Ink Into Ether: 2016 – 2017

By Jon Robberson

Producer, The Hagmann and Hagmann Report

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Have you ever had one of those “I just recently…” type of years?

My hope is that you have.  Within the dynamics of the global tug of war that keeps our day to day in terse flux, it means you are on the move.  Be warned: the time for Christian constitutionalists to nest on their couch potatoes is over.

As we share these printed thoughts together during the last minutes of 2016, I encourage each of you to reflect on 2016 as it pertains to blah, blah, blah.

Seriously, our planet is wobbling on the 23.5 degree plan.

News cycles that speak of Islamic invasion, US-Russian brinksmanship, the menace of militarized police and kiddie rape draw collective yawns from the Trump-punch drunk #MAGAnation.  To be frank, my discernment tachometer is in the deep red.

A quick look at 2016 and then we will hit the skinny pedal on the right.

I just recently…

Got blacklisted by the General Electric Hellboy umbilical that feeds Universal Studios, Comcast, NBC and Focus.

The next obvious move was to partner with Gregg Jackson, Flip Benham and Coach Dave Daubenmire and push back with bare knuckle determination against the national baby butchery industry One year ago today you could say the potted frog was getting a wee bit uncomfortable.

From there it was chop, lathe and swing a big bat at the first Hear the Watchmen Conference in Dallas.  Immediately thereafter the Watchmen crew and I launched a fiery dud in the form of Brothers on the Wall, a short Blog Talk Radio experiment in choosing battles more wisely.  The world looked grim when in early July I busted out the resignation pen and thus departed the Knoxville conference, Deception in the Desert and permanently pulled three brothers off The Wall.  The show tanked.  It felt like a great time to find a hidey-hole and lick my wounds but there was work to do.

Interestingly it was in the second week of July that Kent Hovind landed in my iPhone and in short order my “problems” didn’t amount to much, comparatively. The subsequent several months were a time when my faith was challenged to the point that I would mentally vapor lock and simply keeping up one end of casual conversation was often more than I could manage.  Why?  Because in early May I left Pasadena, California and drove to a wind scoured peninsula that shares a national flag with Los Angeles and not much else.

Hollywood trains you to think fast and move fast but it also sickens the hyper capable with flypaper toxicity.  Around town it’s called the golden handcuffs.  Movie and TV people come up with clever expressions to express the inexpressible.  Meaning: you’re stuck where you’re stuck, bud.  We quickly become addicted to the $3000 per week paychecks and a lifestyle that is at times rich on style, but anemic in the life department.  Besides, as much as I would like to claim heroic Christian soldiery, as I stated, they kicked me out.

Almost overnight, the midnight heat emanating off of the streets of Southern California chilled to autumn ice all over everything.  I found myself living in a shack, behind a dead church, spitting distance from Canada.  It was a down moment.  Days were filled with miserable trips to Walmart and bank statements that screamed “Loser!”  As a minimally relevant side note, the food up here sucks, there isn’t a decent haircut to be had within 100 miles and you must consume Vitamin D in gel caps.

When Brothers on the Wall became Idiots on Over Watch I had twenty future guests lined up on the show calendar.  There were three specific guests that I was unwilling to parlay into a future that looked like a dismal drive back to LA: Jim Marrs, Patrick Wood and          Dr Chuck Baldwin.

I called Doug Hagmann.

With minimal confusion and maximum grace demonstrated by the aforementioned and their staffs, we rescheduled all three to open dates on The Hagmann and Hagmann Report.

But I still silently snarled at the mirror every morning.  Pressure was coming at me from a prism of family and friends.  People were actually asking me how much money I had in the bank and even suggesting I apply for employment at a local movie theater.  Very few ever leave Hollywood. NO ONE  leaves movie production to work in a movie theater.

Life tasted like a copper penny rolled around and around on my curled tongue.  Los Angeles taunted me, a coven of succubae “We sssstill love you.  Come back.”

All three guests hit the Hagmann mic and ultimately Team Hagmann and I put nine hours of programming in the can.   Then it occurred to me.  If I could book guests to join us on The Wall, why not apply the same sweat equity to my old home base at Hagmann and Hagmann?  I asked Doug and Joe for the okay and then got busy with the mission.

Rather than join the program on occasion to blather about Satan’s soup line, I would locate and coordinate other professionals to engage Doug and Joe Hagmann and share their respective areas of expertise.  And it worked.  So I kept hunting new guests and the Hagmanns kept giving wattage to new voices and amperage to new ideas.

My 2016 message can be summarized as follows:  in spite of the fact that I chomp against the bit so hard my teeth are bloodstained, God had a plan and a demand on my life and His will would be satisfied or the Devil would kill me.  He tried six times.  As much as I would like to say that the prayers of King David thundered from my lips, they didn’t.  In fact, most nights I would lay in my shack and the best I could come up with was “Pain. Help.  Cant do this alone.  Your will be done.”

That is my 2016 message to you.  If you are awake, alert and angry, well, get in line.  But understand it is a battle line.  Maybe the Lord will let you sit out 2017?

Yeah, right.

Maybe your plan is to “carry on”?  Perhaps your plan should be “carry water”?

Carry the message.  Carry ammo.  Carry hope.

If you think 2017 is akin to first in line at the salad bar, allow me to remind you, it ain’t 1981. If anything we are closer to 1984.   And it is most certainly not “Morning Again in America.”

I am no political scientist.  I’m a taxpayer.  I am no super academic.  I didn’t graduate high school.  I am not a community organizer.  I’m a gun owner.

But I do have a bead on 2017.

Look down.  The abortion bloc shreds life from limb.  Lost futures, flushed, clog our sewers and scream from beneath our streets.  Still think Donald J Trump is Cyrus?  If the bloodied unborn don’t flip you out, the cut to your Social Security check will.  Sorry.  We seem to have misplaced 60,000,000 contributors.

Here are the biggest stories, the biggest “real news” stories that slammed 2016 into the history eBooks, post election: child trafficking (Pizzagate), “fake news” (censorship) and the top down, coordinated kibosh on frontline media.  Oops, almost forgot, the Haji-In-Chief, Barack Hussein-whatever-his Muslim-name-is, is doing his petulant best to incite World War Three with Russia.

On another jaunty side note, does any reader doubt for a single second that Putin would whoop Obama like a bad habit in a real deal brawl?
I mean seriously, the KGB bear wrestler could slap the nicotine spittle out of Obama’s double edged mouth and turn his little forked tongue into a key fob!

So we all hold our breath and spend our prep money to take the family out for a big day at the multiplex.  Number ten cans?  Heck, Trump won.  We are going to see Rogue One.

Sound familiar?

Let’s take a look at who Trump is and use it as a starting point for 2017.  Trump is a megalomaniacal reality show star who has branded urban grids with glass and stone since the Reagan Administration.  He is an outsider who not only worked the inside; he forced the narrative for four decades in New York City.

Question: how many County Commissioners, City Councilmen and Big Apple cronies have approached Donald Trump, hat in hand, with some cockamamie, envelope-money screw job?  Can we assume that Trump Tower contains a J. Edgar file, running clear to the East River? My prayer is that said files serve as a plumber’s helper in DC and life insurance everywhere President Trump travels.

Trump is a businessman.  A restaurateur.  A mega hotelier and casino owner.  He did not grow riches into wealth by ignoring overhead versus the bottom line.  On the morning of January 21, 2017 he must honestly deal with the largest underreported real news that nags the informed with every publication of the annual budget.  We are hemorrhaging national cash.  Sure, cancelling the Boeing contract was a nice 140 character gesture but if Donald J Trump is to succeed in office, let alone keep up his trend of four figure retweets, he cannot ignore the price tag attached to four ugly words: The US Federal Reserve.

When a man who has priced the per unit cost of incandescent bulbs against pigtails for 4000 rooms sits behind the captain’s desk, he simply cannot ignore the massive Monopoly money blowout that congress hands to the banksters like clock work.

If Donald J Trump wants to really blast DC back in line with deplorable America, his first 100 days are fairly easy to schedule; by Executive Order: board up the abortuaries, audit the Fed and rescind every page of left handed malfeasance created by Jihad Barry.

Which leaves 99 and a half days of his first 100 remaining.

Did anyone else join me in a gleeful pounding on the steering wheel when Trump told CNN exactly what he thinks of them?  Rather than expound within the echo chamber of my “alt. right deplorable” buddies I will let the bird herders speak for themselves:

Reince Priebus should devote his first two minutes of day one to rescinding the press credentials of every CNN, NPR, Rachel Maddow-cow in the White House press pool.  The second two minutes should consist of ordering new credentials for the truth-trodden journalists who are choking on Silicone Valley silica packets.

A word of encouragement around the frontline media conference table: stop crowing at throw away crumbs that the cake-eating MSM hands down to we, the gumshoe reporters.  At this stage of the game, we should treat them like a five year old who won’t stop repeating the same sentence; stuff them in the corner and ignore them until they shut up.

The only thing that our 45th Chief Executive can do about Pizzagate is send the most corrupt Department of Justice in modern history packing and place people who actually mete out justice back in the department that carries the name.  Forget “fake news”.  The big new thing since Fast n Furious should be “fake justice”.  When we see Loretta Lynch dutifully ringing up shoppers at Ross Dress For Less, then we too, my fellow deplorables, should hit the local Ross.

One more note on Pizzagate: over recent weeks, The Hagmann Report has been blessed to welcome Brittany Pettibone and Reality Calls (Tara) to our mic and last Thursday we enjoyed an open dialogue with Doug and both investigators simultaneously.  Per their schedules, we will do so again.  Lastly, a special thanks to both Brittany and Tara for retweeting my ramblings.

Another awesome addition to the Hagmann information arsenal is prolific writer and uniformed bad boy, Sergeant Tim.  Tim is the Senior Editor of Outlaw Patriot News and contributes regularly to our site.  His primary mission of late is informing and educating all of us about the reality of US-Russia relations.  As a former weapons inspector and Russian linguist/interpreter, he writes from a perspective that you will not find elsewhere.  Personally I have no enthusiasm for rewriting the experts.  You can access Tim’s recent articles in the links provided.

Infowars reporter, Leann McAdoo, quoted a Russian diplomat who called Obama’s last minute spit wads, “kitchen diplomacy.”  Gotta hand it to the Russians.  Between that and the infamous “pigeon playing chess” quip, their qualifying of the previous eight years has been humorously spot-on.

Over the previous four days, the following mission critical platforms have incurred highly suspicious attacks that have a vexatious Pennsylvania Avenue odor.  Drudge, Infowars, The Hagmann Report and RT have all had to pick lib-vomit out of our servers and key boards.  I guess we will have to send Sgt Tim back over to the Motherland with a “pretty please” so the meany-pants Russians stop messing with our media and our petri dish democracy.

Geez.  This stuff would be funny.  If it wasn’t so…unfunny.

Most of you probably know that I am somehow well attenuated to describing ten car political pile-ups, but with that comes a mandate to offer solutions.

So here they are.

Our Miami counterpart on Team Hagmann, JD, busts my chops everyday because I do not read the Bible enough.  Rather than fudge the truth a bit, er, lie to you all, I will parrot JD’s daily regimen: 5 Psalms, 1 chapter in Proverbs.  His admonishments heated up as 2016 flipped by and to give credit where it’s due, he is correct.

Additionally, it is time to budget personal finances with brutality.  Today, a single pre-1964 dime costs $1.15.  If you can scrounge a dollar fifteen out of your daily budget, by     January 1, 2018, you will be sitting on 365 pre-1964 dimes.  That equals 26.4 ounces of silver, stacked into seven neat little paper tubes.  Many godfathers of prepping like Steve Quayle and James W Rawles have noted for years that when (not if, WHEN) SHTF goes down, food purchases will be swiftly and easily conducted with junk silver.  Please stop making excuses and rationalizing the calendar.  Trump is a single individual.  The majority of us believe that he is legitimate in his desire to Make America Great Again, but if your backup plan is to write your congressman when the kids are hungry, I must respectfully prescribe a cranial-derrier extraction.

Food.

Here it is.  Forget the expensive retort packaging and surplus MREs if you are just getting started.  This is the recipe for laying up thirty pounds of food for $30.  Visit your local bakery or donut shop.  Ask for their empty five gallon food grade buckets and matching lids.  In Pasadena my local donut guy charged me $2 apiece.  Scrub the remnants of raspberry or lemon filling from the bucket and soak it overnight in hot water and a little bleach.  I recommend plain old unscented Clorox.  Wash the bucket thoroughly after the soak.  Unless you were able to acquire the bucket and lid for the carry-away cost (free) you should have $28 remaining.  Travel to your local 99 Cent Only, Dollar General or Dollar Store.  Choose staples that would be found on a chuck wagon in the old west: beans, legumes, rice, cooking oil, flour, cornmeal, molasses, sugar, salt (iodized), jelly/jam, honey, tea, electrolyte powders, Kool Aid (ugh) and do not forget the two magic ingredients to all things comforting: baking powder and yeast.  Also include bullion and matches or lighters.  If you need a price check after gathering your staples, go back to the first sentence of this article and begin again.

Lastly, ammo.  Even if you despise guns (double ugh) the fact that common caliber ammunition does not expire (if properly stored) should lend a strong hint to the time proven fact that lead projectiles serve as a store of wealth superior to junk silver.  In a stressed out period of civil strife, 9mm hollow points will be vastly more valuable than a Mercury dime.  Ammo, like most prep expendables, is much cheaper if you buy in quantity. Here’s the rub.  If you have the means, you are better off buying a prepaid debit card and ordering ammo online in 500+ lots.  But if you are living check to check, stop by Walmart on payday and pick up a single box of the cheapest 9mm handgun ammo, .30-06 hunting rounds and .223/.556mm NATO battle rifle rounds that you can find.  In my personal experience these three calibers pretty much fly in all fifty states.

In closing, on this first day of 2017, there is no doubt in my mind that many of you have listened to, or viewed, our efforts at The Hagmann and Hagmann Report for some time but have essentially failed to underpin your knowledge with spiritual strength or physical preps.

Today is the big day for kidding yourself about New Year’s resolutions.  Why not just offer a prayer and get serious about New Year’s resolve?

It may be flirtatiously close to cliche, but making America great again starts with each individual effort on the part of the readers who have graciously spent their valuable time reading the rantings of yours truly.  You don’t expect Trump to fix your 1978 Dodge Ram or work off your thirty pound spare tire, do you?  Let’s get our hands on the same end of the rope as our President Elect.  The fight is not over.  It begins January 20th.

You know it.  I know it.  Lets get it done.  Stay strong.  Vanquish your fear with faith.  Prep up.  Your life depends on it.

 

 

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