Tuesday, April 26, 2022
Hospitals as Hit Men
Hospitals as Hit Men
In his pre-Christmas letter, Archbishop Vigano referred to “the deliberately wrong treatments that have been given in order to cause more deaths.” And as I pointed out on last night’s Darkstream, one can no more expect a hospital, once converged, to perform its primary mission of saving human lives than one can reasonably expect a converged university to provide its primary mission of providing higher education.
Upon admission to a once-trusted hospital, American patients with COVID-19 become virtual prisoners, subjected to a rigid treatment protocol with roots in Ezekiel Emanuel’s “Complete Lives System” for rationing medical care in those over age 50. They have a shockingly high mortality rate. How and why is this happening, and what can be done about it?
As exposed in audio recordings, hospital executives in Arizona admitted meeting several times a week to lower standards of care, with coordinated restrictions on visitation rights. Most COVID-19 patients’ families are deliberately kept in the dark about what is really being done to their loved ones.
The combination that enables this tragic and avoidable loss of hundreds of thousands of lives includes (1) The CARES Act, which provides hospitals with bonus incentive payments for all things related to COVID-19 (testing, diagnosing, admitting to hospital, use of remdesivir and ventilators, reporting COVID-19 deaths, and vaccinations) and (2) waivers of customary and long-standing patient rights by the Centers for Medicare and Medicaid Services (CMS).
In 2020, the Texas Hospital Association submitted requests for waivers to CMS. According to Texas attorney Jerri Ward, “CMS has granted ‘waivers’ of federal law regarding patient rights. Specifically, CMS purports to allow hospitals to violate the rights of patients or their surrogates with regard to medical record access, to have patient visitation, and to be free from seclusion.” She notes that “rights do not come from the hospital or CMS and cannot be waived, as that is the antithesis of a ‘right.’ The purported waivers are meant to isolate and gain total control over the patient and to deny patient and patient’s decision-maker the ability to exercise informed consent.”
Creating a “National Pandemic Emergency” provided justification for such sweeping actions that override individual physician medical decision-making and patients’ rights. The CARES Act provides incentives for hospitals to use treatments dictated solely by the federal government under the auspices of the NIH. These “bounties” must paid back if not “earned” by making the COVID-19 diagnosis and following the COVID-19 protocol.
The hospital payments include:
A “free” required PCR test in the Emergency Room or upon admission for every patient, with government-paid fee to hospital.
Added bonus payment for each positive COVID-19 diagnosis.
Another bonus for a COVID-19 admission to the hospital.
A 20 percent “boost” bonus payment from Medicare on the entire hospital bill for use of remdesivir instead of medicines such as Ivermectin.
Another and larger bonus payment to the hospital if a COVID-19 patient is mechanically ventilated.
More money to the hospital if cause of death is listed as COVID-19, even if patient did not die directly of COVID-19.
There was no “Covid pandemic” per se. What actually happened was the deliberate weaponization of cold and flu season, made to look more lethal than normal by the intentional euthanization of elderly patients in hospitals and nursing homes. This isn’t a “conspiracy theory”, it is a fully-substantiated, copiously-documented observation that you yourself witnessed in real time.
The bonus for the remdesivir protocol is particularly damning. An experimental drug for Ebola that killed a substantial percentage of its test subjects is obviously not a reasonable treatment for a virus that doesn’t kill 99.98 percent of the patients infected.
The Ebola virus spreads through direct contact with broken skin or mucous membranes in the eyes, nose, or mouth. The World Health Organization estimates that the virus kills about half of the people who contract it…. After results from the first 499 participants had been reviewed, the trial’s safety monitors recommended that two drugs—ZMapp and remdesivir—be dropped from the remainder of the trial. These two drugs were much less effective at preventing death.
Note that 51.3 percent of the patients who received ZMapp and remdesivir died, compared to 49.7 percent of those who received only ZMapp.
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Posted on December 20, 2021 by VD
Tagged conspiracy, globalism, vaccines
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Wednesday, November 29, 2017
Boys will be boys.
From my earliest recollection until my early teen years fireworks were sold in Georgia. I'm not sure when they were outlawed but I recall it happening. As long as they were legal my sister June and I played with them often but especially around July fourth and New Year's. I remember them being sold in McLarry's at "the curve" in Flemington. After they were outlawed in Ga. huge Fireworks stores sprang up just across the Savannah river in South Carolina. Consequently we have always had fireworks. Our older brother Homer and our Daddy taught us to have a healthy respect for potential danger if we failed to be careful with them. I don't remember us ever making any bad decisions with them.
We played with the lower powered firecrackers, sparklers, roman candles and occasionally the larger more powerful red firecrackers. There was also something called a whistler or chaser but we never dealt with those. In later years there were the "Cherry Bombs" which were about the size of a quarter and round with a large fuse about an inch and a half long. We never had any mishaps around our home but we always heard reports of people being burned or injured or accidental fires of structures or yards and woods.
I am not exactly sure what year the following story took place but I imagine it was around 1960 give or take a couple of years either way. At the time Hinesville was still a very small community where everybody knew everyone and there was very little crime. R.V. Bobby Sikes was sheriff so I know it was after he had succeeded his father Sheriff Paul Sikes who had died in 1959 I believe. I believe the Sheriff's department then consisted of Sheriff Sikes and Deputies David Carter, DeWitt Branch, Myles Groover and Adrian Long. Perhaps there were more but I don't recall.
The Hinesville Police department was even smaller. There was Mr Dave Mobley who served as Chief and his son Royce worked in the office as radio operator etc. Mr Vivian Hodges was the first patrolman I think. Later Jimmy Downs became a Patrolman. There were only two traffic lights and they were both located on Main St. One was on the north side of the Court St between the Courthouse and the Texaco station across from the Miller house' The other light was on the intersection of South St (Now MLK St) and Main. The Saunders company was across the street from the Courthouse and a street separated it from the McCall house Miller house. Going north on Main just past the Miller house was a vacant lot on the corner of Memorial Drive and Main. Across Memorial was the Methodist Church. Facing Memorial drive on the east side of Main was the police station. The police station was a simple small frame structure barley eight by eight. There was a doorway in the center of the front facing Memorial and a window on each side as well as in front. Hinesville was a sleepy little place with very little action after supper time. We always had at least one pool Hall and one or two cafes.
It was not uncommon as the night grew later to see the policeman seated in the station just about asleep. Well that is exactly what happened one night as three rascals were out cruising the streets. All three of these fellows have been lifelong friends and I too consider them to be lifelong friends. I hope none of them will take offense at my little story.
This story took place sometime around 1967 give or take a little while. I am retelling a tale that I've heard several times from two of the culprits and I may not get it exactly right but I'll tell it as I recall it.
It seems that Clay Sikes and Tommy Davis along with Ralph Welborn were out cruising town and they passed the Police Station. Not sure how they decided to scare the officer on duty but indeed they did.
We played with the lower powered firecrackers, sparklers, roman candles and occasionally the larger more powerful red firecrackers. There was also something called a whistler or chaser but we never dealt with those. In later years there were the "Cherry Bombs" which were about the size of a quarter and round with a large fuse about an inch and a half long. We never had any mishaps around our home but we always heard reports of people being burned or injured or accidental fires of structures or yards and woods.
I am not exactly sure what year the following story took place but I imagine it was around 1960 give or take a couple of years either way. At the time Hinesville was still a very small community where everybody knew everyone and there was very little crime. R.V. Bobby Sikes was sheriff so I know it was after he had succeeded his father Sheriff Paul Sikes who had died in 1959 I believe. I believe the Sheriff's department then consisted of Sheriff Sikes and Deputies David Carter, DeWitt Branch, Myles Groover and Adrian Long. Perhaps there were more but I don't recall.
The Hinesville Police department was even smaller. There was Mr Dave Mobley who served as Chief and his son Royce worked in the office as radio operator etc. Mr Vivian Hodges was the first patrolman I think. Later Jimmy Downs became a Patrolman. There were only two traffic lights and they were both located on Main St. One was on the north side of the Court St between the Courthouse and the Texaco station across from the Miller house' The other light was on the intersection of South St (Now MLK St) and Main. The Saunders company was across the street from the Courthouse and a street separated it from the McCall house Miller house. Going north on Main just past the Miller house was a vacant lot on the corner of Memorial Drive and Main. Across Memorial was the Methodist Church. Facing Memorial drive on the east side of Main was the police station. The police station was a simple small frame structure barley eight by eight. There was a doorway in the center of the front facing Memorial and a window on each side as well as in front. Hinesville was a sleepy little place with very little action after supper time. We always had at least one pool Hall and one or two cafes.
It was not uncommon as the night grew later to see the policeman seated in the station just about asleep. Well that is exactly what happened one night as three rascals were out cruising the streets. All three of these fellows have been lifelong friends and I too consider them to be lifelong friends. I hope none of them will take offense at my little story.
This story took place sometime around 1967 give or take a little while. I am retelling a tale that I've heard several times from two of the culprits and I may not get it exactly right but I'll tell it as I recall it.
It seems that Clay Sikes and Tommy Davis along with Ralph Welborn were out cruising town and they passed the Police Station. Not sure how they decided to scare the officer on duty but indeed they did.
Tuesday, November 28, 2017
Boys will be Boys
Back in the early to mid sixties Hinesville was indeed a small town. Fort Stewart was occupied by a small contingency. Liberty County had a young sheriff and a relatively small force of a few patrol cars and a handful of deputies. The sheriff was Mr Bobby Sikes. David Carter, Dewitt Branch, Myles Groover and Adrian Long were deputies. There just might have been a couple mr but those were the ones I remember.
Hinesville's Police department was even smaller, much smaller. I think it consisted of Chief Dave Mobley, his son Royce (radio operator) and Vivian Hodges as the nighttime officer. The Police department operated from a small (very small) frame building at the end of Memorial Drive in the then vacant lot where the Courthouse Annex is positioned today. The little white framed building was not much larger than eight by eight with a solid rear wall and a couple of windows on the sides as well as perhaps one or two on the front with a doorway in the center facing Memorial Drive. I believe the force consisted of a Car for the Chief and one patrol car.
During the daytime the office was manned mostly by Royce and his father but I believe Chief Mobley spent the bulk of his day at city hall which was then located across from Bradwell Park on Commerce St. beside the fire station.
In those days fireworks were readily available and although we had all grown up with firecrackers about an inch and a half long and some larger ones wit more powder about the size of a first grade pencil and nearly two inches long, they were red (the larger ones) as I recall. We also had Roman Candles and sparklers as well as whistling chasers. Those were the traditional fireworks at that time.
However some time in the late fifties the Cherry bomb had come on the marker.
My brother and sister as well as I had been given fireworks around Independence Day and Christmas/New Years. It was a seasonal treat. As was my family's tradition my sister and I were only allowed to have sparklers, small firecrackers and roman candles. Our older brother told tales of riding around and lighting and throwing Cherry bombs from the car. I was taught to be afraid of the cherry bomb so I don't recall ever having much to do with them.
Hinesville's Police department was even smaller, much smaller. I think it consisted of Chief Dave Mobley, his son Royce (radio operator) and Vivian Hodges as the nighttime officer. The Police department operated from a small (very small) frame building at the end of Memorial Drive in the then vacant lot where the Courthouse Annex is positioned today. The little white framed building was not much larger than eight by eight with a solid rear wall and a couple of windows on the sides as well as perhaps one or two on the front with a doorway in the center facing Memorial Drive. I believe the force consisted of a Car for the Chief and one patrol car.
During the daytime the office was manned mostly by Royce and his father but I believe Chief Mobley spent the bulk of his day at city hall which was then located across from Bradwell Park on Commerce St. beside the fire station.
In those days fireworks were readily available and although we had all grown up with firecrackers about an inch and a half long and some larger ones wit more powder about the size of a first grade pencil and nearly two inches long, they were red (the larger ones) as I recall. We also had Roman Candles and sparklers as well as whistling chasers. Those were the traditional fireworks at that time.
However some time in the late fifties the Cherry bomb had come on the marker.
My brother and sister as well as I had been given fireworks around Independence Day and Christmas/New Years. It was a seasonal treat. As was my family's tradition my sister and I were only allowed to have sparklers, small firecrackers and roman candles. Our older brother told tales of riding around and lighting and throwing Cherry bombs from the car. I was taught to be afraid of the cherry bomb so I don't recall ever having much to do with them.
Bradwell friends, especially the older ones, I have a question. Was there a cattle-gap on Washington Avenue beside the Live Oak which is still there? If there was I'm sure it would have been where the two strips of concrete just about half way between the "Old White Building" and the Red Brick building which the school buses parked on. They were directly across from the Phillips house almost.
Any of you who might have older relatives or friends please ask of their recollection.
Thanks
Happy Thanksgiving
Friday, September 29, 2017
Sandie's birthday 2017
Today
is the birthday of my first wife the Mother of our son Jamey. She would
have been 74 today. Happy birthday in heaven to Sandra Ann Sanderson
Smith my dear Sandie.
Comments
Betty Wise Happy
Birthday I'm Heaven Sandra! Through all these years of knowing you in
school, I have precious memories of you being one of the nicest sweetest
people I have ever met with an outgoing personality! Your memory lives
on forever!
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Becky Yawn Branch I can visualize Sandie, a sweet,beautiful friend! Remember going to see y'all when Jamey was born! Sweet memories 
❤️
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Tommie Jean Clifton Thinking about you Jimmy. I remember Sandie too.
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Jimmy Smith Thank
you one and all for your comments. They mean so very much to me. Time
does not erase some things. I love all of you from the very depths of my
being.
Manage
Sheila G. Crawford God bless you Jimmy and a special happy birthday wish to Sandie!
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Mary C. Varnedoe Sandie
was a beautiful girl and left this world so young. But she certainly
left a handsome son and a loving husband. She lived across the street
from us. Many days go by that I think about her and especially whenever I
see you or her son.
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Anne Edwards Coppock Browning I
didn't know Sandie, but I know the loss still stings! She was a lovely
young woman, I know and I send her heavenly birthday wishes and hugs to
you and Jamey!!
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Ann Ramsey I
will never forget that day. Sandy was a dear friend. So beautiful with
that Sandy blonde hair. I stop by the house on my way home to visit .
Monday, November 23, 2015
Jimmy Sasser's Funeral
Nov 23, 2015
Last Wednesday morning when I walked into Angie's Diner in Midway Amy the waitress rushed to me and gave me a little hug as she explained that Ricky Phillips had called early that morning to announce that Jimmy Smith had died. After quickly saying that a shock ran through the kitchen and they were pondering over the news Ricky called again to say he had the wrong Jimmy and in fact it had been Jimmy Sasser who died. Jimmy and I both were native liberty countians and our whole lives had been spent in the Mcintosh Community which is at about the center of the county. Jimmy was one year behind me in age as I was born in April of 1943 and Jimmy Sasser was born on July 7,1944. Knowing Ricky Phillips as I do it is easy to see how he got confused as after all we both had the same first names and anybody could make that mistake when reporting the news of someone's death. It was one of those Jimmy's from McIntosh lets spread the news.
Last Wednesday morning when I walked into Angie's Diner in Midway Amy the waitress rushed to me and gave me a little hug as she explained that Ricky Phillips had called early that morning to announce that Jimmy Smith had died. After quickly saying that a shock ran through the kitchen and they were pondering over the news Ricky called again to say he had the wrong Jimmy and in fact it had been Jimmy Sasser who died. Jimmy and I both were native liberty countians and our whole lives had been spent in the Mcintosh Community which is at about the center of the county. Jimmy was one year behind me in age as I was born in April of 1943 and Jimmy Sasser was born on July 7,1944. Knowing Ricky Phillips as I do it is easy to see how he got confused as after all we both had the same first names and anybody could make that mistake when reporting the news of someone's death. It was one of those Jimmy's from McIntosh lets spread the news.
Wednesday, January 14, 2015
The Mule Story
Dear Deb Oct 31, 09
Jimmy Smith
McIntosh, Ga.
Debra Peace
Statesboro, Ga.
In your recent email you mentioned the story about the mule, which Mama shot accidentally. That was one of many misadventures we have had during my lifetime. Let me tell you the whole story.
The time must have been around 1984. I as you know have never been a horse person but for some crazy damn reason I bought a young unbroken mule, which had been born on Mr. Futch’s farm near the Hinesville Cemetery on South Main Ext. Seems like I had recently been informed that mules didn’t actually reproduce but were the product of cross breeding between horses and jackasses or something like that. Probably the element of jackass got my attention as they have so many times during my journey through this life*. Seems like I’m drawn to them like a magnet. Or is it the other way around. I don’t know but it is whatever it is.
Anyway I had heard that Knot Futch had a newborn baby mule. At that time Cousin Phil and his wife of the era Pam whom I called strawberry (because of the color of her hair and now I suspect the content of her head) were big in the horse business. Phil and I went to the Futch farm to see the little thing and I ended up owning her and I honestly don’t know why. Must have been feeling no pain at the time, which is quite likely when cousin Phil and I go cruising. At any rate Knot and I struck a deal and I think it was for $150.
I went to Mama’s and built a small pen about 16 by 16 with boards from ground up to about four feet. I thought that would be adequate to hold her until she got larger by which time I planned to build her a larger pen. Bad assumption on my part. Not trusting Knot I had not paid him but promised him I would come back soon. Strawberry was the expert horse person and she assured us that we could tranquilize the little thing and transport her in the open bed of Phil’s pickup truck therefore we would avoid having to hook up their horse trailer. Although I was skeptical we loaded up and headed out to pick her up and bring her home. Second bad assumption. Turned out to be quite exciting as we passed your Daddy’s place on McLarry’s curve.
Phil Strawberry and I got geared up and went cruising out to the Futch farm enjoying the ride if you know what I mean. Knot met us at the barn where he had the little darling in a small corral that we could back the truck into. Knot had a rope around her neck and I think she had a halter thing on her head but I’m not certain about that. Along with Knot we cruised the pasture before loading up. I think Phil might have been looking for mushrooms or something but there were no cows there.
By this time nobody was feeling any pain except the mule and that would be altered shortly. Knot held the rope as we opened the gate and backed the truck into the pen and up to the livestock chute. As he led the little (about three and a half feet tall at the shoulders) girl up and into the back of Phil’s truck Strawberry pulled out a syringe with a needle that looked like a sixteen penny finishing nail and started drawing some solution into the syringe. The needle found it’s mark and slowly like a balloon being deflated the mule collapsed onto the bed of the truck. I handed over the money and we all said goodbye and got into the truck.
Now the mule was feeling less pain than any of the rest of us. As a matter of fact the fog must have lifted a little bit because as we pulled up to enter the highway it dawned on me that I might ought to get in the back of the truck with her just in case she woke up. Good assumption on my part. Notice how assumptions and jackasses or their offspring all seem to wind up in the company of one another. Phil stopped the truck and I got into the back with the mule. I sat there beside her (she looked very dead) and wondered how long it might take for her to awaken. I was soon to learn that as about the time we entered McLarry’s curve we met a convoy of westbound transfer trucks roaring past in the opposite direction. The wind and the noise awoke the little darling and she decided she would stand up and for the rest of the ride it was two jackasses wrestling in the bed of a Ford pickup. That is something I don’t think I’ll ever forget. Talk about “kicking” and with four feet it was exciting to say the least. It was a hell of a scuffle but with the Grace of God I managed to prevail. I was top jackass.
That brings up another memory. Instead of drag racing back in the day when we were teenagers we would get into someone’s car and see how fast the driver could go around the curve at McLarry’s. Allegedly Pete Clark held the record in a 1957 Ford Station wagon. Recently Jackie Floyd reminded me of us doing that in my 1956 Dodge. I had many exciting trips around that curve until one day your Daddy took me aside in your back yard and said “Son you’re just about to overdo it coming around this curve”. Homer only called me son when he was very serious and the tone of his voice that day was, well you kids know what I mean and the look in his eyes you also know. That day ended my exciting trips around the curve and some had been indeed thrilling.
I never had a thrill on that curve from speed that could hold a candle to wrestling with a mule facing you with it’s head thrashing about and kicking with all four feet. I did the only thing I could do. I put my arms around her neck and hugged her like I’ve never hugged any other creature on this earth. About the time we pulled into Mama’s me and the mule both were exhausted. I think she must have made a vow then and there that I would never get another hug from her. She was stubborn as a mule is supposed to be because although I was her daily caregiver I would not touch her again until two years later when I buried her. We unloaded her into the little pen and that would turn out to be the last time she tolerated a hand on her. I learned that a few days later when I assumed (#3) she might be comfortable in her new home and I entered her pen to begin the process of training her. As I entered the pen and closed the gate she took one look at me and flatfootedly jumped out of the pen and must have cleared the fence by two feet or more. Man what a steeple chaser she would have made.
Fortunately she did not run off and Mama and I were able to gently herd her into Mama’s back yard and then into the chicken pen where I could lock her up for the time being. She remained in the chicken yard a couple of days while I was constructing a larger pen with field fence wire about four feet tall. I configured the pen so it would extend from her other small pen and connect to the rear of the chicken yard. The chickens were nervous and the egg count dropped off and the Irene watch intensified regarding the construction of the new fence. I enlisted some help from cousin Phil and put a rush job on that fence. When it was completed I just cut the chicken yard fence and drove Ramona into the new home where she would remain the rest of her days. Leslie had given her the name and it stuck.
As humorous as this story is it was truly a sad situation for Ramona because she never got to do anything but eat drink and walk about her pen. I had a huge yellow umbrella and I erected it in the corner of her yard and she spent many hours standing under it watching the world go by. I attended to her needs as best I could under the circumstance but I never would again attempt to do anything with her because I had accepted the fact that she was a lot like Elliott Ness. Besides that I was also very much aware that she could leave anytime she wanted to.
I think she did become comfortable with the chickens and Mama, as she would observe Mama’s presence daily in the chicken yard. I think she assumed she had no threat from them. Bad assumption on her part. It proved to bring about her demise. To my knowledge she never found her voice because she never made a sound.
Then one weekend when Leslie and I were out on the boat for a trip to St. Catherine’s Island there was a terrible accident at the mule farm. Upon returning to Half Moon marina there was a note on the windshield of the truck advising that I must call home immediately. When Mama answered the phone she was squalling like a baby and was barely able to tell me what the problem was. Gasping she blurted out “Son I killed Ramona”. It seems that Mama had discovered a big ole garter snake curled up in a chicken nest while he digested a couple of eggs. Mama hurried to the house to fetch the 410 while Ramona observed the excitement. Ramona was leaning across the fence peeping into the back of the structure with the row of nest in it. Mama blew the snake into a couple of pieces and in the process a good portion of the load hit Ramona square in one eye. Phil was summoned and later told me that the only thing he could do was end her misery with another shot to “put her down”. I spent the next day pondering how I would get her body to a place where I could dig a grave with the least difficulty. The following morning Mama’s grief had subsided to some extent and the Irene watch started to intensify regarding burial. I’ll tell you this much the only thing worse than possessing a two-year-old unbroken mule was having a two-day-old unburied dead mule. And that’s pretty much the whole story.
Love
Uncle Jimmy
*My book will be entitled CROSSING FOOLS HILL
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