Truth is inspiring, it is guarded by GOD, and will triumph over all opposition!

Struggle With Freemasons


I am placing this on my site because I think it’s relative to the times we live in. I personally know people who have been approached by the Freemasons and didn’t know their background. Of course, the lower ranks have little or no knowledge of the upper echelon.


From Aug. 18, 2010
by Roger Barbour
As a toddler living in the remote reaches of Oregon, I had limited contact with other children. My closest friend was my dog Trinket.
By age four, my father let me roam freely through the surrounding forests and fields with our trusty canine. Under his tutelage, I attuned myself to the sights, sounds and smells of nature as well as imbibing the dog’s instinct for sensing danger and imbalance. Little did I know at the time that these basic skills would develop into the ability to perceive what was lurking in the minds of those I would meet during my life.
My school years included the normal peer pressures associated with growing up. I quickly learned to avoid certain people and came to understand that there were various social cliques where I was not welcome.


In the eighth grade, I befriended a lad I’ll call Bob G. His father was the caretaker of a very large estate and after school, I’d spend the afternoons helping Bob with his chores.
For some reason I always had the feeling that something was out of balance with Bob’s dad. Although I helped Bob as a favor, his dad never acknowledged my presence and referred to me in the third person. The situation with his mother was somewhat similar and even though she was civil to me, I got the feeling that I was a square peg in a round hole when either of his parents was there.
One Friday, I invited Bob to go skating with me the next day and he told me that his Saturdays were reserved for something called DeMolay.
Puzzled I asked my dad about this. In my eyes he was a war hero, teacher and sage all rolled into one. That evening, after supper, I said, “Hey dad, what’s DeMolay?”
To my surprise, he seemed to turn into a pillar of salt for about thirty seconds then, he looked me straight in the eye and asked, “Where did you hear that?”
At that point, I knew for sure I was in for one of dad’s serial styled lectures.


That night’s introduction to Freemasonry covered the basic aspects of secret societies in general as well as the deleterious reasons for their existence.
Although not a Mason himself, his knowledge of their passwords, signs and handshakes was quite expansive. When I inquired as to how he knew all this “stuff”, his answer made it quite plain that he’d learned it “the hard way”, primarily from being on the “wrong end of the stick” as he put it.
I went to bed with a million thoughts bouncing around in my head. True to fashion, during the subsequent weeks and months, my dad would pick up the discussion of Masonry whenever something we passed on the road triggered his thoughts.
One time he pointed out a window sticker on a car ahead of us and explained that the funny symbol shaped like a golf club with a ball on each side of it was a secret Masonic sign indicating that the owner was a member.
Suddenly Masonic signs and emblems seemed to be everywhere yet nowhere at all unless you knew what to look for. Masonic Temples and Lodges, cloaked in windowless anonymity, melded seamlessly into their environment. Members of the organization seemed to be everywhere; government, the clergy, the trades, business, sports and law.
Each one of them appeared to be the same as any other man unless you could detect the subtle spoken phrases that passed between them or the fleeting, seemingly innocuous gesture.
A simple handshake, if watched closely, seemed to have a completely different meaning when shared between Masons. For the observant non-Mason, the act of a handshake with a member of a Lodge could be quite revealing.
All of this information and more came to me at the ripe old age of thirteen. Further study and reading prompted by events that took place later in my life have given me a measure of insight into what I can only describe as a conspiracy of the grandest proportions.
My eternal thanks to my late dad are in order at this point. Without his insight and his willingness to pass it on to me, I would never have been able to assemble the arsenal of knowledge required to survive in a world where the Masons seem to hold sway.


My First Experience of Freemasons
After graduation, I attended a trade school and began an apprenticeship for Marine Engineers. The demanding curriculum left scant time for anything else and after six months in classrooms, they placed me aboard ship for a year of hands-on training augmented by a massive correspondence course. This would prove to be my first, eye-opening experience with the Freemasons.
A ship at sea is a cloistered society where the vessel’s length determines how far you can distance yourself from your tormentors. Being the new guy, I seemed to attract my share of tormentors and the fact that I was the only “Yankee” aboard a ship full of Southerners seemed to exacerbate the situation.
The Southerners, as I would soon learn, had a propensity for gravitating toward secret societies of all type and description. Perhaps this resulted from the South’s inherently low educational standards or the desire of the few to gain control of the many through clandestine means.
The probing began on my first day aboard. Masonic passwords, gestures, handshakes and body language accompanied several of the introductions to my new shipmates. Each meeting with a Mason quickly became an unspoken test to determine the status of my priorities. In many cases, the person I met would try several different tactics to induce the proper response before giving up.
Their reactions to having an “unknown value” who probably wasn’t a Mason in their midst clearly demonstrated their disappointment.
These first encounters set the tone for my six-month stay aboard this particular ship where an obvious Mason/non-Mason schism existed among the vessel’s occupants.
This schism was notably evident in the officer’s mess where I shared a table with two cadets from another school (neither of whom were Masons) and the radio operator who was an overt Mason.
His demeanor toward us was always condescending and he made it a habit to engage in “Mason Speak” with an engineer named Willie who sat nearby. This really irked me and occasionally I would make a casual comment that made them question whether I was indeed a Mason. Eventually, my off hand remarks got under Willie’s skin and affected my training program.
As an apprentice, I was supposed to work with the experienced engineers like Willie, ask questions and learn by doing.


One day, in our second week out, he veered away from technical talk and began to question me about my background. When I mentioned that I had been brought up Catholic and attended parochial schools, he underwent an amazing transformation.
His first reaction was to narrow his eyes and say, “Uhhhgh”, then he immediately turned and walked away. From that day on, Willie would only grunt or nod to recognize my presence. After this incident, I began receiving the same “cold shoulder” treatment from the other Masons aboard and it was obvious that my fate had been sealed by Masonic decree.
Shortly thereafter, my assistance aboard the ship ceased to exist. Upon reporting for work each morning, I would be told there was nothing requiring my participation. I had been summarily ostracized and disenfranchised from the training routine.
This continued through the remainder of the three-month voyage leaving me no recourse but to learn the ship’s systems on my own and work on my correspondence course. It was plainly evident that my tormentors expected me to leave the ship before the end of my six-month assignment and thus disqualify myself from the training program. Imagine their chagrin when, upon our return to the States, I signed on for another three-month voyage!
By the time I left the ship, I had successfully submitted the entire correspondence course, a contrivance designed to occupy a student for a whole year.
To this end, the Masons unwittingly did me a favor. The next six-month assignment put me on a ship where, to the best of my knowledge, there wasn’t a single Freemason among the crew. Without the encumbrance of the correspondence course, my new shipmates were able to take me under their wing and set me to work full time.
After the infusion of their knowledge and experience, I returned to school, completed the final phase of classroom study and graduated near the top of my class.
This brief sojourn into the world of the Free Mason’s would prove to be a harbinger of things to come. As the years wore on, my dad’s lessons, coupled with experiences like this furnished me with a box of very valuable tools. I quickly found myself in the process of using these tools to great advantage in what would end up being a life-long contest of wills with a very elusive foe.


Advancement Hinged on a Hand Sign
In the spring of 1973, I traveled to New York and registered for work at the maritime union hall. As the Vietnam War wound down, work had declined along with my bank balance. Each successive job-call presented another disappointment and talk among the members turned toward alternative means of employment.
During one such discussion, I learned that the government was hiring engineers to man their civilian auxiliary fleet. Rumor had it the ships were floating death traps with low pay scales and manned by misfits. The upside was the union had a reciprocal agreement with the government allowing the membership to work without penalties while accruing time for seniority.
A subway ride topped off with a short walk found me inside the dingy confines of the government’s personnel office filling out reams of application forms. I turned them over to a lackluster clerk who summarily dismissed me by saying that I would be contacted if my paperwork checked out.
Within two weeks, I received a call. The emotionless voice introduced itself as “Mr. D”, head of personnel and directed me to report for processing, a physical and assignment to a ship.
At 0800 the next day, I entered another dingy office and met with the expressionless “Mr. D”. After briefly taking my measure, the barest hint of a smile touched the corners of his mouth and he shot out his hand in greeting. Without thinking, I returned the gesture and quickly realized my error.
His small hand latched on to mine with his fingers applying pressure at my wrist. I immediately recognized it as the “Strong Grip of a Master Mason”, also called a “Lion’s Paw” but at this juncture, it was too late to adlib.
The smile quickly evaporated as he withdrew his hand and wordlessly returned to his desk. Head down, pen in hand, he silently worked over a stack of forms. A few minutes later, he handed them to me without looking up and gave me some terse instructions.
That afternoon I walked up the gangway of “The Ship from Hell” that sat forlornly alongside a repair dock in Norfolk, VA. Upon meeting my fellow engineers, none of whom were Masons, I quickly learned that the ship was a lot worse than it looked. The food was inedible, the pay lousy, living quarters overcrowded, and the engine room tantamount to playing Russian roulette.
With the engineers billeted two to a room and two rooms sharing a head, we had many opportunities to compare notes. During these “bull sessions”, I found out that the fleet consisted mainly of old junk piles like this but there were several others that were relatively new with excellent pay scales. These seemed reserved for people with political influence or some other kind of “connections”.


Three months of misery passed as we fought to keep the old rust bucket running. My shipmates were the greatest and it was a sad day when I left the ship with an acute case of food poisoning requiring four months of recuperation.
After recuperating, I phoned the personnel office and told them I was ready to return to work. To my surprise, “Mr. D” had died and been replaced by “Mr. R.” with whom I had to clear my return to work. In the course of our conversation I mentioned that I really wanted to be assigned to one of the newer, higher paying ships and he warily said, “I’ll see what’s available. Report to the office Monday.”
Monday found me entering the same dingy office fully prepared to meet its new occupant. As I approached, the cherubic figure behind the desk peered expectantly at me through a thick pair of glasses. When I introduced myself, he stood, came around the desk and approached me with his hand extended like the bowsprit of a clipper ship. Clasping his hand in the “Lion’s Paw” grip, I mumbled the words “Ma-Ha-Bone” and his porcine face suddenly lit up displaying a warm and welcoming smile.
He quickly returned to his desk and amid a profusion of friendly small talk, rummaged though his papers, jotted a few notes and handed me my travel forms while exclaiming, “You wanted it, you got it kid!” By evening, I was headed for the Philippines aboard a 747 to catch the newest and highest paying ship in the fleet.
My methods may appear to have been somewhat questionable here but in the final analysis, the end justifies the means. You sometimes have to fight fire with fire and that was one of those times. Years later, I would eventually leave the sea and venture into the rough and tumble world of private business. In that dog-eat-dog venue, I would find myself using every bit of my previous experience with the Masons just to survive.


Freemasons Control Local Commerce
The late 1980’s found me at the helm of my own successful repair business located in a large metropolitan area on the East Coast. Conflicts with Masons were rare during my first thirteen years in business and I found their membership to be quite civil. I attributed this to the area’s fast paced, competitive environment, high educational standards and a significant Catholic influence.
With the coming of George Bush Sr., things rapidly took a turn for the worse. In late 1991, I closed my doors and moved my equipment to a parcel of land I had previously purchased as an investment in South Central PA. Situated adjacent to the interstate, it was a prime location for business, with a livable house and all the proper zoning in place. The obvious snag was a strong Masonic presence evidenced by billboards along the highway staking out this territory.
My first tasks would include building a small shop for the equipment and completing the set-up for a new business. To this end, I would need a construction loan and figured to use the property, which I owned free and clear, as collateral. To start this process, I made a trip to the local bank and met with a loan officer.
Once the necessary paperwork was complete, the loan officer came out to review plans and verify everything in person. At the end of our meeting he was obviously satisfied with what he had seen and said, “Everything looks great, I see no problems. I can give you my personal word that this loan will be approved. The only requirement left is our commercial appraisal for which there is a $2,500.00 fee.”


Outwitting Local Freemasons
What choice did I have? I authorized the expenditure and started making plans for a short trip to sea in order to bolster my bank account. In the interim, I toured the local supply houses, met with vendors and set up my accounts with them. At the same time, I made a trip to the local town hall and registered the business. All of these endeavors proved to be a singular experience and I found that my “Freemason detector” just about red-lined with each successive encounter. It began to seem likely that I was the only person in the area who “didn’t belong”.
Two months later, I returned from the trip with a nice, fat pay cheque in my pocket and found a message requesting me to contact the loan officer. When I showed up, our meeting turned out to be short and sweet. My loan had been denied due to insufficient income. Evidently, my potential to earn $85K per year at sea had no bearing with respect to a $40K loan. Certainly, I could have made a few more trips and bankrolled the deal out of my pocket but that’s not the object of business. Credit is the lifeblood of commerce and without legitimate debt; you find that you have no credit.
Returning home, I fumed over the $2,500.00 rip off and everything else to do with the situation. My anger was still at full boil two days later when a car drove up with a septuagenarian at the wheel who asked if I could look at a job he wanted done. Needing a distraction, I agreed and got in the car.
Before reaching the end of the driveway, my “Freemason detector” had already flown off the scale and questions about this guy’s real agenda began bouncing around in my head.
As we toured the local area like a pair of sightseers, he pointed out businesses, farms, buildings and tracts of land that he claimed to own. During the ride, he never mentioned the “job” again nor did he ever look directly at me. Thirty minutes later, we were back in my driveway and he suddenly focused on me like a laser beam.
Shifting his car into reverse he matter-of-factly stated, “If you want to borrow any money around here you need to come and see me at the men’s club (Freemason’s Lodge).” Without another word, I got out and he drove off.


That evening I sat down and reevaluated my predicament. It was plain to see that I was in a no-win situation. Nothing, particularly business, was possible in this area without the approval of the Masons. They “ruled the roost” in banking, law and government. Masonic affiliation was required to get a job delivering newspapers and the mere mention of the term “Masons” struck fear into the hearts of the locals. Obviously, it was time to go to plan “B”.
I interviewed several real estate agents and could tell by their reticence and negativity that they were part of this Masonic cabal as well. Engaging them would serve no productive end so I settled for a simple “For Sale by Owner” sign nailed to a tree.
Less than a month later, fate miraculously kicked in and I received a call from a developer that wanted to build a strip mall on my site. At the passing, I received a check for nearly six times the amount of my original investment.
The real reward came when the same loan officer that ran the game on me handed over the check as I quipped, “Yes….There is a God.”
By mid afternoon, I was well on my way towards Florida in a rented truck filled with my gear. It would only be a question of time before I had more adventures with the Freemasons at my next destination.
My business ventures during Florida’s building boom eclipsed the sum of everything I had attempted so far. Experience dealing with the Masons enabled me to engage them in a form of guerrilla warfare.

The strategy consisted of infiltrating their ranks, and gaining their confidence to a point where they were reasonably sure I was one of them. This began to have a “snowball effect” and before long, I found myself getting referrals from within their fraternity.

This dangerous game required tact and total attention. It could be nerve wracking. At the slightest hint of suspicion, I would quickly make myself scarce. Discussions were limited to business sidestepping a “Masonic word game” which could out me.


I was able to provide gainful, lucrative employment to several good men who had no Masonic ties.
As with all good things, my decade in the “Sunshine State” reached its conclusion. Amid the waning economy of “W’s” second term, I reviewed my situation, liquidated my real estate investments and moved on to greener pastures before the bubble burst.
The exit strategy included a contract to transplant a production facility to the heart of South Carolina’s “Bible Belt” where Freemasons rule supreme.
Knowledge that my destination was about to become a “real estate hot spot” exacerbated my proclivity to jump from the frying pan into the Masonic inferno. While fulfilling my contract, I used every spare moment to research the area’s land offerings and it became apparent that development was rapidly approaching. Major road widening and bridge renovations were underway.
My job’s completion, I had chosen the ideal tract of land, struck a deal and paid for it with the proceeds of my sales in Florida.
Anticipating immediate ostracism by the Masons, I took several steps to avoid disaster. The first was to apply for my maritime pension to provide a comfortable income without reliance on sources controlled by the Masons. The second was to engage an out-of-state, non-Masonic contractor that I knew and trusted to furnish and erect a building under my direction.
My detractors erroneously assumed I was attempting to establish a repair business. This notion set the stage for my introduction to the “locals” and soon, the initial flow of “customers” approached like an ink cloud concealing the tentacles of a Masonic octopus.
Tasked as inquisitors, members of a local “Blue Lodge” filtered in to glean information about my intentions and conduct a “threat assessment” to local Masonic businesses.
Their faltering, inept attempts at spying were both obvious and laughable. Predictably, the “upper Masonic echelons” had employed their lesser counterparts, sometimes called “Porch Masons”, to handle the dirty work.
Meanwhile, the “Masonic elites” gathered in their lair to ascertain how I had commandeered of a key piece of real estate without their blessings and to formulate a plan to disenfranchise me.


So the battle continues. My trusty “For Sale by Owner” sign graces the fence, a colorful ad campaign flows across the web and I patiently await the resurgence of the real estate market.
Meanwhile the neighbors maintain their watch, cataloging visitors to my shop and making regular reports to their Masonic masters. Those found guilty of consorting with me face castigation and are directed to take their trade elsewhere.
This is a Godsend because I am now free to devote my time to development projects for a select clientele while the world of the Freemasons remains outside my gate.
During the course of my life, I have wasted a disproportionate amount of time grappling with the Freemasons.
I strongly encourage skeptics to examine the plethora of information readily available on the web and the multitude of publications on this subject. Relate what you read to your own life experiences. Perhaps in doing so, you will find answers to some of the confounding events that have directly affected your life in business, law and the workplace.
Beware the Freemason!



“Porch Masons” or third degree Masons are those on the lowest end of the food chain. They are very prevalent in areas predisposed to poverty and low educational standards. They have entered this realm because … gainful employment is impossible without being a member of a “Blue Lodge”.

– See more at:

Dear Henry, Right now I’m in the middle of a gunfight and find it absolutely impossible to concentrate on matters at hand with regard to this dismal tale. Every waking moment presents something else to reckon with. After four years of unsuccessfully trying to dislodge me, the natives are getting restless.
Business is impossible to conduct since they have not only chased away the customers but have “put out the word” and effectively cut me off from all sources of supply and raw materials.
For example: I needed some common, off the shelf welding supplies recently and called the local supply house for same. The salesman told me that he couldn’t help me and my best bet was to go “on line” and get it from other sources. This is a very common issue regarding vendors in the area. In this case, a call to a supplier in Boston received prompt, courteous attention and my stuff was on the way in minutes.


Simply put, NO! Everyone here is completely under the thumb of the Masons. Doing business with an “outsider” like me immediately subjects them to Masonic castigation. The Mason’s control every aspect of finance and hold mortgages on homes, land and equipment. Consorting with me could very well jeopardize the status of someone’s loan so they steer well clear of me. Others are discouraged from socializing (not that I care) and are put under extreme pressure to ostracize me.
When I first came here, I met and forged a friendship with the fellow that was in charge of plant operations in the facility where I relocated the production line for my client from Florida. We found that we had a lot of common interests and worked well together.
One day he asked if I could help him install a new door at his house and I gladly obliged. During the course of the job I met his wife (Eastern Star) and his father (Master Mason) and the friendship quickly dissolved. He began to shun me and if it became necessary for him to come by he’d only do so at night when nobody could see him. To this day, he has thousands of dollars worth of tools in his roll-around box sitting out in my shop. They have been there for at least two years and he is afraid to pick them up because he’ll be accused of consorting with me.


They are gang-bangers. In the true fashion of the animal world, they have banded together to seek comfort and solace from their own ilk and to prey upon the unsuspecting. Like any other gang or criminal organization they have their own hierarchy and pecking order.
In areas like this one where educational standards are non-existent, the few people who have a measure of learning quickly rise to the top. The remainder wallow in a cesspool of ignorance and poverty perpetuated by those in the higher echelons and are willing do the bidding of their masters for a few meager crumbs. I call this the “big fish in the small pond syndrome”. The big fish rule the roost, mete out the jobs to “qualified individuals” (re. other Masons) and reap the profits while sitting back in comfort and wealth.
The term “pinched” is quite appropriate. They all believe they possess some hidden knowledge that others are not privy to. This “look” increases proportionately with the member’s level of achievement. Those at the top believe that they have mastered “the ancient knowledge of the universe” in the fashion of Bible scholars or those that have translated the Nag Hamadi texts. Indeed, some leave me with the impression that they possess all the information in the Great Library at Alexandria.


“Porch Masons” or third degree Masons are those on the lowest end of the food chain. They are very prevalent in areas predisposed to poverty and low educational standards. They have entered this realm because they simply had no other choice. Since areas where these conditions exist are controlled by the Masons, gainful employment is impossible without being a member of a “Blue Lodge”.
These creatures are basically the indentured servants of their lords and masters. A measure of deference must be shown to their superiors in order to garner favor. Throughout the south, the term “sir” is always used by the lowly third degree members when addressing their betters. Favors and good deals and obedience must be accorded by the peons or they’ll never have a chance of getting a laborer’s job much less a mortgage. The “big fish” constantly dangle carrots before the noses of these unsuspecting dupes in order to coerce them to do their bidding.
Experience has taught me that these peons hold their masters in awe. Mere mention of the Masons seems to instill fear and awe in these misdirected creatures. On more than one occasion, I’ve been told by one of these poor sods to avoid critical remarks about things Masonic.
“You don’t wanna go fuckin’ with them” is a phrase that I’ve heard many times from third degree lackeys.
With respect to the previous three paragraphs, It’s plainly evident that these people are possessed of a gang mentality. They are programmed to tow the mark or expect retribution from above.


I’m not sure there will be an “after”. These animals have made a concerted effort to block every attempt at selling this place. False stories regularly circulate that it is a toxic waste site among other things. Real estate agents purposely deflect sales by telling potential customers that the site is unsuitable for their purpose. On one occasion, a realtor I considered using as a representative, actually had the temerity to offer me half-of-what the place is worth on behalf of one of his Masonic brothers. Another wanted to list it at a price that was four times what it was worth.
The neighbors, third degree trash all, are constantly watching to monitor who comes and goes. As I mentioned previously, those “caught” associating with me are immediately brought before the bar of Masonic justice. Consequently, nobody dares pay so much as a social call.
During the first two years here, the filth that lives across the road must have expended 20,000 rounds of ammunition into the woods in an effort to intimidate me. Their efforts ceased when the price of ammo went through the roof and they started making homemade bombs. That also ceased when they set one off too close to their house and blew out the front windows. Their property looks like a junkyard and if I were trying to sell a residence the value of my place would be seriously impacted by their slovenly ways.
I’d welcome the chance to divest myself of this yoke and return to the realm of sanity. Maybe that way I can die in peace. I’ve actually formulated a plan to seek out the most radical, black pastor I can find (Jeremiah Wright immediately comes to mind) in the interests of donating this place to his church. Maybe that will leave these bastards with a gift that keeps on giving.


Doing so isn’t in my anthology of ethical practices. Everything they stand for makes me want to puke and that’s only the tip of the iceberg. I would no more consider joining the Masons than I would consider becoming a member of MS-13.
Growing up, I used to listen with rapt attention as my elders rehashed the “old stories” time and again at family gatherings. Inevitably, one of the old sods would carry on at length about his life in Ireland under British tyranny. Tale after tale of murder and violence at the hands of the Black and Tan would emerge in living color. These bastards were nothing more than 10 shilling-a-day mercenaries for the Masonic, British government. During the winter of 1920, just before Christmas, they murdered two of my relatives as they went on a looting spree in Cork City.
Later in life, as previously mentioned, my dad explained the “ins and outs” of the Masons to me at length. These lessons had great impact on me from that time on. Additionally, he related stories of his countless clashes with them during the early 1900’s.
The area where I grew up was populated by wealthy old Yankees that, to a man, were Freemasons. Old papers I’ve read from that era (1915-1930) were loaded with help wanted ads which clearly stated “Irish and Catholic, need not apply”. This type of evidence reinforced everything my dad had taught me and made me despise the Masons all the more. My life experiences with them sealed the deal in spades.
By nature, I’m not a “joiner” and it’s been inculcated in me from the beginning that a man should fend for himself. In this context, that also means that he and he alone is responsible for his actions. Striking out independently is definitely my style. I don’t need a group or leader to blindly follow in the hopes of succeeding at anything. I’m perfectly capable of doing it on my own. When I attempt something, I do so with my head high and my shoulders squared off.
If I shake your hand, I do so firmly and look you in the eye while doing it. In my dealings with others (business, work or play) I make my intent clearly known and act in an overt, straight forward and honest manner. Never expect me to lie in order to shirk responsibility or to cover up my ineptness or errors. I will always be the first one to announce that I made a mistake or that I am at fault.
These are a few of the tenets that I live by. They are definitely not in sync with the great sidereal movement of Freemasonry. I refuse to lower my standards in the interests of profit or other worldly gains. I refuse to become a member of some secret society that is actually a direct contradiction of what it purports to be. I refuse to engage in character assassination, defrauding the legal system and nepotism for personal gain or for the benefit of another man. In this last respect the Masons are particularly loathsome. Their own system of “affirmative action” insures that one of their own will benefit rather than a more capable and worthy individual. This is probably the thing I despise most about them.
Yes….I’m probably stupid, old fashioned and idealistic, not to mention truly American at heart. I’ve always believed that I came into this world broke and bare-assed and will surely go out the same way. To the best of my knowledge, they don’t put pockets in coffins. When my life force enters the next phase I’d like it to do so proudly and with a clear conscience.
Too damned bad we’ll never have a chance to sit down and shoot the shit. I could get you laughing, crying and cursing all at once.


Just one….Watch your ass at all times. The bastards are everywhere. Watch the road and your rear view for cops. Getting stopped could lead to your worst nightmare. In my case they wouldn’t think twice about planting a gun or drugs in my vehicle to facilitate relieving me of my property and possessions. I make it a habit to avoid women and children since they could easily trump up charges of assault or molestation. I speak to nobody in the interests of concealing the fact that “I’m not from here”. Most communication is accomplished via hand gestures and vague grunts.
As far as close calls go, I consider every trip outside my domain to be a close call. Around the property I am forever vigilant and carry a weapon at all times. On several occasions, customers have entered the shop, noted my accent and immediately launched into diatribes against “people from the north”. Their attitudes immediately put me on alert. Remarks like, “We wup Yankee ass” and “I hate Yankees” are commonplace and uttered with impunity even though it’s doubtful that the speaker has ever ventured very far from town limits. Their collective attitudes are very belligerent and they seem to be running on an overdose of testosterone as is typical of ignorant people.
A word of thanks and encouragement to readers that have responded to my articles on Freemasonry:
If my experience with the Freemasons has bolstered your suspicions or served to enlighten you in any way I feel as though I’ve done something worthwhile.
Caution Vs. Paranoia in dealing with the Masons
When you get the primal feeling that “something isn’t quite right” with any given situation, there’s usually a very good reason for it. Unless you have tendencies bordering on complete paranoia, your basic instincts will never let you down.
Don’t ignore them. Use them as a tool for sorting and cataloging all the input you receive during these encounters.
Education is the key
Lots of information about the Masons is available on the web and in countless publications. A few hours spent reviewing the basics could save you time and money, not to mention heartache, in the future.
Knowing what to look for and how to identify a Mason would be a good place to start. “An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure.” Since Masons are basically “gang-bangers”, their own subtle form of graffiti is used to readily identify their territory. It’s very common to find the “square and compass” symbol along with others, at the entrance to many towns. In one case, I passed a billboard along a major interstate announcing that the traveler was now entering “their turf”.
Here’s a link to one of the better sites I’ve found on the subject of Masonic symbology.


Dealing with it
How you deal with a Masonic presence depends in large measure on the size and proportions of the presence itself.
Areas under Masonic control are best avoided. If you’re considering relocation, take the time to thoroughly investigate that area first and get a “feel” for it. Talk with people and observe their reactions. Note how many vehicles have Masonic symbols affixed to bumpers, windows and rear areas. Locate any Lodges that might be in the town and also note how many others exist in surrounding communities. Above all, learn to apply the knowledge you glean about the Masons and share it freely with your non-Masonic associates.
Be aware that you are dealing with a criminal mentality. Regardless of social standing or their place in the community, Freemasons are basically “gang- bangers”. Everything you say can and will be used against you if it’s in the interests of the Freemasonic cause and the gain of those at the top of their local organization. Keep this in mind if you happen to find yourself “passing the time of day” with someone you’re not sure of.


What next?
The strength of this evil cabal lies in the fact that they are hiding in plain sight. Exposing them to the world would be like turning on a light in a room full of cockroaches.
This is exactly what happened in the Northeast during the mid-1820’s forcing the Masons to lower their profile and bringing about the anti-Masonic Movement.
In some circles, this was called the Masonic War and was marked by the lynching of Masons and the destruction of their lodges.
In today’s political world, the Mason’s are definitely making a comeback.
Photographers covering political events frequently catch politicians, heads of state and other officials exchanging Masonic signs and handshakes. Even the Pope, scion of the Catholic Church, has been caught in the act.
Perhaps now would be a good time to revive the anti-Masonic sentiments that culminated in the events of the mid-1820’s. Educating your young and spreading the word about this insidious force dwelling among us would be a good place to start. Where you take it from there is up to you.
Original Post

3 responses

  1. Kittii

    WoW! I’ve already posted a lot on this subject on this blog. He says it all!!

    March 12, 2015 at 9:47 AM

  2. Pingback: #ChildAbuse by design: to serve and protect Lucifer (Vatican) and Satan (Masons) | 'Whistleblower Kids' in the Court of Public Interest

  3. Pingback: Trump’s Nuclear Inauguration And Civil War Plan | John Kimber

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