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A Prophet Without Honor

By Mark Glenn

. . .If you want to know what’s going on in this country, this is where you’re going to find it,” the man behind a table at a gun show told me. I could see that his table was full of all kinds of material similar to what was on the paper that he had just handed me, as well as many other books and newspapers. I looked over the publications that he was selling, and remember seeing a book entitled Behind Communism, and I made a mental note to come back to that one. The Controversy of Zion was another, which looked to be a little too heavy to digest at that moment. There were newspapers as well — one entitled Criminal Politics — and another that really caught my eye because of its professional-looking appearance. It was very simply named The Spotlight.
. . .I started scouring The Spotlight and realized that a lot of the information dealing with banking, the United Nations, and Israel was very foreign to me; but not so foreign as to be alien. I came across an article about the JFK assassination, which would have been interesting enough all by itself, but it was the name of the writer that caught my eye due to the fact that he proudly included his middle name. This is in a country where people rarely do so. There was no hyphen anywhere separating these names, and for whatever reason this middle name was something that he considered an integral and indivisible part of who he was, and that was how he wanted to be known. What this told me was that his middle name, which he so proudly carried with him, was probably that of someone important in his family, and that he was proud to associate himself with this individual. His name was Michael Collins Piper.

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>>>Besides the fact that he used his middle name, there was something about his first name as well that beckoned me towards his article. Michael was the name of the Archangel whose picture I had always seen as a young boy in church. I had always loved that image of an angel who was wielding a sword, ready to strike downwards with it into his mortal enemy, the devil, who was prostrate beneath the feet of this heavenly warrior — powerless to do anything about it. I had always loved that name and had planned that my first son, if I were blessed enough to have one, would bear that name as well.
. . .Whether the man behind the table knew that I was a big fish or not didn’t matter. I was interested, and he had hooked me. I shoved the wad of money back into my pocket and stood there reading the article about JFK, unaware of those who were milling about around me. If the man at the gun table behind me did or said anything that indicated his disappointment, I didn’t hear it.
. . .The article on JFK resembled a beautiful young woman I had seen in Italian class a few years ago; and like her, I couldn’t take my eyes away. I devoured every word in this article as fast as I could, not thinking of the intellectual indigestion that might result later. I was floored by what Michael Collins Piper was saying: that a foreign government — supposedly an ally of America — was responsible for the murder of our president. He laid it all out very succinctly and professionally, and there was nothing in his presentation that smacked of academic sloppiness. He wasn’t covering UFO’s or Bigfoot or the Loch Ness Monster. His thesis (and the presentation of it) was unlike anything I had ever encountered in my college history courses, regardless of the fact that it was obviously not a mainstream theory. I turned to the man behind the table who had lured me over.
. . .“You mean it was Israel who killed John F. Kennedy?” I asked in shock. He must have been watching me the whole time as I read the article, because his eyes and mine met as soon as I looked up at him. The man’s face was grave as he nodded his head slowly up

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and down a few times without blinking his eyes. “There’s a lot more than that, son,” he added.
. . .I scarfed up as many of The Spotlight newspapers as I could without cleaning him out. I also looked over the books he had for sale, but decided that the newspapers would be enough for now. Although I didn’t realize it at the time, this was one of those lifechanging moments upon which individuals look back and can chart all the secondary effects that follow in its wake.
. . .In The Spotlight I began reading the words of a writer named Michael Collins Piper. Without Mr. Piper realizing it, I would eventually become — over the ensuing years — his understudy, and he would become my mentor. From a distance of many miles, he tutored me as a Jedi master teaches a Padwan learner. While other ‘cutting-edge’ writers were talking about UFOs and the Reptilians, he was methodically and meticulously fleshing out the image of a beast that had taken control of the most powerful nation in the world. Like a special prosecutor, he charted the names, events, dates and peculiarities of the most dangerous criminal conspiracy that has existed in history, and was getting very little recognition for doing so. The rest of the resistance movement was more interested in black helicopters and UN troops who were stationed in the national forests rather than understanding the mechanics of the Zionist agenda. After years of listening to what my grandfather had said, something finally snapped into place and I began understanding it all. This was in no small part due to what I had learned from Michael Collins Piper in a weekly populist newspaper called The Spotlight, later to be replaced by American Free Press.
. . .Without knowing it, Piper had taught me how to read the tea leaves of what was taking place in the political world, and in particular the involvement that this entity known as Zionism played in it. As a result of his analysis, it was as if I had been given special glasses, not unlike the ones needed to watch a 3-D movie; without which the picture remains fuzzy and two-dimensional. By

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now it had been a long time since I graduated from the likes of Rush Limbaugh and G. Gordon Liddy, for the information these men (who had somehow become extremely popular in recent years) were attempting to peddle to the American people was child’s play, comparatively speaking. They were lightweights, and that was putting it as politely as possible, since it became obvious that what they were really doing was protecting the beast by deflecting attention onto other matters.
. . .Finally, the day came for me to put all these years of study to the test. Like any graduate student seeking an advanced degree, a dissertation must be presented to the review board. One does not receive their advanced degree by simply attending classes for many years. He or she must take what has been learned and put it to practical use. I was about to be cut loose from my mentor and sent out to wage war, using the techniques he had taught me, but with my own particular style and flair.
. . .My dissertation began on a date that changed America forever — September 11, 2001 — and whether such a change will be for the better or for the worse remains to be seen. To be honest, I was not as surprised at what happened on that day as was the bulk of America. Like many others who had lived with the knowledge that an evil agenda was clawing its way to the top in this country, I had come to recognize the hand of this agenda in many things … Ruby Ridge, Waco, the World Trade Center bombing in 1993, and the mother of them all up until that point, Oklahoma City.
. . .The fact that I wasn’t surprised didn’t keep me from watching the news coverage which was taking place all day. I had learned from reading Mr. Piper’s works that the agenda can be very sloppy in the immediate aftermath of such operations, and that it was in this early period that the most important information makes its way past the censors. Piper had shown for years in his pieces how, in the early hours following any operation, there remains crucial material in ferreting out the truth of what really

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happened. I learned this lesson after Oklahoma City when reports surfaced in the immediate hours after the explosion that there were multiple bombs still inside the Alfred P. Murrah Building. Yet by day’s end there was no mention of these items, despite the fact that there had been raw video footage seen by millions of people in the opening hours that showed bomb squads gingerly carrying out explosive devices.
. . .On September 11th, I watched with fanatical concentration the initial coverage just to make sure that it wasn’t an accident of some sort. When I heard about a second plane hitting the Trade Towers, I knew that an operation was in full swing. From what I had been reading before and after Bush’s election, everything indicated that America was going to war again in the Middle East, only this time in a much larger fashion than had taken place in the previous decade. I had read newspaper reports of the planned operations that were brewing in Afghanistan two months before 9-11 took place. George Bush Jr., son of the man who in 1991 had first taken America to war for the benefit of the Jewish state, had now (under his father’s direction, no doubt) surrounded himself with people who were all tied to big-time oil interests. He had been given a “thumbs up” from the Israel First Lobby, and had an unprecedented amount of money in his campaign.
. . .What all of this meant was obvious to me: it would only be a matter of minutes before the Zionist-owned media in America was going to blame this on some swarthy, smelly, murderous Muslim organization in order to justify a full-scale war in the Middle East. As it turned out, it only did take minutes.
. . .Within hours of this taking place, my phone was ringing off the wall. All my friends who knew of my Middle Eastern descent wanted to know what I thought of all this. It was a maddening experience, in all honesty. Even the ones who had come to distrust the government/media complex over the last few years still possessed an inclination to ‘run home to momma’ at times such as these and refused to afford any credibility to what I had to say.

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As I explained things such as Zionism and the agenda it possessed to eventually grab up all the land and oil in the Middle East, all I received were uninterested stares and uncomfortable silences. Like the rest of America, they preferred a ‘drive through’ version of the truth that was quickly prepared and easily digested. Besides, Islamic fundamentalism sounded so much more interesting to individuals such as these with their politically uneventful lives. They were, for the most part, conservative Christians who were fed-up with their faith and values being attacked, and therefore vented this pent-up anger at what was at that time a very convenient target, meaning those in the Muslim world. Despite my best apologetics, there was no convincing them of the fact that they were being snookered by the same people who were responsible for dragging Christian culture into the sewer in the first place.
. . .And it was at that moment, in a very small way, that I understood what an exhausting task it was trying to bring truth to a people who did not want to hear it … of trying to make them see an elephant in a room that was impossible to miss, yet which they refused to acknowledge. I was pulling my hair out, and this had only been over the course of a few months. It was then that I came to hold in awe those individuals who had been doing this same thing for years, and yet who kept on going. They were, in the words used by Jesus, the first to stand up against the Jewish supremacist agenda, prophets without honor in their own home; and for me, the one at the top of that list was Michael Collins Piper.
. . .At that moment I recognized my responsibility in this matter, It was to not sit by and watch as these men, the Michael Collins Pipers of the world, do all the work for our benefit. They were the watchmen trying to expose the nature of this beast that threatened to devour us all. Were it not for the fact that they were, literally speaking, risking life, liberty and pursuit of happiness for the rest of us, we would have been mere statistics by now. The

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gangsters whom they were trying to expose were like vampires who feared the light of day more than anything, and in this case the light of day was the truth that men such as Michael Collins Piper was shining on their actions. He and the others like him were not supermen, they could only do so much and could only go so far, and if there weren’t individuals who were willing to take up the torch for them at the end of the day, then the fire was going to die for sure … and it was at this moment that I decided to take up that torch as well.

Mark Glenn
September 11, 2005

. . .Mark Glenn is the author of No Beauty in the Beast: Israel Without Her Mascara


Dirty Secrets