No Super Bowl For Me.

People find it strange that I am not watching the Super Bowl, and even stranger that I don't know which teams are playing in it each year. Let me first point out that as a sport I love football. I played for several years and loved knowing that on Friday night I was not only going to be allowed to "hit" someone on school grounds, but was expected to. I get excited at the thought of my team fighting and battling to move that ball the last yard to the goal line or the first down marker, to stay alive for one more series. I love it because I have been there, but I don't like Pro football. Yes, I will sit and watch college games, I will sit and watch high school games, I will even go to the park on a Saturday afternoon and watch a 12 year game, but I won't watch the "pros" play a single down. I'm not prejudiced against football, I won't watch any pro sport, except rodeo.

The simple reason I don't watch sports at the professional level is I don't care to watch men be paid just because they are on a team. We sat and watched as the "Occupy Wall Street" movement tried to take hold on this country and some of us felt sorry for them, after all we as a country has raised our children to receive their rewards just because they were on the team. It was said during the movement that "We can't expect them to want everything handed to them, since they were taught they were no winners or losers in everything they attempted growing up."

We as a Country looked down on them because they didn't know how to go out and work hard, and earn what they wanted. We let them grow up thinking that if they went to college they would be "set" for life, that was all they would have to do is to get in college and get the degree. Why did we look down on them, when that is exactly how we treat our athletes? 

All across the country kids are growing in their sport with the idea that all they have to do is make it to the next level. The recreation departments across the country are filled with kids that will tell you, to be successful all they have to do is make the high school team, then make a college team, then make the draft, then make the money. They know if they ever make the draft that they will be handed a paycheck every payday, weather they step foot on the field or not.

I love to watch sports, but I don't like spending my time watching a player who is looking to his payday, or his next contract negotiations. That is the reason I don't watch the Super Bowl, or the World Series or any of it. I don't watch pro sports at all... well almost none of them. I said earlier I do watch Pro Rodeo.

The reason is simple, if you go to your local pro rodeo or turn on your t.v. and watch it, you will notice one thing not all of the competitors make their ride. Not every rough stock rider will ride, some will get bucked off. Not every timed event rider will make a clean run with out a penalty, they may break the barrier or knock a barrel over. Those riders are going to go home with out a paycheck. On a bad week they may compete several times and not win one single dime.

You may also see a rider make the ride of his life and finish in 6th place, and not get paid if they pay out to 5 places at that rodeo. Growing up I loved the Atlanta Braves, even though they stunk. I had a good record with them, they won every game I went to for years. I was a fan during the Dale Murphy/ Bob Horner years. I used to sit and the stands excited to see that number 3 come to the plate, was Murph' going to go deep? Was he going to bounce one off of Chief Knockahoma's teepee? As a youngster Murphy lived up to our expectations, he played. Bob Horner on the hand always seemed to disappoint us. We would get to the game and find that he had hurt a finger again and would be riding the pine one more time. I always knew I was tougher than he was since I could still play when my finger hurt. My point is as you are watching a rodeo have you ever noticed the guys that can't seem to walk, or that or wearing a cast or taped up climb onto the back of a bull?

The reason he "plays" hurt is because he knows there was no team bus or chartered plane to get him there and back home. The money spent to get to the show came out of his families' money, and if he doesn't ride and WIN he won't be getting a paycheck. How would you like to go to work and only get paid if you are the one that is the best? That is how it is every week with a rodeo cowboy.

If they started only paying the teams that win then sports in America would be something to watch.

   

Wake up call.

Dear Ms. Feinstein,
Instead of wasting my tax money trying to steal my guns from me, why don't you use your power to arrest Erick Holder for the murders that were committed with the illegal guns he gave to the Mexican drug lords (remember one of those murders were one of OUR border patrol agents). You can also prosecute Hillary Clinton for the murders and cover ups that cost us the lives of 4 American citizens. You can also arrest Barrack Obama for his part in both of these tragedies, and for his efforts in covering up all of these murders. When you get these criminals in their jail cells please join them, since many Americans have died from not being able to protect themselves because you banned their guns.
In closing, I will not tell you, that you can have my guns when you take them away from the criminals. I will tell you that you may never have any of my guns, PERIOD. If you do not understand why, please find a dictionary and have someone read to you what the phrase "SHALL NOT BE INFRINGED" means.
Thank you,
American Citizen, Modern Patriot, and VOTER.

Hairspray, lipstick, and a heater.

Recently, a mother in Loganville, GA made the local news by shooting an intruder in her home. She was home with her two children when a man came to her door. She hid in a closet with her children and called for help as the intruder broke into her house, when he opened the door to the closet where she was hiding with her children, he was introduced to her muzzle. In other words when he opened the door, she opened fire.

I paid close attention to this story because it happened not far from where I grew up. It happened near several friends’ homes, a relative was one of the first responders that were called to the scene, and I am always happy when I hear about a homeowner defending themselves against crime.

The night of the shooting, I was asked via Facebook by some friends about buying their first gun. Let me first point out that I am not an expert in guns, but I have worked for several gun retailers as a salesman. During that time I was blessed to learn from a lot of other salesmen about the guns that I wasn't as familiar with. I also had the privilege to help several woman and first time gun buyers choose their first gun. I decided to use this post to share what I told those ladies with the hopes I might to be able to help someone else.

The first piece of advice I always give is to go to a gun shop that does not pay a commission to the salesmen. I'm not saying a salesman that is getting a commission is going to give bad advice, but when the amount of money that is spent affects his paycheck, he may direct you to a higher priced gun.

The next thing you need to do is sit and talk with your husband. Talk to him about your decision to own a gun, but also talk to him about the buying of a gun. Ask him to come to the store with you, but to let the salesman do his job and sell you a gun. I don't know how many times I have had a husband come in with his wife and tell me she wanted a Glock, or Ruger SR9 or another pistol by name, and when I hand the gun to his wife she couldn't even operate it. A semi-automatic pistol takes a little more strength to load than most women will exert on a gun when they are first learning how to shoot.

The salesman is there to do just that, sell you your gun not the gun your husband thinks you should have. Just like every gun salesman in the country, I had an exact set of questions that I would ask the wife. I would ask them in a way that kept her husband from answering them. The questions were a system to learn how much experience she had in shooting, how nervous she was about shooting and carry a gun. When I was finished I could usually pull a gun out of the display case and she would love it. I found that too many times husbands thought they were married to Lara Croft or the female version of John Rambo and in doing so would almost always try to arm their wives with a gun that was too powerful or just too big for them to handle. As a salesman, my biggest fear would to be to allow a husband to talk his wife into a gun that wasn't right for her, and then hearing her name on a news report from not be able to defend herself, because she owned the wrong gun.

I would like to take just a few minutes and give you some tips on how to find the best gun for yourself. First thing, call the gun stores you are interested in shopping at and find out what is their SLOWEST time frame of the week. You never want to shop for a gun that you have several questions about during the busy times of the week. When you know the time their business should be slow, the salesman will be able to spend more time with you and learn what he needs to know to direct you to your gun.

Learn the difference between a revolver and a pistol. I am not going to get technical with this post, because I want you to keep reading but I do have to explain a few things about guns along the way. A revolver is a gun that has a cylinder, that holds the cartridges (it looks like the guns you see on westerns and old police shows). A pistol is the gun that has a flat top, and a magazine holds the cartridges. Not a clip, it drives me crazy to hear politicians, including the President and reporters that don't have a clue what they are talking about; call it a clip.

With a revolver, to load it you open the cylinder put the cartridges into the holes and close the cylinder. That's it you are done. To shoot it you simply cock the hammer and pull the trigger. If the gun misfires (a bad cartridge) all you do is cock the hammer again and you are ready to shoot again.

With a pistol, to load it you remove the magazine and load the cartridges into it. You then load the magazine into the gun, and pull the slide all the way back and let it go. If you have a misfire with a pistol you have to check that the magazine is fully seated, then rack the slide to reload a new cartridge. If you spend enough time shooting and are very familiar with your gun, you can clear a misfire very quickly. That is important if you are trying to defend yourself.

Once you have decided between a revolver and pistol, it is time to decide on the size. You have a choice in handguns from compacts to full size guns. The size will affect everything from how the gun fits your hand, and how easy or hard it is to conceal; to the accuracy and power of the bullet. A good salesman will take the time to show and teach you the pros and cons of each frame size.

When it comes to guns, bigger is not always better. A small caliber handgun with good quality ammunition in your purse or holster is far better than a large caliber handgun that is left at home because you are afraid of it, or it is too heavy for you to carry every day. I bought my wife a .22 caliber pistol and I ended up carrying it most of the time because it was so easy to carry. My point is don't think you have to carry the same caliber gun that your husband does. If you cannot control the gun it will not do its job. A self defense gun is to defend yourself with, that means you have to be able to put a bullet into an attacker. The biggest bullet in the world is worthless if it doesn't hit the target. After I found the type of gun and frame size that was best for the woman, I started zeroing in her best caliber. My rule of thumb I use is, carry the most powerful caliber that you can handle and are comfortable with. I used to sell a lot of .357 magnums to women, because they could load it with a .38 special and still have a .357 when they became comfortable with shooting or if they were heading into the back country where the larger round could be needed for dangerous animals

The last piece of advice I would always give if they hadn't shot very many types of guns is I would tell them to go to a local range that rented guns. That way she would have each type of gun that she was interested in to test drive. I would also tell them to talk to the salesman at the range, and visit at least one other store so they could compare what I had told them to what she would be told by the other salesman. My managers didn't like that last one very much until they figured out that sending them for a second opinion, they trusted me more and would come back and make the purchase.

I hope I have helped you, if you have ever had any questions about buying a gun. It is a big decision to carry a gun, but your life or the lives of your children may depend on it one day so I believe it is important to help as many people as I can.

Never forget though, that buying a gun for self defense and leaving it at home, is like waiting until you get into a wreck to put your seat belt on.

Waylon and Willie Were Wrong

I am sitting here tonight and "surfing the web". I have Pandora opened in another tab and the song "Mamas Don't Let Your Babies Grow Up to Be Cowboys" by Waylon Jennings and Willie Nelson came on. I did something that I hadn't done in a long time, I stopped and LISTENED to the words. After that song went off a song by Chris LeDoux came on, and the only thing I could think was Waylon and Willie are wrong.

Let me clarify one thing, the man that Waylon and Willie is singing about is not a cowboy. He is at best the character from that horrible movie from the 80's, Urban Cowboy. Any mother would be proud to have her son grow up to be a cowboy.

I will be the first to admit and I may be a little bias on the subject though. Although I never actually worked on a large beef ranch, I was blessed enough to grow up and fulfill a dream I had since my first trip to a professional rodeo; I was a bull rider.

I have asked several bull riders the same question, I have been asked 100's of times "What would make you want to ride a bull?" It is funny that we all seem to give the same answer. "I don't know, I just had to ride after I saw it." For some reason none of us could ever put the "need" to ride into words, but it always went back to when we saw our first rodeo.

I was 12 years old, and my parents owned a camper that was built into a cabin in the mountains of North Georgia. One weekend while we were at the camper, my Uncle asked me if I was going to the rodeo in the campground, about 2 miles down the hill from us? I told him I didn't know, and he gave me $2.00 and told me to go watch it for him since he had to go town. When it got close to the time for the rodeo to start I climbed on my bike and started down "bobsled course" (the grown ups called a road, but it was like a bobsled course on my bike) that led to the campground.

I paid my money to get in the gate, bought some popcorn and a coke then found a seat on the bottom of the bleachers. I watched the grand entry to start the rodeo, and laughed when the clown made his appearance. Then I turned my attention to the bucking chutes as a bareback bronc exploded out of a whirlwind of dust and launched himself toward the sun, with a man that looked more like a rag doll than a man tied to his back. The bronc bucked and kicked and made a lap around the arena, everybody stood and cheered as the whistle blew and the pick up men moved in to the rescue. I didn't stand and cheer, I just sat there and watched. After several more bronc riders made their try at the prize money, we were told the action was going to move to the other end of the arena, it was time for the bull dogging. I watched with my little 12 year old eye glued to the sight of that Quarter horse screaming out of that box after that big ole' steer. For a split second I forgot I was at a rodeo and thought I was at a drag race. Before I could blink that cowboy somehow slid from the saddle onto that running steer, stopped and threw him before I catch my breath.

Event after event, roping and riding, the clown blowing things up and telling jokes, and I was sitting there still holding my popcorn. I couldn't think about eating or drinking, I couldn't look away from the dusty arena, I had to force myself to blink because I was afraid I was going to miss something.

Then it happened; it was time for the bull riding.

The music got louder and the crowd started going crazy. The clown rolled a big barrel into the arena and two other men came in behind him, they were dressed the same but these two were no clowns. They were the bull fighters. I looked back to the bucking chutes and saw horns and humps above the gates, cowboys climbing down behind those humps and started putting ropes on them. The announcer was explaining the event, the clown was dancing on the barrel, the crowd was standing and cheering, and I was frozen in time. I couldn't take my eyes off of those horns, I couldn't breath, I couldn't hear, I couldn't wait until that gate was opened.

After what seemed like an eternity, the gate finally opened and the biggest meanest looking creature I had ever laid my young eyes on blew out of the chute like he was sitting on a stick of dynamite. The bull jumped and kicked and spun his way to the middle of the arena, he was going at the speed of light and in super slow motion all at once. It was the loudest mixture of noise I had ever heard and it was as quite as a newborn baby's nursery all at the same time. The ride lasted for 8 seconds, but it took 8 years to watch. I was breathing faster than I had ever breathed in my life, but I also couldn't breath. Then in a flash, the rider hit the ground on his back and the bull landed in his chest.

He laid there and never moved, his left arm was pointing to Heaven and as stiff as a 2x4. It scared me to death, but I knew I had to try to ride him. I can't explain what I was feeling that day, I was sitting on that metal bleacher, shaking, and not knowing if I was shaking from the fear I felt or the uncontrollable desire I had to ride that bull.

After nine years of thinking about that rodeo, and wanting to ride bulls, I was able to get on my first one. I was never too good at riding, spent more money trying to ride then I could have ever made. Received injuries that still plague me 20 years later, and the only regret I can think of is I wish I could have ridden one more.

You see that man that Willie and Waylon sang about, wasn't a cowboy. In the song they don't tell of the qualities that a cowboy possesses. I can't imagine the man in the song having a dream and working to achieve that dream. I can't see him driving all night after a rodeo to get back to work on time to earn enough money to go again that night. You see Professional Rodeo is the only Professional Sport I will even watch, or follow. I understand the riders, I know what they have gone through just to get to the rodeo and I understand they don't get paid unless they win.

When you are a Rodeo Cowboy, you "play" hurt, you pay your own way, and you don't get paid for just showing up. It's not enough to make your ride, you have to earn your money or go home empty handed.

I look back over the past 20 years in rodeo, both as a rider and photographer and I think about everything that I have experienced. I have made many friends, and saw many of them injured and some die. I've seen a lot of the country, but mostly in the middle of the night and at 70 mph, trying to get back home or to another town for another rodeo. I've been beat, hooked, stepped on, kicked and ran over. I had my life changed at a bull riding, when I accepted Jesus Christ as my Saviour. I have pulled my son's bull rope on several rides of his own, knowing the whole time that he couldn't explain why he wants to ride and being heartbroken because I know one day his only regret will be wishing he could ride just one more too.

I have given a lot to rodeo, and rodeo has taken a lot from me, but I still don't know of a Mother that wouldn't be proud to have a cowboy as a son.

                   
                                    

Three things every boy needs

You don't have to spend much time around me to know that I can not stand how we as a country are raising our boys. We are losing real men in our society, because we have raised our boys to be soft. We won't even let our son's get hurt anymore. Don't get me wrong I don't want to see my son or anyone else be injured, but that isn't the same as getting hurt. There is nothing wrong with a young boy learning how to deal with a bully, I know I will get all kinds of comments about how bullies are bad. I guess I am out of my time then, because when I was younger dealing with a bully was just a lesson you learned on your road to being a man. A boy would learn that when he made a stand against a bully, the bully would back down, but sometimes you had to prove yourself to him and you did that by defending yourself. If you don't believe what I am saying, just watch the news tonight and see how many "men" will not stand their ground on anything. (Congress is a good place to start) The bully is just like the game of football. A coach I had in high school would say "Football is a great way to learn about life, it is the only game that you know you are going to be knocked down in, and know you will have to get back up and keep going."

There are three things every boy needs so he can grow into a man.

The first thing is he needs a dog. Any breed of dog will work, but a hunting dog is best. I always loved in the book Where the Red Fern Grows, when Billy Coleman was dieing to have his own hunting dog and his Daddy told  him they couldn't afford hunting dogs, but a nearby family's collie had just had pups and they may be able to get one of them. Billy answered and said "I don't want no old collie dog, I want HOUNDS!" A boy will learn from a pet, but he will learn more from a hunting dog. I know you are sitting there asking yourself, "What in the world can a boy learn from a dog?"

Well I'm glad you asked, first thing is he learns is how to love something. That little puppy will steal his heart and at the same will teach your son how to love on the same level that you love him. I can't stand when an adult says their dog is like a part of the family, but I love to see a boy have that connection with his pup. That little pup will look to your son for everything, from his food, water, shelter to his education. When ever I see a man that acts like he can't take care of his children it makes me want to slap him upside of the head. You see as your son learns to take care of dog, he will be laying the foundation to know how to take care of his own children someday. There is nothing that will make a young boy (or full grown man) swell with pride, and nearly bust at the seams then seeing his dog do what he trained him to do. It takes several months to years to "finish" a hunting dog, and when you see your pup that you spent all of that time working with, doing what he was trained to do, and putting every ounce of heart he has into the chase... well I don't have the vocabulary to put that feeling into words, but you will know it when you see it in your son's eyes.

Yes, that little dog will teach your son love, patience, wisdom and discipline. All of which are stepping stones to being a man.

The second thing he needs is a gun. He needs his own gun for one lesson that he will need for the rest of his life. That lesson is how to handle power. There is nothing on Earth, except the Word of God that puts more power into a person's hands then a gun. The ability to handle power is an ability that is lost on the men of our day, from Washington and Wall St. all the way down to Main St., we have millions of people that can not handle power of any amount. I have sold thousands of guns over the years while working at different gun shops and one piece of advice I always gave was to let your kids shoot cans of Coke, and different targets that will explode. I used to tell parents it was fun for them to make the mess, but they were able to see what a bullet did when it hit something. Shooting paper only makes a clean hole, and a young boy doesn't see the power he is in control of.

The gun's next lesson is the 3 P's. It has the power to protect, provide, and preserve. The gun will teach your son ability to protect, because one day Mama, Daddy and his teachers aren't going to be there, and it will be him that people are looking to for their protection. It teaches provisions, I always taught my son, that no matter what happens in life if he had his gun, some seeds and some dirt he would not go hungry. One thing I have learned in all of these years with a gun in my hand, is that food is just a trigger pull away. It will also teach him how to preserve, being raised with a gun he will learn the value and importance of our Constitution, and our Bill of Rights. He will learn that the one factor that preserves those pieces of our history and heritage, that makes us Americans is his gun.

The third and most important thing he needs is a Daddy. His Daddy is the glue that binds the lessons he learned from the dog and gun, deep into his soul. His daddy is the most important teaching tool he has in his life. I have heard people talk about their marriage ending, but not the duties of being a father. Well, your first duty as a father is to teach your son how to keep a marriage together, if he doesn't learn from you; you can bet the world won't teach him. On the day I got married, my Daddy gave me $100 and told me to stay married as long as he does. If my wife and I live another 40 years I will succeed in his challenge.

Your son will learn how to handle every lesson in life by observing you, the dog and gun will teach lessons, but you will teach how to handle those lessons. Without you, he will have to turn to the world to be taught how to be a man and all you have to do is turn on the Disney channel to figure out we can not have the world teaching those lessons.

  

I don't want a paperback Bible

The first Christmas after I was called to preach, my wife asked me what I would like for Christmas? I told her I wanted a red Bible. She asked me why would I want a red Bible? I told her that I heard Maze Jackson preaching one time and he was talking about his red Bible, he said that he always used it when he was preaching as a reminder of the blood. When I told my wife that story I thought she would forget about it before she had a chance to go shopping, and even though I really wouldn't have minded having a red Bible I didn't think she would get me one. The way Christmas always worked around our house was I would buy her and my son what they wanted, they would get me a couple of small gifts and if there was something that I really wanted I would just buy it after Christmas.

I soon forgot about the conversation I had with my wife about the Bible. Well Christmas morning finally came and after all of the gifts had been opened, my wife handed one more. I unwrapped a brand new BLACK Old Scolfield study Bible. She started explaining that she had looked everywhere for a red Bible, but couldn't find one. It meant the world to me that she would work so hard to try and find me the perfect Bible. I knew it cost more than I would let her spend on me, so I promised myself I would never write any notes in it, that I would keep it in as good of condition as I could.

I was getting a sermon ready one night and started thinking about how that Bible came to be mine, and I told myself that Maze may have had a red one, but I have a black one that will always remind me that God had given me my perfect help meet, to stand by me in the Ministry.

During a sermon, I was preaching on the value of the Bible, when for some reason I told the story that Maze Jackson had told that night about his red Bible. I don't know why I told it, because it wasn't in my notes and I hadn't even thought of story in years. When I finished the story, I looked out at the crowd and took what the professional speakers would call a dramatic pause. I simply called it trying to figure out how to get back on my subject.

As I was standing there I looked down on the pulpit at that same black Bible my wife had worked so hard to buy for me that Christmas, and I picked it up and walked down off of the platform. I walked all the way up to about the second row of pews and I said "I don't want a red Bible, I don't want a hardback Bible, I don't want a paperback Bible." I said "I want a Bible with a leather cover." Maze Jackson said he wanted a red one to remind him of the blood when he looked at it. I went on to tell the crowd that night, that I wanted a leather Bible so when I held it I could the feel the leather against my hand, I could hear the creak that leather makes as it gets broken in. I want a leather Bible so every time I pick it up I am reminded that an animal had to die so the printer could make the book I was holding. I told that church that night that I wanted to be reminded that an animal had to die to make the cover, of the book that was in my hand so it would always remind me that a Lamb had to be slain to make the book that was in my hand, more than a book.

Whenever I pick my Bible up and I feel that leather in my hand, I am reminded that it isn't just a book to be taken lightly, but it is the Word of God. It is the mind of God. It is the love of God. That leather reminds me when I hold it in my hands, I hold the very breath of God. That leather reminds me when I open it, that I open the mind of God. That leather tells me when I read it, it tells me the price of God's love, it tells me of the death of God's son because of his love for me.

If you like a paperback Bible I don't mind one bit, but please don't take it the wrong way when I say:
                                                 I don't want a paperback Bible.

If I Were the President

 In 1965 national radio commentator Paul Harvey, wrote a piece entitled "If I were the Devil". In the commentary he explained the ways that he (if he was the Devil) would destroy this country. In his wisdom he predicted the state our country would be in today... 48 years later. I have kept that commentary in my mind, since the first time I heard it. I often think back to some of the points he makes in it, when I am preparing a sermon, as a reminder as to the condition our country and world are in. You can hear it for yourself in the video below:



   

I have been thinking about the words that Mr. Harvey spoke so many years ago, and I began pondering the idea "If I were President". I would like to share my thoughts on the subject. 

 

If I were President, the first thing I would do is to have the words "Follow Me" and "We The People" etched into my bathroom mirror. I would do this to be a daily reminder, that as President I don't have all of the answers and I am to allow God to be my guide, and that I don't work for the powerful but am a servant to the citizen. I know if I was ever President that I would not have gotten to that point alone, that God would have had to guide me to the position and the only way I could stay on course would be to make him my constant. Every decision would be made in accordance to His Word. If I were President, I would understand that I am a servant, a protector, a leader I would be a shepherd to the American citizen, not a puppet to the powerful. The two phrases on my mirror would be a constant reminder of my two guides to serve the country; The Bible and The Constitution. 

If I were President, I wouldn't allow people to become over burdened with taxes, so I could repay campaign contributions. I would not force working families to choose between filling their gas tanks and their cabinets while others rape the system for handouts. I would make the so called "safety net" programs, just that; safety nets. If you needed unemployment or food assistance you could get them. You could get them for 6 months and only 6 months, while you work at the chance for the American Dream. That same dream that countless people have risked their lives to get to this country, so they can have a chance at. The chance to work to become successful. I would protect the person that was on hard times by not letting them become a target for the politician that buys votes by promising free benefits. I would  protect them from thinking they are a victim and the "benefits" are there only chance in life. 

 

If I were President, I would take away the myth that we can tax our way to prosperity, by cutting waste in our system. As a southerner I love pork, I love it smoked for hours, pulled and placed on a bun with some spicy BBQ sauce. I do not like it when it fills bills to the point where no one even knows what the original bill was for. Yes, I would be what so many would call a bad President because I would give the rich tax breaks, after all I bet you have never been hired by a poor person for a job. Without all of the wasteful spending we wouldn't need higher taxes, so I could have our Government start to learn an idea that was taught to them by their Grandparents, live on what you make. 

 

If I were President, I would give the House of Representatives one 2 year term in office. The Senate would have one 3 year term, and I as President would have one 4 year term, that way each one of us would go back home and face the people that hired us to go to Washington and do a job for them. I would do that to keep all of the Politicians from getting addicted to the power that fills the air in their offices. 

 

If I were President, I would make jails tough and schools profitable. Children would be taught to be the World leaders that Americans once were, and criminals would be taught to hate their surroundings so when they did pay their debt, they would always stay debt free! 

 

Yes, if I were President I would change a lot of things, because you see when Mr. Harvey tried to warn us of the Devil's intentions in 1965, we didn't listen and if we want our country back we have to change.