The Gospel According to Mike Lindell
If you watch TV, particularly Fox News, you probably know Mike Lindell, who is constantly pitching his great invention, My Pillow, better than you know your next door neighbor.
One thing you know for sure is that he is very wealthy. You may also know that he is a strong conservative and one of President Trump’s major boosters.
A few things you may not know is that Lindell was not an overnight success. Along the way, just a few of the things he tried and flopped at were running a pig ranch, owning a bar and counting cards in Las Vegas.
One other thing: as recently as 2009, he was a crack cocaine addict. It cost him his home and his marriage. His addiction was so bad, his death so imminent, that his drug dealer not only cut him off cold turkey but got the word out that nobody else in town was to supply him with crack. What’s more, he took a photo of Lindell in order to show him the haggard wreck he had become.
Lindell got the message and cleaned up his act. As he tells it, “I had a dream that God had plans for me. When I woke up, I decided to dedicate myself to finding out what they were.”
There are many other stories of redemption, but few, if any, with such a dramatic turn-around. Today, Lindell spends $100 million-a-year on commercials. He can afford to because the world’s greatest pillow brings in $300 million-a-year. He also has a work force of 1500.
He has just financed a movie titled “Unplanned.” It is the story of Abby Johnson, a former director of “Planned Parenthood” who became so disgusted with what they were doing at America’s largest abortion mill that, like Lindell, she decided to turn her life around, and in 2009, a monumental year in both their lives, she became a leading crusader for the Pro-Life movement.
And as I can personally attest, My Pillow is the best pillow I have ever used.
While Chuck Schumer dismisses President Trump’s wall as a massive waste of money, the government continues to subsidize Amtrak to the tune of $2 billion-a-year. In 46 years, God only knows how many billions of dollars Congress has spent to keep the choo-choos running. In all those years, I’ve ridden on one once and I suspect that’s more than most people.
I’m not sure which is worst: to be a lawbreaker or to allow illegal aliens and people like Jane Fonda, Bradley Manning, Bowe Bergdahl, James Clapper, John Brennan, James Comey, Peter Strzok, Bruce Ohr, Michael Hayden, Hillary Clinton and Andrew McCabe, to walk free.
This is the reason that even some of us who don’t actually believe there is an after-life pray that there is one, so that at least divine justice has a chance of being meted out to the most deserving.
I’m not sure who to blame, but I assume that, like most of the worst things happening in America, a lot of the blame can be laid at the doorstep of Congress. When you hear most of its members speak, it’s like listening to the ravings of those subway psychos on the half-shell who go around muttering jibberish to themselves because they don’t like taking their meds.
I don’t envy the President having to deal day-in and day-out with these mental and moral pygmies.
Speaking of President Trump, I wonder if it’s occurred to him how easily he can turn lepers into saints and martyrs. All he has to do is fire someone and the media will immediately go from hurling rocks at the guy to promoting him for canonization.
Take James Comey. Better yet, take James Mattis. The media used to call him “Mad Dog” not out of respect for his military prowess, but because they could make it sound like a psychological evaluation.
Frankly, I don’t know how to judge him as a general. Although I used to have a certain respect for the military, once anti-military guys like Bill Clinton and Barack Obama began promoting the brass or busting them based on political considerations, I have the same cynical opinion of them that I have of civilian politicians.
There seems to be a question of whether Mattis retired or was pushed out as Secretary of Defense. But once he openly disagreed with the Commander-in-Chief’s decision to pull the military out of Syria, Mattis had to go. It was reminiscent of President Harry Truman’s firing of Gen. Douglas MacArthur but not quite so dramatic as that seminal event nearly 70 years ago.
Mattis could hardly say he’d been blindsided, although the deceitful media carried on as if Trump had yanked the rug out from under his military advisor. The fact is, eight months earlier, Trump had announced he was pulling the troops out in six months.
I don’t know why he waited the extra two months, but possibly he was giving Mattis and the other loons in the administration a full hearing of their objections.
For my part, unless Iran decides to test its muscles on Israel, I see no good reason why we have to keep squandering good money and good men in the Middle East simply in order to prevent one sleazy group of Muslims from killing another equally squalid group of Islamists.
We frequently hear about Trump’s base, but never about the other party’s base. I suppose that’s because the GOP has two distinctive parts: the conservatives who support the President and the RINO wing consisting of people like Mitch McConnell, Paul Ryan, Bob Corker, Jeff Flake and the late, unlamented John McCain, who would have been just as happy if Mrs. Clinton had won the election.
The fact is, the entire Democratic party is base.
Ralph Irish has passed along an idea that more people should adopt next Christmas: “I replaced my litter box with a FedEx box. Then, when it’s full, I just tape it shut and place it on my porch for some creep to steal.”
If Bernie Sanders gets the nomination in 2020, he should dress up in a big red suit and don a beard during the campaign, so America’s favorite Socialist can run as Santa Claus.
After all, somewhere along the line, millions of Americans have cast Uncle Sam aside and adopted Uncle Santa as our national symbol.
I had not heard the news until Stephen Hanover let me know that the London Financial Times declared the notorious currency-manipulating anti-American fascist George Soros their Man of the Year.
I let Hanover know that in a world in which creatures like Bradley/Chelsea Manning and Bruce/Caitlyn Jenner can be named Women of the Year; where Christine Blasey Ford can be invited to hand out Sports Illustrated’s Woman of the Year award; and where a transgender, Angela Maria Ponce (born Angel Mario Ponce) can change his name and let his hair grow out and wind up as Spain’s official entry in the Miss Universe competition; there is absolutely nothing that can surprise me.
Well, almost absolutely nothing. I admit I was surprised he/she didn’t win.