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THE ENEMY WITHINSAVING AMERICA FROM THE LIBERAL ASSAULT ON OUR SCHOOLS, FAITH, AND MILITARY
By MICHAEL SAVAGE
NELSON CURRENTCopyright © 2007 Michael Savage
All right reserved.
Chapter OneFREEDOM: THE SAVAGE AMERICA
A near-death experience taught me one of the most important lessons of my life. I was seventeen years old and working as a busboy in the Catskill Mountains in upstate New York. One afternoon my friend Harry suggested we take a break and drive around the narrow mountain roads for an hour or so to relax before serving the hotel guests another meal.
His car, his idea. Off we went.
At one point Harry started speeding, like kids will do, down a steep, two-lane stretch of mountain blacktop. On our right, the jagged rocks threatened to puncture the car like a giant can opener. On the left, just to the other side of the oncoming traffic, was a cliff falling about a hundred feet into a dark, cold river.
I'll never forget it. I started to yell at him, "Harry, you're going too fast." That's when I saw his eyes. He was crazy. He went completely insane. His hands gripped the wheel so hard his knuckles turned white.
Me? I'm thinking maybe Harry's never been down this road before. Maybe he's clueless about joyriding on the edge of a mountain. Could be he was drunk or a suicidal maniac. Whatever the reason for his maniacal behavior, I figured we were both dead.
I shouted again, "Slow down, idiot!"
In that moment, looking at his glazed-over, dilated eyes, he looked like a deranged psycho. This half-wit wouldn't hit the brakes. He sped down the hill while I'm screaming, "Stop the car ... Stop the car!"
The idiot lost control.
Have you ever been in an out-of-control car? Even for a few seconds on the ice? It's a terrifying experience. Back then, unlike today, cars didn't have airbags. Only a few models had seatbelts. We had neither.
We were crash test dummies without a prayer.
No matter what Harry did with the wheel, it was too late. We careened out of control. Like a pinball, we first slammed into the side of the mountain. A split second later we shot across the road and flipped over. That's when my head smacked the dashboard with a boom.
It's a miracle I'm alive.
There's a lesson about the future of America in that story. America is the car. Whoever is in the driver's seat determines whether we as a nation will crash and burn or survive and hand the keys to the next generation. You better read that again.
It all boils down to the heart and soul of the driver.
Does the driver respect the laws of the land? Or does he take the law into his own hands to do as he pleases? Will the driver exercise some modicum of common sense? Or will he disregard the warning signs that clearly show desperate corrective measures are needed? Will he preserve what was passed down to him? Or will he selfishly squander what he inherited?
Today, the liberals have seized the wheel.
They're speeding down the pathway of good intentions. Their mantra: Celebrate perversity, embrace ultra-tolerance, pay rape-a-nations (so-called reparations), support affirmative racism, provide government subsidies for every illegal who sneaks across the border, and do so through the judges if they can't win at the ballot box.
In their haste to push failed socialist ideals, the libs have placed us on a crash course of total destruction.
But some people can't see that, can they? They're sitting in the backseat with headphones on, or watching TV, or hooked on the Internet. I say it's time to sit up, wake up, and take notice while there's still time to apply the brakes.
America is headed for a fatal social crash.
Am I overstating the danger here?
With these sanctimonious zealots driving public policy, the homeless are the sacred cows of the streets. The sexual perverts are the teachers' pets. The lawyers twist the system in favor of the criminal class. The churches are silenced while the courts legislate immorality. And patriots and police are censored while dung-slingers are subsidized.
These diehard, irreligious lefties are also the driving force in re-education. The professors at the institutes of lower-living shove failed Marxist ideology down our children's throats. Students are required to open up and just say "Ahhh"-if, that is, they want a passing grade. And, if the extremist National Education Association has its way, children as young as first grade will undergo homosexuality sensitivity indoctrination.
I can't speak for you, but I'm not going to watch TV while the leftists drive America over the cliff. I've already been down that road. What's beyond me is how anyone can sit by while America is being overrun. My love for America and my fears for my children and for my future grandchildren compel me to speak out.
To name names.
To call it as I see it.
You see, the Enemy Within is an octopus. In its mind is liberalism, and its eight tentacles are strangling the government, the church, the courts, the schools, the media, the military, the police, and health care. You might say this book is a call to awaken-it's time we break the death grip that liberalism has on these institutions of American life.
After all, as I pointed out in my national bestseller The Savage Nation, extreme liberalism is a mental disease. It is a destructive contagion more deadly than any force this country has ever faced. As you will find later in these pages, it is also a canker sore that seeks to silence anyone who dares to speak the truth. It is a sickness that would have us dismantle our borders, language, and culture.
Did you get that?
Modern distorted liberalism is the Enemy Within.
I PLEDGE ALLEGIANCE
I don't want my children's children to inherit a broken nation. I don't want my grandchildren to inherit a land whose people fled tyranny only to bring tyranny here. Everything so many backward migrants run from they bring with them.
Their religious extremism.
America wasn't built on those values. She was built on the backs of immigrants who knew how to work, not how to work the system. On immigrants who learned the language, not corrupted it. They embraced a hard work ethic.
A love for God.
A desire to build, not tear down.
By the way, why do we have so many negativist immigrants today? Nobody screened them under Bill Clinton, that's why. For eight dark years the Demoncats handed the keys to the country to any and all. Clinton, the most scandalous president in our history, let the dregs of humanity invade America. It wasn't "give us your tired and your poor." No, under Clinton it was "give us your loafers and your free-loaders."
Do I suffer from xenophobia?
Not in the least. I'm the son of an immigrant. But there's a right way and a wrong way to handle immigration. What happened to the days when people coming to this sacred soil pledged to make "America first"? What happened to working toward a common good, not a common handout?
Unless the conservatives who hear my voice grab the wheel and put a stop to this twisted joyride, your grandchildren will not inherit the paradise you inherited. A paradise, I might add, that was secured by the blood of Eddie. Eddie, lest you forget, a soldier who is lying in a shallow grave buried all over Europe, paid for your freedom.
What are you going to do with the legacy handed to you by Eddie, who bled to death on Omaha Beach ... in the skies of Europe ... who died all across the chain of islands in the South Pacific ... who risked his life and lost it. Will you preserve it, cherish it, and pass it on to your children's children? Or will you, in good left-wing fashion, snub your nose at Eddie's sacrifice because he wasn't culturally diverse?
I ask you, why did honorable men and women like Eddie, serving in our military, sacrifice their lives?
So you could suck white powder up your nose?
So you could molest the Boy Scouts?
So you could ogle porn?
So you could tax the tax on my last dollar to pay for some socialist government program? That's the position of the Red Diaper Doper Babies.
Where has six decades of radical, mad-dog liberalism brought us? I'll tell you where: America is teetering on the cliffs of insanity. Lady Liberty is about to have a mental breakdown if it gets any worse, and the leftists will be the ones with the padlock on the straitjacket. Need proof? In this book, you'll see what rotten fruit liberalism has produced:
The YWCA hires Patricia Ireland, a bisexual, pro-abortion feminist, to head the 145-year-old Christian-based young girls association.
The United Way de-funded more than fifty Boy Scouts of America chapters over the Scouts' refusal to offer special homosexual counseling for gay youth.
A Princeton University professor advocates the murder of disabled babies for up to several weeks after they have been born.
The "Founding Fathers" are out. The "Framers" are in. The feminists say this new generic label in textbooks will be less sexist and more tolerant.
Leading psychiatric groups such as the American Psychiatric Association are contemplating the normalization of pedophilia-sex with children.
An appellate court rules recitation of the Pledge of Allegiance by students is unconstitutional. The inclusion of "under God" is offensive to atheists.
Members of the ultra-left-wing activist organization, MoveOn, are now planted in the newsrooms of ABC, NBC, MSNBC, CNN, and CNBC to manipulate news coverage.
Affirmative racism and sodomy are normalized by a radical Supreme Court.
That's just for starters.
As you read these words, a flood of human contraband is gushing over our southern states. Some are hidden in the back of trucks. Others waltz across the two thousand miles of mostly unpatrolled borders. Has the government stopped this invasion?
Not even in the wake of 9/11.
Instead, the liberal socialists, who believe in open borders, are pressuring the Immigration and Naturalization Service to place water stations in the desert. Why? So lawbreaking migrants sneaking their way into this great land can have a Coke and a smile.
More than ever, we have to be vigilant. We must remain alert and aware of the people and institutions that encroach on the values we hold dear as Americans. I'm not just speaking of the terrorists in dirty nightshirts who will use any means to attack us.
No. We must fight for our freedom on many fronts, including on our own soil, within our own government, within our educational system, within our courts, and especially within the media.
Whether you know it or not, we have a lot of internal enemies in this country. They hate our freedoms. Some of them are representatives, some of them are lawyers, some of them are state senators, some of them are mayors, some of them are just plain psychotic street thugs, but we have plenty of homegrown haters of America.
For instance, just as the Founding Fathers sought independence from British tyranny, today you and I must seek independence from the judicial tyranny of the Supreme Court. The Stench from the Bench has stepped in it once again with its endorsement of moral degradation which, as you'll see in a later chapter, was a complete reversal of what they ruled just seventeen years ago.
Yes, there is much to do-or undo as the case may be. But, as John Adams said so well, "Liberty, once lost, is lost forever." That is why I, Michael Savage, refuse to toss in the towel. Not now. Not ever.
Not on my watch.
DEAD MAN'S PANTS
Growing up in the Bronx, as I did, the man-child in the Promised Land, I didn't have many of the luxuries most kids with their hat on backwards take for granted today. My father was a first-generation immigrant. He worked his fingers to the bone. We simply didn't have the money to afford more than the basics. So, as you might expect, I cherished and took care of the things I had.
As a kid, I'd line up my shoes under my bed at night, neat, like in the military. I made sure they were polished, too. I'm sure some shrink today would say I suffered from ADD or some obsessive-compulsive disorder and should have been put on an immediate regimen of Ritalin.
I wonder what a shrink would say about the fact that through most of my youth I wore secondhand pants from dead men. I'm absolutely serious. Many of the pants I wore as a preteen came off of stiffs and were cut down to fit me.
Don't get me wrong. My father was a good man. He ran a small antique store with mostly nineteenth century stuff. On the side, at least in the beginning, he sold used goods as well. A man's got to do what a man's got to do to make ends meet, right?
Occasionally, he would go to an auction where a man had died and buy the entire estate. The clocks, the dishes, the mirrors, whatever the man had. The pants. The shirts. The whole deal. You get the picture.
Back at the store, as he sorted the stuff for resale, my father would take a closer look at the suit. Once he got a Hart Schaffner & Marx suit from a dead man. Now, what's he going to do? Toss it in the garbage like they do today? In those days, it wasn't in him to throw out a good worsted fabric. Instead, he brought home the pants to me.
I remember my father showing them to me like the head tailor at Nordstrom's department store. He'd say, "Now, Michael, get a good look at the fabric." I wanted to vomit. I got a migraine because I knew what was coming.
"Take a look at the quality of this fabric." He's working me like a salesman. He's unrolling the pants on the bed. I can see it to this day. He unrolls them like he's selling me a bolt of hand-woven cloth. He would say, "You can't get fabric like this just anywhere."
I wanted to say, "Of course not, Dad. They only sell stuff like that for men who died." You know, it was like special clothing for the undertaker.
Even if I had said something, that wouldn't have changed one thing. He'd go downtown, and the pants would come back fit for me, you know, without the legs taken in properly. They ended up baggy like a pair of Charlie Chaplin's pants. Even if they had fit me properly, there was something repugnant about the whole idea.
Here's the connection.
Today, almost daily, the leftists from both political parties come into our homes peddling some new entitlement program or some new right or a new educational initiative. As they roll out their One World, socialist ideals that went out of fashion decades ago, we feel nauseated. Why? These posers are offering us nothing more than dead man's pants-ideas history has demonstrated don't work.
Socially dangerous ideas.
Ideas that should have been buried long ago.
Or, in fact, were.
The next time a Democrat proposes an expansion of government-funded health insurance for all lower and middle income families ... think Dead Man's Pants.
When Tom Daschle blasts a tax cut as a means to boost the economy while proposing to provide non-working persons health-care benefits ... think Dead Man's Pants.
When the Rev. Jesse Hi-Jackson spouts off about the U.S.'s obligation to invest in Africa's development ... think Dead Man's Pants.
When the National Education Association pushes "school-based support groups" for gay and lesbian students ... think Dead Man's Pants.
When Congresswoman Nancy Pelosi advocates providing government-funded health-care coverage for every child in America ... think Dead Man's Pants.
Excerpted from THE ENEMY WITHIN by MICHAEL SAVAGE Copyright © 2007 by Michael Savage. Excerpted by permission.
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