead. You don’t have to score again to win.
Don’t worry about The Enemy trying a Hail Mary pass. They tore that play out of their playbook eons ago. All you have to do is emulate the greatest player of all time. A man who overcame all the odds, all the polls, all the pundits, and even his wife, who said ‘curse God, and die’. The guy who took everything The Enemy could muster. All he did was to sit there and take it. Like a man. This player’s name? You could look him up. He’s right there, in the Old Testament Hall of Fame.
It seemed he had lost everything, and that everyone had abandoned him. But he refused to depart from his beliefs. From all outward appearances, he was destined to lose even his eternal (electoral) life. Nevertheless, he refused to curse God, and then die. For this refusal to abandon his God, to the confoundment of his Enemies, he was rewarded doubly for his constancy in Faith. This reward was delivered in this life. Take heed, my friends. And take it. Like a man.