I Support The Muslim Ban : A Christian Mother Speaks


My name is Jennifer Mayers and I support President Trump’s ban on Muslims from entering this country.  And you should too.  This is NOT a race issue.  This is an issue about protecting us from Arabs who wish to blow us up and recruit our citizens into their depraved sick world.

Maybe the liberals and Hillary supporting trash should stop whining and take a few seconds to ponder a few things.  What IF they were in the World Trade Center on September 11th, 2001. What IF they were having a cup of morning tea in a roadside cafe only to be blown up by a suicide bomber.   What IF their friends and family had been on an airliner and exploded to bits due to an angry Muslim thinking he was acting in the name of “Allah” — maybe then you’d support the ban as well.

President Trump is protecting ALL of us.  This is about keeping our families safe and protected at night when we dream of peace and prosperity.  This is about restoring our dignity and superiority in the world.  If a few Arabs have to be stranded at airports around the country in the name of MY safety, then so be it. Keep them out of MY country.  Build the wall.  As the new President said earlier this week “A country without borders is not a country”

My daughters will not grow up in a country where they will be scared to go outside in fear of being blown up by Muslims.  They will not be afraid to worship in a CHRISTIAN church in fear of a suicide bomber robbing them of their innocent lives.  The era of Trump is about restoring us to a time before Obama ruined us and left us vulnerable to crime and assault and online bullying.

Stop whining behind your keyboards and on your social media.  Keep your silly marches to yourself.  You’re making utter fools of yourself.  Believe in life.  Believe in love.  Believe in TRUMP.


76 thoughts on “I Support The Muslim Ban : A Christian Mother Speaks

  1. Jennifer

    You are in all honesty a stupid, ugly oxygen thief; however this doesn’t give your husband the right to treat you like a slave.

    Have some respect for yourself


    1. Martin Lucifer Koon, could not help himself when he copied his dissertation word for word off others to earn his Ph.d. Nor could he stop cheating on his wife. Last, but not least, he was a communist. What a loser. Too bad we don,t have more James Earl Rays… Better yet, they should follow Marcus Garvey,s lead and go back to Africa.


  2. He stayed away, after this, for a year; he visited the depths of Asia, spending himself on scenes of romantic interest, of superlative sanctity; but what was present to him everywhere was that for a man who had known what he had known the world was vulgar and vain. The state of mind in which he had lived for so many years shone out to him, in reflexion, as a light that coloured and refined, a light beside which the glow of the East was garish cheap and thin. The terrible truth was that he had lost–with everything else–a distinction as well the things he saw couldn’t help being common when he had become common to look at them. He was simply now one of them himself–he was in the dust, without a peg for the sense of difference; and there were hours when, before the temples of gods and the sepulchres of kings, his spirit turned for nobleness of association to the barely discriminated slab in the London suburb. That had become for him, and more intensely with time and distance, his one witness of a past glory. It was all that was left to him for proof or pride, yet the past glories of Pharaohs were nothing to him as he thought of it. Small wonder then that he came back to it on the morrow of his return. He was drawn there this time as irresistibly as the other, yet with a confidence, almost, that was doubtless the effect of the many months that had elapsed. He had lived, in spite of himself, into his change of feeling, and in wandering over the earth had wandered, as might be said, from the circumference to the centre of his desert. He had settled to his safety and accepted perforce his extinction; figuring to himself, with some colour, in the likeness of certain little old men he remembered to have seen, of whom, all meagre and wizened as they might look, it was related that they had in their time fought twenty duels or been loved by ten princesses. They indeed had been wondrous for others while he was but wondrous for himself; which, however, was exactly the cause of his haste to renew the wonder by getting back, as he might put it, into his own presence. That had quickened his steps and checked his delay. If his visit was prompt it was because he had been separated so long from the part of himself that alone he now valued.


  3. SINGING my days,
    Singing the great achievements of the present,
    Singing the strong, light works of engineers,
    Our modern wonders, (the antique ponderous Seven outvied,)
    In the Old World, the east, the Suez canal,
    The New by its mighty railroad spann’d,
    The seas inlaid with eloquent, gentle wires,
    I sound, to commence, the cry, with thee, O soul,
    The Past! the Past! the Past!

    The Past! the dark, unfathom’d retrospect!
    The teeming gulf! the sleepers and the shadows!
    The past! the infinite greatness of the past!
    For what is the present, after all, but a growth out of the past?
    (As a projectile, form’d, impell’d, passing a certain line, still keeps on,
    So the present, utterly form’d, impell’d by the past.)

    Passage, O soul, to India!
    Eclaircise the myths Asiatic—the primitive fables.

    Not you alone, proud truths of the world!
    Nor you alone, ye facts of modern science!
    But myths and fables of eld—Asia’s, Africa’s fables!
    The far-darting beams of the spirit!—the unloos’d dreams!
    The deep diving bibles and legends;
    The daring plots of the poets—the elder religions;
    —O you temples fairer than lilies, pour’d over by the rising sun!
    O you fables, spurning the known, eluding the hold of the known, mounting to heaven!
    You lofty and dazzling towers, pinnacled, red as roses, burnish’d with gold!
    Towers of fables immortal, fashion’d from mortal dreams!
    You too I welcome, and fully, the same as the rest;
    You too with joy I sing.


  4. Ground beef and chicken casserole? Is that a Guatemalan delicacy? It sounds disgusting and fattening. Also, why dinner at 3pm as your tweets sayou that is what time it is where you are tweeting. Word to the stupid – it’s 5pm in Baton Rouge. You’re exposed. Idiot.


  5. I thought he wasn’t mad at you anymore and you were cuddling last night? What changed? Did you forget to shave your legs? Was he offended by your stubble?


  6. We arrived in the box and sat down in the three front chairs leaving
    one chair behind. Just in front of us in the seats below was Guillaume
    Apollinaire. He was dressed in evening clothes and he was industriously
    kissing various important looking ladies’ hands. He was the first one of
    his crowd to come out into the great world wearing evening clothes and
    kissing hands. We were very amused and very pleased to see him do it.
    It was the first time we had seen him doing it. After the war they all did
    these things but he was the only one to commence before the war.

    Just before the performance began the fourth chair in our box was oc-
    cupied. We looked around and there was a tall well-built young man,
    he might have been a dutchman, a Scandinavian or an american and he
    wore a soft evening shirt with the tiniest pleats all over the front of it.
    It was impressive, we had never even heard that they were wearing
    evening shirts like that. That evening when we got home Gertrude Stein
    did a portrait of the unknown called a Portrait of One.

    The performance began. No sooner had it commenced when the ex-
    citement began. The scene now so well known with its brilliantly col-
    oured background now not at all extraordinary, outraged the Paris
    audience. No sooner did the music begin and the dancing than they
    began to hiss. The defenders began to applaud. We could hear nothing,
    as a matter of fact I never did hear any of the music of the Sacre du
    Printemps because it was the only time I ever saw it and one literally
    could not, throughout the whole performance, hear the sound of music.
    The dancing was very fine and that we could see although our atten-
    tion was constantly distracted by a man in the box next to us flourish-
    ing his cane, and finally in a violent altercation with an enthusiast in
    the box next to him, his cane came down and smashed the opera hat the
    other had just put on in defiance. It was all incredibly fierce.

    The next Saturday evening Carl Van Vechten was to come to dinner.
    He came and he was the young man of the soft much-pleated evening
    shirt and it was the same shirt. Also of course he was the hero or villain
    of Mrs. Van Vechten’s tragic tale.

    As I said Helene did for the second time in her life make an extraor-
    dinarily bad dinner. For some reason best known to herself she gave us
    course after course of hors d’oeuvres finishing up with a sweet omelet.
    Gertrude Stein began to tease Carl Van Vechten by dropping a word
    here and there of intimate knowledge of his past life. He was naturally
    bewildered. It was a curious evening.


  7. When Mary Lennox was sent to Misselthwaite Manor to live with her uncle everybody said she was the most disagreeable-looking child ever seen. It was true, too. She had a little thin face and a little thin body, thin light hair and a sour expression. Her hair was yellow, and her face was yellow because she had been born in India and had always been ill in one way or another. Her father had held a position under the English Government and had always been busy and ill himself, and her mother had been a great beauty who cared only to go to parties and amuse herself with gay people. She had not wanted a little girl at all, and when Mary was born she handed her over to the care of an Ayah, who was made to understand that if she wished to please the Mem Sahib she must keep the child out of sight as much as possible. So when she was a sickly, fretful, ugly little baby she was kept out of the way, and when she became a sickly, fretful, toddling thing she was kept out of the way also. She never remembered seeing familiarly anything but the dark faces of her Ayah and the other native servants, and as they always obeyed her and gave her her own way in everything, because the Mem Sahib would be angry if she was disturbed by her crying, by the time she was six years old she was as tyrannical and selfish a little pig as ever lived. The young English governess who came to teach her to read and write disliked her so much that she gave up her place in three months, and when other governesses came to try to fill it they always went away in a shorter time than the first one. So if Mary had not chosen to really want to know how to read books she would never have learned her letters at all.


  8. All merchants are to be safe and secure in leaving and entering England, and in staying and travelling in England … to buy and sell free from all tolls by the ancient and rightful customs, except in time of war. … And if such men are found in our land at the outbreak of war they shall be detained without damage to their persons or goods, until we or our chief justiciar know how the merchants of our land are treated in the enemy land; and if ours are safe there, the others shall be safe in our land.


  9. ‘NOW after the ship had left the stream of the river Oceanus, and was come to the wave of the wide sea, and the isle Aeaean, where is the dwelling place of early Dawn and her dancing grounds, and the land of sunrising, upon our coming thither we beached the ship in the sand, and ourselves too stept ashore on the sea beach. There we fell on sound sleep and awaited the bright Dawn.

    ‘So soon as early Dawn shone forth, the rosy-fingered, I sent forth my fellows to the house of Circe to fetch the body of the dead Elpenor. And speedily we cut billets of wood and sadly we buried him, where the furthest headland runs out into the sea, shedding big tears. But when the dead man was burned and the arms of the dead, we piled a barrow and dragged up thereon a pillar, and on the topmost mound we set the shapen oar.

    ‘Now all that task we finished, and our coming from out of Hades was not unknown to Circe, but she arrayed herself and speedily drew nigh, and her handmaids with her bare flesh and bread in plenty and dark red wine. And the fair goddess stood in the midst and spake in our ears, saying:

    ‘“Men overbold, who have gone alive into the house of Hades, to know death twice, while all men else die once for all. Nay come, eat ye meat and drink wine here all day long; and with the breaking of the day ye shall set sail, and myself I will show you the path and declare each thing, that ye may not suffer pain or hurt through any grievous ill-contrivance by sea or on the land.”


  10. When I have fears that I may cease to be
    Before my pen has gleaned my teeming brain,
    Before high-pilèd books, in charactery,
    Hold like rich garners the full ripened grain;
    When I behold, upon the night’s starred face,
    Huge cloudy symbols of a high romance,
    And think that I may never live to trace
    Their shadows with the magic hand of chance;
    And when I feel, fair creature of an hour,
    That I shall never look upon thee more,
    Never have relish in the faery power
    Of unreflecting love—then on the shore
    Of the wide world I stand alone, and think
    Till love and fame to nothingness do sink.


  11. Jenn

    Do not cook from scratch; you are obviously awful at it.

    Go to the freezer department and cook from frozen.

    What kind of dumb cunt puts beef and chicken in the same meal?


  12. What does jerky and candy have to do with you being undesirable?

    Chai vanilla?


    Irving should cook not you; or buy and cook from prepared not scratch.


  13. The Chair she sat in, like a burnished throne,
    Glowed on the marble, where the glass
    Held up by standards wrought with fruited vines
    From which a golden Cupidon peeped out
    (Another hid his eyes behind his wing)
    Doubled the flames of sevenbranched candelabra
    Reflecting light upon the table as
    The glitter of her jewels rose to meet it,
    From satin cases poured in rich profusion;
    In vials of ivory and coloured glass
    Unstoppered, lurked her strange synthetic perfumes,
    Unguent, powdered, or liquid—troubled, confused
    And drowned the sense in odours; stirred by the air
    That freshened from the window, these ascended
    In fattening the prolonged candle-flames,
    Flung their smoke into the laquearia,
    Stirring the pattern on the coffered ceiling.
    Huge sea-wood fed with copper
    Burned green and orange, framed by the coloured stone,
    In which sad light a carvéd dolphin swam.
    Above the antique mantel was displayed
    As though a window gave upon the sylvan scene
    The change of Philomel, by the barbarous king
    So rudely forced; yet there the nightingale
    Filled all the desert with inviolable voice
    And still she cried, and still the world pursues,
    “Jug Jug” to dirty ears.
    And other withered stumps of time
    Were told upon the walls; staring forms
    Leaned out, leaning, hushing the room enclosed.
    Footsteps shuffled on the stair.
    Under the firelight, under the brush, her hair
    Spread out in fiery points
    Glowed into words, then would be savagely still.

    “My nerves are bad tonight. Yes, bad. Stay with me.
    “Speak to me. Why do you never speak. Speak.
    “What are you thinking of? What thinking? What?
    “I never know what you are thinking. Think.”

    I think we are in rats’ alley
    Where the dead men lost their bones.

    “What is that noise?”
    The wind under the door.
    “What is that noise now? What is the wind doing?”
    Nothing again nothing.
    “You know nothing? Do you see nothing? Do you remember

    I remember
    Those are pearls that were his eyes.
    “Are you alive, or not? Is there nothing in your head?”

    O O O O that Shakespeherian Rag—
    It’s so elegant
    So intelligent
    “What shall I do now? What shall I do?”
    “I shall rush out as I am, and walk the street
    “With my hair down, so. What shall we do tomorrow?
    “What shall we ever do?”
    The hot water at ten.
    And if it rains, a closed car at four.
    And we shall play a game of chess,
    Pressing lidless eyes and waiting for a knock upon the door.

    When Lil’s husband got demobbed, I said—
    I didn’t mince my words, I said to her myself,
    Now Albert’s coming back, make yourself a bit smart.
    He’ll want to know what you done with that money he gave you
    To get yourself some teeth. He did, I was there.
    You have them all out, Lil, and get a nice set,
    He said, I swear, I can’t bear to look at you.
    And no more can’t I, I said, and think of poor Albert,
    He’s been in the army four years, he wants a good time,
    And if you don’t give it him, there’s others will, I said.
    Oh is there, she said. Something o’ that, I said.
    Then I’ll know who to thank, she said, and give me a straight look.
    If you don’t like it you can get on with it, I said.
    Others can pick and choose if you can’t.
    But if Albert makes off, it won’t be for lack of telling.
    You ought to be ashamed, I said, to look so antique.
    (And her only thirty-one.)
    I can’t help it, she said, pulling a long face,
    It’s them pills I took, to bring it off, she said.
    (She’s had five already, and nearly died of young George.)
    The chemist said it would be all right, but I’ve never been the same.
    You are a proper fool, I said.
    Well, if Albert won’t leave you alone, there it is, I said,
    What you get married for if you don’t want children?
    Well, that Sunday Albert was home, they had a hot gammon,
    And they asked me in to dinner, to get the beauty of it hot—
    Goonight Bill. Goonight Lou. Goonight May. Goonight.
    Ta ta. Goonight. Goonight.
    Good night, ladies, good night, sweet ladies, good night, good night.


  14. Happy the man, whose wish and care
    A few paternal acres bound,
    Content to breathe his native air,
    In his own ground.

    Whose heards with milk, whose fields with bread,
    Whose flocks supply him with attire,
    Whose trees in summer yield him shade,
    In winter fire.

    Blest! who can unconcern’dly find
    Hours, days, and years slide soft away,
    In health of body, peace of mind,
    Quiet by day,

    Sound sleep by night; study and ease
    Together mix’d; sweet recreation,
    And innocence, which most does please,
    With meditation.

    Thus let me live, unseen, unknown;
    Thus unlamented let me dye;
    Steal from the world, and not a stone
    Tell where I lye.


  15. A Stranger came to the door at eve, And he spoke the bridegroom fair. He bore a green-white stick in his hand, And, for all burden, care. He asked with the eyes more than the lips For a shelter for the night, And he turned and looked at the road afar Without a window light. The bridegroom came forth into the porch With, ‘Let us look at the sky, And question what of the night to be, Stranger, you and I.’ The woodbine leaves littered the yard, The woodbine berries were blue, Autumn, yes, winter was in the wind; ‘Stranger, I wish I knew.’ Within, the bride in the dusk alone Bent over the open fire, Her face rose-red with the glowing coal And the thought of the heart’s desire. The bridegroom looked at the weary road, Yet saw but her within, And wished her heart in a case of gold And pinned with a silver pin. The bridegroom thought it little to give A dole of bread, a purse, A heartfelt prayer for the poor of God, Or for the rich a curse; But whether or not a man was asked To mar the love of two By harboring woe in the bridal house, The bridegroom wished he knew.


  16. “Upon my soul!’ Tietjens said to himself, ‘that girl down there is the only intelligent living soul I’ve met for years.’ A little pronounced in manner sometimes; faulty in reasoning naturally, but quite intelligent, with a touch of wrong accent now and then. But if she was wanted anywhere, there she’d be! Of good stock, of course: on both sides! But positively, she and Sylvia were the only two human beings he had met for years whom he could respect: the one for sheer efficiency in killing; the other for having the constructive desire and knowing how to set about it. Kill or cure! The two functions of man. If you wanted something killed you’d go to Sylvia Tietjens in sure faith that she would kill it: emotion, hope, ideal; kill it quick and sure. If you wanted something kept alive you’d go to Valentine: she’s find something to do for it. . . . The two types of mind: remorseless enemy, sure screen, dagger … sheath!
    Perhaps the future of the world then was to women? Why not? He hand’t in years met a man that he hadn’t to talk down to – as you talk down to a child, as he had talked down to General Campion or to Mr. Waterhouse … as he always talked down to Macmaster. All good fellows in their way …”


  17. Hello Jennifer. Don’t let anyone rob you of your voice. You could easily delete the troll’s comments but then again, it’s only proof they are the fascists and would stop at nothing to quash anyone who dares to speak truth. Thank you for speaking up.


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