I have nothing for sale and being liked is immaterial to me. So what do I want? I want you to become aware of a little known fact: the future is no mystery. It has been precisely recorded. It’s simply a matter of knowing where to look. To make such a preposterous statement, I must and will produce proof.

Over one-half century ago, six paintings—I’m going to call them “visuals”— were completed that describe in detail today’s America, not a lot of fuzzy Nostradamus nonsense.

According to an ancient Chinese Sage, a picture is worth a thousand words. Even today’s police departments, a thousand years later, agree with that assessment. The first three visuals we will examine are portraits of the United States today, portraits taken 50 years ago. They have been tested by time and proven to be 100% correct. Later, I will introduce others, only 10-20 years old. Will they also be 100% correct? I don’t know, but what I do know is it’s not going to take 50 years this time to find out.

To appreciate the prophetic accuracy of these first three visuals that portray today’s America, let’s take just a moment to look at yesterday’s America. It was a Nation founded on spiritual faith, with a passion for freedom, accountability and personal responsibility. A proud, independent people accustomed to severe hardship, who realized they were privileged to live in the greatest country on earth.

Did I glean this from a filtered history book? No. I was there when the stock market crashed in the ´30s. I was there when the nation, in prayerful silence, huddled before their radios following Lindbergh’s epic crossing of the Atlantic in 1927.

Are you ready to take an unfiltered trip into history? I plan to be pleasant, but what you are to hear and see will not be.

A Look at United States 2013…

…a nation hopelessly divided and full of “victims.” Society has broken down into tribal territories with well-defended and guarded borders. Today’s leaders exhibit a bizarre inability to solve even simple problems. Passive entitlements have replaced the pursuit of personal achievement. Freedom has been replaced by apathy and socialism. Most importantly, spiritual ingratitude has replaced spiritual faith. The Americans of 75 years ago have disappeared: you know, that angry old white man the P.C. liberals love to vilify. That man of 75 years ago, walking today’s American streets, would think he was in a foreign country… and he is.

One-term politicians have secure lifetime tenure by fostering discontent. The country has been divided into serfdoms where they rule as kings, rewarding their “people” with other people’s stuff—for free. To continue living high on the hog, they have destroyed America.

Enough serious talk. Let’s get down and dirty, don our hazmat suits, and approach this bloody, dung-splattering monstrosity cannibalizing itself: America 2013, a far cry from Uncle Sam 1960, a slim, broad-shouldered, mature, fatherly figure, respected and loved, who could rally millions to arms with a pointed finger.

Visual #1: Untitled, 1959

Those once lofty high places of government have been abandoned. Descending into the depths of madness, outer garments of propriety envisioned by the Founders were discarded, revealing an ugly, bloated nakedness, a body covered in sores, overflowing with pus and dried blood. Unable to curb a voracious appetite, today’s America has begun devouring itself to satisfy the deadly parasites its body has bred and nurtured.

The store empty, to provide more free stuff America itself has become the last morsel. Tragically, the warm, savory blood and dung has proven to be a highly addictive mixture, even intoxicating, the end predictable, and sooner than you can imagine. Now a little surprise: from time to time, I’m going to enter the visual and interact with it… you are to come with me.

Okay, let’s step a little closer. Like a Third World entrails-divining shaman, what do they reveal? What can we learn? Putting an ear against the slimy, blood-soaked, rumbling gut, I hear… Yes, I hear voices, all kinds of voices. They are all saying the same thing: “I want mine.” I hear a majestic, resonant voice: “Why, it’s the President!” I hear, “Of course, Mr. President, you are and always will be first.” Listen… What’s that gurgling? Oh, it’s just a pocket of approaching gas. Yes, here comes Congress: “Take your pick as always, Mr. Congress, and, as always, here’s your pork.” Step up, step up everybody. There you are, Special Interest, in all your thousand and one shapes, forms and sizes. “Always plenty for you.” Uh oh, here comes a parade of turban-wearing potentates with smelly bungholes. “Here, here, take what you want. You want it? Take it, it’s yours, please be nice to me. I’m your friend, you know.” Now, here come the unwashed masses. “Relax, relax, don’t push, DON’T PUSH! There’s plenty of stuff for y’all.” Well, what do we have here? “No habla inglés? No problema, Señor. It’s called ‘free stuff.’ I provide the whole world with free stuff. Why would I leave you out? You vote, don’t you?”

Sadly, I step back and away from my hopelessly insane country, depressed, powerless to act, condemned, on death row, the hour draws near—we are having our last supper.

Speaking of last suppers, let’s check out another visual that was obviously out of place when viewed 50 years ago. Comments were, “I don’t get it. What are you trying to say?” Some became a little angry as to how their country was being portrayed. Perfectly understandable. Of course they didn’t “get it”: the world depicted in these visuals was still a half century into their future.

Visual #2: The Last Supper, 1961

This visual portrayed a time in the future, when government spending and debt would overwhelm the American taxpayer. That time has arrived, the result of politicians who prostituted their stewardship for power and longevity. The National Debt is over $16 trillion and growing by trillions.

Now, what really is a Trillion?

But first, what really is a Billion? By Washington standards, a billion is chump change. Fifty billion here, a hundred billion there, is heard every night on the news. And a Million? I’m glad you asked. Joe Biden’s hotel bill for two nights was $1 million. Yes, two nights, $1 million. That is a million by Washington’s standards.

In the real world, what is a billion? Earth is 4.5 billion years old. The known Universe—moon, sun, planets, stars, and galaxies—a staggering 13.7 billion. Only in outer space can we understand the enormity of a Trillion.

The star Alpha Centarus is 4.3 trillion miles from earth. At this moment, if you dialed Alpha Centarus, our signal will be traveling at the speed of light, 186 thousand miles per second. Almost 10 years will have passed before we hear the operator say, “Hello, this is Alpha Centarus.”

Did I hear you say, “Now, you’re depressing me again. Surely Washington has a solution. Let’s hear it”?

Yes, they certainly do. America’s Third World Community Organizer proposes the solution: tax the rich. In fact, tax our way out of debt. That’s the solution—so simple only a Third World mind could grasp it.

Hey, kiddies, remember Aesop’s fable about the goose that laid one golden egg a day? The goose’s greedy master—let’s call him Master Obama—wasn’t satisfied with that. He wanted them all, and he wanted them now. (I need to jump in here and tell you city folks something about a laying hen or goose. When it’s cut open, you’ll find hundreds of eggs in various stages of development. The majority are very small, some only the size of a pinhead, increasing slowly to one full sized egg ready for tomorrow’s breakfast. Now, back to the story.) He wanted them all and he wanted them now, so Obama the greedy master cut the goose open and, yes, that was the end of the goose that laid the golden egg.

Wanna see a modern version being played out in Washington? Then let’s draw near and have a few words with the goose. Hey, American taxpayer: you’re that goose… well, you were. Oh boy, are you covered with big fat bloodsucking ticks! They’re all crying, “More, more.” They want more blood, Goose. Hey, Goose, were you saving those nest eggs for your little gooses? Well, guess what? The ticks have cleaned them all out. Gosh, I hate to say this, Mr. Goose, but that glazed look in your eye says death is about to claim you. You’re about outta blood, aren’t you, Goose? Well, you lasted 200 years, Mr. Goose; that’s about a democracy’s lifespan. Then the ticks take over. They vote, you know.

Yes, the Goose will die silently, laying on a rumpled American Flag, a flag that is seen eroding into the barren landscape. See the cemetery on the horizon? It’s not that far away. See the sun is setting? Soon it will be night.

Well, guess I depressed you again. I’d like to say that my next view of the United States 2013 was upbeat. Instead, I’ve saved the worst until last.

Visual #3, Prognosis, Grave, 1960

Here’s another “I don’t get it” visual produced over 50 years ago of the United States 2013. In 1960, the United States was the most powerful, charitable, blessed-by-God nation that had ever existed in history, a nation that fought and decisively won two World Wars, weathering the Great Depression and the nation-altering Dust Bowl, in only 27 years. Uh oh, there’s that angry old white man again. He claims he did that!

As a mere teenager 100 years before, the United States knew how to kick ass and get things done, grew in size and wealth, went to church on Sunday, endured a lot, yet grew mighty and was fair to behold.

Then out of the cesspools came the despicable, liberal, progressive, career politicians. Some are unable to conceal a bitter hatred for America, yet spend their entire lives in high political offices. Rapidly they transformed this once great country, of one people, into two camps. They made the people slaves to Political Correctness in all its ugly forms. Guilt-ridden, Americans began to drink and bathe in their despicable snake oil. How did this happen in just 50 years?

They came with soothing words that tickled the ear. “My, my, boy, you look tired. Look at those rich people over there just sitting on their asses. Here, sit down. Have a beer. Here’s a cane. Here, drink: try some of our magic elixir called Spineless Slime. It’s very, very, relaxing. Now, why are you burdening yourself with all those old books, lad? Nobody reads that Constitution or Bible crap anymore. Here’s a nice new flat screen TV, on the house! Everything you need to know is right there in high definition. There you’ll see my reassuring face lecturing every night while you nap.”

Today, the mighty warrior of 1960 has become a dim-witted, toothless old fool, feeble and incontinent, his old wrinkled balls on display for all the world to see and marvel at. Look at him, lying there on his deathbed, so weak and impotent that he can’t even shoo off the roaches eating and defecating in his Post Toasties. What a sad end for a nation that once was respected by its allies and feared, yes, feared, by its enemies. Through the window, an approaching electrical storm can be seen that threatens to extinguish the room’s dim light, plunging it into eternal darkness.

The title, Prognosis, Grave, suggests a gravely ill patient. So let’s step up and ask a few questions. After all, we are all close kin. What is the reason for his illness? Who are his doctors? His death would be a terrible loss to all, but who will be the big loser?

To answer the first question, he was poisoned. See? Here’s the bottle. The label says “Liberal Progressive Media.” Heading the team of quacks attending the patient is America’s #1 specialist in death and castration. He hates the patient and wants him dead. His credentials are in question, but not his motives.

The patient’s death certificate was signed November 2012. This was America’s Nineveh moment. The old man might have been healed. Instead, hospice and death was chosen over therapy and possible recovery. In June 2008, President Barack Hussein Obama defiantly told a Christian nation, “What we once were, we’re no longer a Christian nation…” Insolently, he continued, “…a Muslim, a Buddhist, a Hindu nation, and a nation of nonbelievers.” Hey, God, that’s our leader speaking! Did you get the message? You’ve worn out your welcome around here. Now beat it, get lost, go!

Remember on the wall in the old man’s room that little banner trimmed in gold, you know the one, that said “God Bless America”? On election night, American voters responded with God Damn America. “Give us Barabbas!” they shouted. “Give us Barabbas!”—a shout once again heard in Heaven after 2,000 years. Never was a choice more clear, and America chose darkness over light.

Let’s visit that visual again, Prognosis Grave, 50 years old and tragically fulfilled. There it is. See? On the wall, that little banner, tattered and torn, trimmed in gold. Why, it’s been spit on. Yes, it was spit on. Hey! Outside the window… look! See? There’s a bicycle heading toward the cemetery. It looks like the old man. But, look, he’s in bed… is that a spirit? Yes, it’s a spirit… the old man is dead.

Now for the final question: Who will be the big losers? They are your little ones. Now condemned to grope and die, not in their land their parents or grandparents enjoyed, a land of milk and honey, but in a land filled of ash, shards of glass, and bits of rags. With grimy faces, they’ll watch, as even the immigrants haul ass and head for home. That’s the land you left for them.

You have just been presented with three visuals that would not be realized until another 50 years had passed. You decide. Do they accurately portray today’s America, the one you’ll see on tonight’s news? If you disagree, don’t go yet. After a quick look at 9/11, our next stop will be an old-time carnival. It’ll be a fun time. There, you’ll be walking the midway with me.

In 1964, the very idea of a violent attack on NYC, killing thousands, was akin to the ravings of a lunatic. Try as you may with today’s mindset, you can’t begin to understand how utterly preposterous this idea was then. But on 9-11 it happened.

Let’s look at Visual #4, Manhattan Hoe Down, 1964, and see what it had to say:

Cascading down and over Manhattan’s stately skyline and into the picture are the instantly recognized eleven (11) signature notes from Chopin’s Funeral March. Eleven (11) is also the numeric symbol of disorder and disintegration.

Exiting at the bottom of the painting, these notes—now painted as skulls—sound a different melody, that of wailing sirens, as Manhattan’s skyscrapers are bent over by a massive explosion.

Above the circle of dancing demons, Man can be seen wandering, head down and aimless, through a dying world portrayed as a cemetery, often more interested in watching his dog defecate than events unfolding around him. Now, speaking of dogs… Dogs, man’s best friends, have always served as watchmen. Sometimes they bark, sometimes they do other things.

Manhattan in the early 1960s was beset by legions of partially clad little watchmen defecating and urinating nonstop on streets and sidewalks already awash in feces (Disorder & Disintegration). With each call of nature, they were sounding a warning—only this time they weren’t barking! In the foreground, two (2) dogs have trumpets protruding from their blow holes. Notice the human faces, watchmen, blowing the trumpets, sounding the warning. The trumpets’ sound rises and falls on the scale, imitating the sound of wailing sirens. Below them, a massive explosion pushes NYC’s skyline to the side. The symbolic significance of the number two (2) is division: light or darkness, perfection or disorder, good or evil. Good if the warning had been acknowledged… destruction and ruin when it was not.

In Biblical times, watchmen stood guard through the night on the city’s wall, trumpet at ready, to warn its people of approaching danger. If they didn’t heed the watchman’s warning, his hands would then be free of their blood. Manhattan’s dogs did their best to warn a sleeping city. Their manner may have been unorthodox, but what they were saying should have been obvious.

Visual #5, Monument to Donkey Dick, 1964

This painting predicts a second major attack on NYC. Nothing newsworthy about that, except it was painted 49 years ago. Forty-nine years ago, this was considered, as I’ve already pointed out, just the ravings of a lunatic.

The undamaged Empire State Building and its neighbors resemble cemetery monuments, cold, lifeless, detached from the dimly lit background where confusion reigns. Human heads on dogs’ bodies snarl amongst overturned garbage cans. Law and order has ceased to exist. Headless chickens run in circles… Enough words: let the visual speak.

It indicates that this time it will not be a massive explosion on the order of 9/11, but what one would expect following detonation of a dirty bomb or an insidious chemical or biological attack.

Enough bad news already. Let’s go to the carnival. On the way, I’d like to tell you about a visual titled Portrait of a Fool, 1964. It warned that the United Nations would be instrumental in the destruction of America. If you want to visit your country’s gravesite, you’ll find it in the Gallery Section. Now, let’s try to have a little fun.

At last, the carnival: Visual #6, Give Us Barrabas, 1962

The title states a fact. When given a choice, Man usually chooses darkness over light. Barrabas, a thief and murderer, was chosen over Yeshua Ha Mashiach, the Son of God, darkness over light. After 2,000 years, man has changed little. In this visual, we see the world portrayed as an old-time, pre-WWII traveling carnival. The first things one saw on entering the midway were huge, lighted canvas banners announcing what each show would feature. On a raised platform in front, the show’s performer would entice the crowd into buying a ticket. In this carnival, the #1 spot in the line of banners is the United Nations. A reasonable question would be, “Why has the United Nations received top billing?” After all, Russia is on everybody’s lips, not that insignificant little building over on the east side of Manhattan. Ah, yes, but that was 1962. These visuals looked to the future.

Now we are at the carnival. Time for a little fun. I’ll be your guide. Come, let’s get in line at the UN’s ticket booth. Hey! Where’s the white knight and his white horse about to save the world? You know, the one we saw on the banner. This looks like a con job, Bro.

Only the blind could be tricked into buying a ticket for this show. It has death written all over it. Look at that old cadaver clutching a dove, a wooden dove whirligig. Why, it’s as dead as he is, yet look: see how many have been sold to the crowd? Oh, it’s no wonder. See, they’re blind. See, eyeballs without pupils.

Hey! Over there! See the Salvation Army couple? Man, that gal is really cranking out music on her accordion, vying for attention, but that raucous crowd is giving them a wide berth. Look! The couple is levitating a few inches above the ground. The man points to Heaven. He sees something up there, but the crowd ignores and ridicules him. Don’t they realize in the land of the blind a one-eyed man is king? See, he has two eyes and they have none.

Hey! Look over by the merry-go-round. See the guy heckling the Salvation Army couple, that guy with a handful of brushes? Maybe… just maybe… that’s Serrano, the famous artist, about to piss in a bottle. Dude, that’s nothing. Manzoni. He’s the man—he rules! Better look out, genius, you’re about to have a head-on with that gay blade swishing your way, and there’ll be no aid for you, you poor sucker.

Hey! Look over there, riding the merry-go-round, going around and around and around, that dude with all those books under his arm. Bet he’s a professor. See? He’s lecturing on how to go somewhere fast.

Man, check out that nut job over by the U.N. ticket booth who’s carrying that peace sign. Yeah, I see, but look next to him. See the cowboy checking out that girl’s big ass? Now, that’s my kinda guy! Wow! Ride ‘em, Cowboy!

Hey, on stage! Now this is where the action is. What a performance! Look at ‘em go: briefcases and asses at ready, wallowing in dung, running in circles with handfuls of dung, serving up dung on a tray, dancing in dung— now this is Third World heaven! Gosh, most Americans don’t realize the UN is giving them such a serving of dung for their buck. They should, you know... they support it. Hey, look over there! See that guy with a powerful dung jet has even become airborne! Wow! Wow! That guy must have a ram jet for a bunghole!

Look! There’s another one taking aim to spray Mr. and Mrs. Goose with another blast of dung. Smiling, the gooses appear content, even happy to be crapped on. And there, right in the middle, getting hosed—I mean, really getting hosed—by a bare-assed Third World scumbag who’s grinning in uncontrolled ecstasy (you know what I mean, kiddies) is—you guessed it—Uncle Sam. Like most good Americans, I hate to see my Uncle getting screwed. But wait… look, look closely. See, Sammy’s doing a little screwing himself. Well, what do you know? Ol’ Uncle and the Scumbags have a little daisy chain going.

This is it. I’ve had enough. Let’s move to the next stage before we get splattered.

Hey, careful! Watch out. Here comes a galloping Third World raghead, splattering dung in all directions. Looks like he’s got a special delivery for little Junior and the Brown Nose family.

Let’s keep moving. There’s those dung-splattering gooses again, still smiling. Careful now, watch your step. Watch that hole. A lot of people are slipping into it.

Hey, now, this is impressive stuff, but don’t get to close. Look at that giant! What a big man! See the shepherd’s crook? See those symbols? Why, he has united all religions. See the live dove hovering overhead with a bow and no arrow? Why, that’s the symbol of peace—and the horn of plenty. Sounds good—a full belly and plenty of peace—but that sword behind his back says something else. Do you see that guy in the ticket booth with open arms—looks like a Christian minister, maybe even a Pope? Look, he’s inviting us to come on in. No way! I know you, I’m not blind, Religious Man. You’re the False Prophet, head of the One World End Time Church, the miracle worker, who will deceive millions, the giant. That’s Anti-Christ. See Satan’s face in the crown he’s wearing? He’s being controlled by Satan. Look, he’s giving God the finger. Boy, he’s one ornery bastard.

Didn’t I hear you ask, “Hey, Guide, what’s that elephant head with frog legs mean?” Those are four evil spirits, released from the bottomless pit to torment Man in the last days. The whale-shaped stage is Leviathan, Satan’s sea monster. Look, do you see the family resemblance to the U.N.’s stage? They’re kissing cousins, you know.

Let’s step back for a moment… Would you look at that crowd. Why, it’s a stampede—if they only knew they were rushing blindly into eternal damnation. I wish they had eyes and could see.

I know we are supposed to be having fun at the carnival, but would you mind if I got on my soapbox for a second? Remember, I said the future is no mystery. The One World Government, the Anti Christ, and False Prophet were described in detail over 2,600 years ago. How is it possible to be blindsided? It’s not. We’ll get to that in a moment.

Now on to the next sideshow.

Hey, look! I see Mr. Successful Businessman on the lighted banner, smoking a cigar. He’s on the top of the world. I mean, I see how you used to look, Mr. Businessman. Today on stage I see you naked, struggling for your life as government vultures pick your bones clean through incessantly legislating, regulating, confiscating, and taxes. Who in their right mind would want to be in your shoes today? You remind me of Mr. Goose.

Next banner: Wow, something about sex, whiskey, cigarettes, Hollywood, and urinating sacred cows—even a foot-long hotdog. I wish we had time to check everything out, especially the midway crowd. Might see more famous artists with their asses on display. But we gotta move on, still a lot of things to see. Remember, we have ringside seats for the main event over at Bare Knuckle Arena where Russia and Israel will go toe-to-toe.
Hey, look at those clouds. Do you see God up there, peering down on this lively scene? In the distance, to his left, dawn will soon break forth. To his right, a violent storm, announced by lightning, is approaching.

Time to leave this world—I mean midway. This is one place I don’t want to be caught in when the storm hits. But where are the exits? Oh, remember that Salvation Army dude with the pointed finger? I think he was trying to tell us something—maybe an exit. Let’s go ask him.

I hope you have enjoyed our trip through the old photo album. Acting as your guide was a new experience, and in places a lot of fun. Especially when I donned my pointed shaman’s hat and listened to the enlightening conversation emanating from Uncle Sammy’s guts or when I told Mr. Goose my assessment of his future, or as Sammy’s next of kin, I asked questions and got answers. Answers I didn’t want to hear.

At this time I rest my case. Can anyone come forward and say, “Hey, you got it wrong, this is not the America I live in, the one I saw on TV last night”?

My only answer to these people: Hey, I saw you on the carnival midway and you were blind and your ass was out flapping in the wind. Before the storm hits, maybe you can grope your way back to that Salvation Army fellow. Maybe he was pointing to a good eye doctor. Yes, I know you can’t see, but when you hear the accordion playing, you’re getting close. If you find him, you’ll forever call me your best friend… Good luck.

For you hardy souls who want to continue, I won’t come along as the talkative guide until we get to the fights, but I will tell you what to expect. You’ll find another 30 or so visuals that address an immediately future. Some will seem out of place and they are. Why? Well, as Rome was burning, I hate to admit, I was in my adobe tower fiddling with my Stradivarius. About six times I cranked out a melody of self-serving tunes like Cowboy Love, Waltz of the Blind Ass, Juggle, Juggler, Juggle, and a couple others. Why did I do them? To exorcise personal demons of frustration, anger, even failed romances. A painting is to an artist like flea powder is to a dog.

Now it’s time to make good on my opening remarks: “The future is no mystery. It’s just knowing where to look.”

My answer might surprise you. There is a Book with a perfect track record. Over 2,000 predictions have been fulfilled with awesome precision. If prophecy is history written in advance, let’s put it to the test. Everybody has heard of Alexander the Great. We’ll use him as Exhibit A.

Two hundreds year before Alexander was born in 356 BC, Daniel (605-562 BC)—remember him, the guy who spent a night in the Lion’s Den—wrote Alexander’s life story, and even predicted that his empire would be divided into four parts after his death. The future—before and after—recorded, 100% correct.

Exhibit B: About 10 years later another prophet steps up, Zechariah (597-538 BC), who sketched out in minute detail the campaigns of Alexander the Great—again, 200 years before Alexander was born—even to naming the one city he would spare as he swept down the Mediterranean Coast.

Again we see that so-called mysterious future is no mystery at all. It’s just knowing where to look.

Still doubtful? Okay. Here’s a prophecy that was fulfilled in your generation. With each News Cycle this prophecy is being fleshed out, like a tree in springtime—each day brings more leaves.

Exhibit C: Over 2,500 years ago, Isaiah predicted the New Nation of Israel would be born in one day. Two hundred years later, Ezekiel predicted the year: 1948. On May 15, 1948, precisely as predicted thousands of years before, the New Nation was born in one day.

King David predicted 3,000 years ago that Arab enemies would immediately surround the New Nation, and he called them out by name. Who are these enemies? The same names you will hear on tonight’s news, fighting with Israel. You see, tonight’s news is just old knows if you know where to look.

Could anyone step up and sketch out what the political situation will be 3,000 years from now, name the nations, even their involvement? Not even a fool would accept such a challenge. God is the author of prophecy, pure and simple.

Now it’s my time. How did I know what course the United States would take a half century ago? I’m no prophet, but I’m not blind. In my hand was a weather report, titled Bible Prophecy. It said to expect storms in the United States tomorrow, so I produced visuals of a divided country in disarray, teetering on the brink. When it said to expect storms in the heavens, I produced planets out of control. Prophecy is a rich vein to mine. Want to know the future? You’ll find it there. Did you know we have been admonished to know prophecy? Why? God intercedes in history to protect His purpose and His people. In a moment you’ll see that if the people of Russia knew what was in their future, millions would not have to die. You see, God wants to protect people.

Because you’ll be my guest for the main event over at the Bare Knuckle Arena in Israel, you’ll need a little background information. The Middle East will soon explode with three knock-down-drag-out wars in rapid succession. We’ll call the first one “the prelim”. It will be followed shortly by the main event, billed as the Battle of Gog and Magog. This is the one we have ringside seats for. Then in a few short years the last event: Armageddon. Now, that will be so violent even the arena collapses. Out of the dust will come a new day in world history—a day that will last a thousand years.

Now just a few words on the “Prelim.” Attacking Israel will be a coalition of Arab States: Syria, Jordan, Egypt, Lebanon, Iraq, Saudi Arabia, Hamas, Hezbollah, Palestinian refugees, and the Muslim Brotherhood. Motivated by a bitter 4,000-year-old hatred borne of jealousy and envy, they conspire to destroy the Jew forever and confiscate the Promised Land for themselves. God’s International Foreign Policy, given to Abraham 4,000 years ago, states, “I will bless those that bless you and curse those that curse you.” Again, it will be implemented because Man insists on violating it. History groans under the weight of untold examples.

Israel will emerge victorious, exceedingly wealthy, and with new borders that will resemble Solomon’s Empire. Israel’s new wealth will prove to be irresistible to Russia. Another war called the Battle of Gog and Magog will soon follow.

Now a few words about the battle we have ringside seats for. It’s called the Battle of Gog and Magog. For the first time in 5,000 years, the coalition of nations necessary for this war to commence is in place, waiting anxiously for it to begin. The Prelim’s purse was huge. Israel relaxes militarily. Greedy Russia, a brutal anti-Semitic nation, has zealously coveted a permanent presence in the Middle East, the key to world control, since the time of the Czars. The U.N. will provide the excuse, Russia will jump at it.

Now, here’s what the prophecy has to say. A vast coalition of nations is to descend on Israel, and here we go again. The true motive is to take a spoil (wealth) and, of course, the eradication of Israel. It will be led by Russia and its former Islamic Southern states, the Stans. Russia’s key allies will be Turkey, Iran, Libya, Sudan, Ethiopia, Somalia, Algeria, Morocco, and Tunisia. This huge, overwhelming military force is described “as a cloud, they shall cover the land.” More is written about this war than Armageddon, so violent the man in the street will say, “This was Armageddon!” Wrong as usual, Man in the Street.

Remember the empire of Alexander the Great, written in detail before he left home to conquer the world. Here are a few words to a new conqueror, Russia, about to leave home, written 2,500 years ago. And the news is very bad.

Remember what God had to say about prophecy: To protect His people. When His people ignore prophecy, they stumble blindly into the future.

Listen to what God said to Russia 2,500 years ago.

“I am against you, Russia. I will put hooks in your jaw, I will draw you into Israel, you and all your vast armies will die upon the mountains of Israel. I will give you to the vultures, to the wild beasts of the field, to be devoured. I will bury you in a grave in Israel. It will be in a valley where people travel east of the Sea. It will block the path of travelers. That is because you and your huge armies are buried there (central Jordan). So it will be called the Valley of Russia’s Army.” Even the cemetery was named 2,500 years ago. Obviously, Russia never found that three-eyed Salvation Army couple with the accordion, and they paid dearly.

Wow, that was a lot of heavy stuff. Now, let’s kick back, let’s mosey on over to the world famous Bare Knuckle Arena in Israel and grab our ringside seats for this coming fight, billed as the Battle of Gog and Magog. Approaching the ticket booth, why, there’s that armored White Knight, passing out flyers, proclaiming this fight is being sanctioned by the United Nations. Now, who would have guessed that? Settling into our seats, I open the program. I blink and look again. Yes, there it is, this program was printed 2,500 years ago yet claims to know who the winner of tonight’s fight will be, even a blow-by-blow account and what happens after the fight—a fight it predicts will be a massacre. Why, it even predicts the death toll: only one-sixth of the invaders survive. It states, too, that there will be a Mystery Guest in the ring tonight with a bull whip, and it won’t be the referee. Hmm, I wonder now, who that can be.

And then, behind me, it’s bedlam! The crowd is booing, catcalls, foot stomping. Turning, I see here comes a fighter. Boy, does the crowd hate this little guy. This has to be a flyweight: clean-cut, pleasant smile, but with a look of surprise in his eyes. I don’t think he planned to be here tonight. I see the Star of David on his trunks that must be Israeli. I’m going to call him Little David. But why does the crowd hate him so? Oh, look, his knuckles are still bruised from his last fight. Look! The program says he was declared winner in the prelim fight, and here he is again. I bet he wishes he wasn’t so popular.

Again, it’s bedlam: cheers, screams of well-wishing, whistles. I turn to my left. Here comes another fighter, certainly a crowd favorite. But then, farther to my left I see America’s President Barack Hussein Obama. Remember him, the guy who exceeds the speed of light in accumulating debt? If you don’t, ask the goose. What a smile! He’s cheering himself hoarse. Boy, is he pulling for the Muslim fighters—you know, his hometown team. But what’s that ball at his feet? Why, it’s the liberal progressive media. They’re all licking his feet. Let’s see… there’s NBC, CNN, CBS, ABC, the New York Times, Media Matters, licking, licking… Hey! MSNBC, that’s not his feet! I can’t make them all out—they look like dung beetles battling over a dung ball—but the Chief’s enjoying it. See his forked tongue dancing in the air as they roll and tumble at his feet?

Now lumbering into the ring is the super heavyweight, a monster. What’s that he’s waving in the air? Oh, that paper declaring “Sanctioned by the United Nations.” Yeah, I get the picture. He’s as big as a bear and twice as deadly. His dirty trunks are stained with lots of dried blood. As he lumbers toward little David, slobber streams out of his gapping, tooth-filled mouth. Beady little eyes, foreign to mercy, filled with hate, focus on the flyweight. Look! Tattooed on his pecker is a red hammer and sickle. This has to be Russia.

I don’t get it. Why, hell, this monster could take on the whole world singlehandedly. Why, he could stomp a mud hole in Uncle Sam’s ass all by himself. He don’t need a backup for this little flyweight!

Again, the crowd erupts into cheers, and again I look to my left. Chief Obama is beside himself, jumping up and down, cheering. Why, he’s got a girly dress on! Before the shock wears off, here comes the hometown team, the Muslim backups, the four heavyweights. This group has made stomping mud holes a family business. Now I’m beginning to understand why Sammy’s not on the card tonight. You remember Sammy, don’t you? That broken reed Israel leaned on?

Another sound, above the roar of the crowd, its chattering teeth behind me. Turning I see someone’s ass end. Yes, someone is trying to crawl under the seats. Why, it’s Sammy, old Sammy. We last saw him in bed, sharing his post toasties with the roaches. What’s that yellow on those pretty red and white pants? Why, Sammy’s bowels have let go. Shades of Belshazzar! Why, that’s just what King Belshazzar did 2,500 years ago when he saw the handwriting on the wall that said, “You have been judged and found wanting.”

From under the seat comes the plaintive bleating of an impotent sheep that has lost its way. “Have you come to take a spoil?” So much for the United States’ involvement.

Back to the fights. Now the four heavyweights are pouring into the ring. One look at these yellow-toothed, bearded morons in their 5th Century diaper-covered heads suggests God got it right when he told old daddy Abraham’s live-in girlfriend, Hagar, your son Ismael and his children are destined to be wild asses who love fighting and killing, if not a perceived enemy, then each other. Hey, look! Iran’s balls are bandaged. I mean, look, one ball is missing. You know Jeremiah said 2,600 years ago he was going to “get struck at the foremost center of his might.” I bet David and ol’ Yellow Tooth got into a brawl over at Bushehr’s Nuclear Cantina. Guess that’s why he wasn’t on the Prelim card. I thought the bear gave little David a dirty look. These guys’ eyes are on fire. Oh, this is terrible. David ought to make a run for it, but where will he go?  It’s too late… They’ve hemmed in on all four sides, he’s trapped. Like the program says, they are “covering him like a cloud.”

I’m beginning to think the program got things all wrong. After all, it’s really hard to know what’s going to happen 2,500 years in advance. Maybe, just maybe, one little calculation was off… maybe…

More cheering… more opponents are still pouring into the ring. Now, here come the Stans. What a mob, more Muslims. Obama must be jumping out of his high heels by now. Before I can look, a rumbling. It’s an earthquake. The fight has started. I didn’t hear the bell. Look! The ring is coming apart, it’s in pieces, it’s on fire, it’s floating away. It’s raining hundred pound blocks of ice, it’s raining body parts. Wow! There went a yellow detached tooth whizzing by. Duck! Here comes something that looks like a bear’s ass with one of those peace flyers stuck in it. Quick, let’s move back! We don’t need a ringside seat for this show. Look, who’s that big guy wearing a crown with a bull whip in his hand? Boy, is he whipping the wild asses, asses!

Listen, he’s saying something. “Yes,” he’s saying, “I invented ass whipping and this is how it’s done.” Now they are all fighting each other. Remember I said they looked like morons when they entered the ring? The ring—it’s gone. Now they are standing on a mountain of bodies. Yeah, they look like dead bodies. There’s hardly anybody left and those left are running for the exits. Did I say “running”? I mean limping, staggering, crawling, covered in mud and smelling like sulfur. That vicious look in their eyes has been replaced by sheer terror. Only one-sixth is still alive! In all this confusion, I can’t see Osama Obama. I wonder if she ripped her dress to shreds after the home teams got their asses royally kicked by that big guy with the bull whip.

The smoke is starting to clear, the rain has stopped, and there’s little David with a broom and shovel in his hands. He’s got to clean up this mess. My program says, “Seven months to bury the dead, seven years to clear the battlefield.”

I sneak a quick look at my program. It says in big, bold print: “Tonight’s fight wasn’t a fight, it was a meat grinder, prepared 2,500 years ago for the very people who showed up tonight, and in approximately seven to ten years another meat grinder will be waiting.” Will they show up? Of course, why not… they haven’t a clue.

To them the future is a mystery, and to me that’s the biggest mystery of all.

My name, you ask? Just call me Fido.