Savababy Obeys Proverbs 31:8!

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SAVE THE BABIES!

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The only objective way to determine your humanity

And Christianity today is whether you are at war.

If you are not opposing abortion on demand in

Some way, you are on the way to damnation

And hell. You can expect to awaken in

Hell ere long, even though you may

Attend church faithfully.

According to The Bible, at

James 1:27, “Pure religion and undefiled before God and the Father is this, To visit the fatherless and widows in their affliction,…”

“To visit” in this context means TO HELP, TO GIVE AID AND COMFORT, TO RESCUE.

Who could dispute this interpretation?

Now consider: A baby that is about to be butchered effectively has no father. If one would dispute this statement, then where is the father in the baby-butchery equation? WHERE IS THE FATHER?

It’s plain that, according to

The Bible:

“Pure religion” is not simply attending church, but

saving babies is purest of the pure.

This is a pro-life organization. My name is B. Lokey. (If you'd like, see end of page for some of my roots and a little more about how and why I am an advocate of babies.) And welcome to my billboard page. At SAVE THE BABIES! we are pro-baby, pro-life, and pro-God. We are also pro-mother, pro-father, pro-America, and pro-everything good and fine. We are full of "pro's," however, we are anti-abortion on demand. "Pro-choice" is a dirty word, because we know what it means. Butchering living human babies makes no sense and it is a crime against humanity. We are against those folks, with all our hearts, minds, bodies and votes. We implore all human beings to oppose them, in whatever manner you are capable, and we do not limit you in any way. Oppose them however and wherever you can, on any front that is open to you. Protecting babies is the priority. Babies cannot protect themselves.

Even homicide is justified when it is necessary to protect human life. Our common law abounds with precedent on this issue. Able would have been justified in slaying Cain to protect himself. Any individual suffering murder at the hands of any other (“other” including government officials who think they are doing the right thing), has the right to take the life of said “other,” if necessary to defend against said murder, even if the “other” is a government official. The helicopter commander that came to the defense of civilians during the My Lai Massacre of the Viet Nam War, aiming his weapons directly at marauding American soldiers, and threatening to fire, would have been justified in killing his own comrades-in-arms to protect innocent civilians from senseless massacre, even if many of the civilians were collaborating with the enemy as the American soldiers believed. Self defense, and the defense of the innocent, has always been a sacred common law right, duty and obligation, not a legal privilege that can be taken away at whim, even through agency of a constitutional anomaly created by the U.S. Supreme Court. This right predates the Magna Carta. Indeed, it dates back to Cain and Able.

We must arrest the baby slaying by the rights, forces and powers vested in us as human beings, because our government has broken down to the extent that it is incapable of protecting all our children. Exploiting the breakdown of our government, the most bestial and depraved among us, baby murderers, with impunity, are violating the laws of the land. We want and need to prosecute everybody involved, from the highest and mightiest and wealthiest of the judges on the U.S. Supreme Court, beginning with the infamous Harry Blackmun, et al., (author of Roe vs. Wade,) all the way down to the janitor that disposes of the murdered little bodies in the garbage or sewage for the few dollars an hour that he or she draws as a wage for committing this ultimate crime. If any defendants are dead at prosecution time, then let their trials be held in absentia, as some Nazi criminals of the Jewish Holocaust, such as Adolph Hitler, were tried at Nuremberg, Germany, after World War II, because they were not available for trial. We want and need them all prosecuted. The most culpable, such as the ringleaders and those actually wielding the knives, must be executed, without regard for their professional positions, age or sex. The others, including conspirators, need to serve long prison terms. They have committed capital offenses, each of them, individually and severally in concert with one another. They have committed mass murder and crimes against humanity. (Click Indictment link at end of page for details.)

While driving down the road I had a fine idea, inspired by a good friend and comrade in struggle against baby murder, Neal Horsley. (More below.) To help wake people up to the evil that is in our midst and eating human babies, I decided to put a huge billboard beside my house that is on a well traveled county road that has been chosen as a shortcut by many motorists between Opp and Elba, Alabama. The above photo shows me examining the final product. The whole thing only cost me about a thousand dollars. It can be done cheaper, but I went deluxe because it is my own personal statement as a good and decent Christian abiding by Proverb 31:8, King James Bible. Because I love babies, and God loves me in exactly the same way, I consider money not to be the most important factor here. With me, butchered babies take precedence over money. I have spent fifteen thousand dollars in the past five months or so toward educating the public about this matter, and more over time. I would not ask anybody to give money or expend any effort if I did not lead the way myself. I am not wealthy in terms of money. I own and operate a big truck.

I set aside a section of my property as a memorial, the "E. Pluribus Unum Memorial," which is what I consider to be the baby's name. I buried three power poles in the ground to support the billboard. As one can see, the billboard explains itself. It is sixteen feet by sixteen feet and stands about twenty feet high. The poster of the baby is four feet by five feet, and protected with l/4" thick plexiglas. The cross is thirteen feet high at the top. It is made of six inch by six inch pressure treated wood, covered very carefully with white painted aluminum. It is bordered with one and one-half inch aluminum angle, all professionally crafted by a local sign company, and printed as shown to demonstrate that this Great Proverb, obligatory on every Christian, has been crucified even as Jesus is, (and crucified by Christians today, the same as Jesus was crucified by his own two thousand years ago.) The tableau, in whole, I am proud and happy to proclaim to the world, demonstrates that I have complied with Proverb 3l:8, King James Bible, at the time and in the cause that compliance is needed the most, more than it has ever been needed at any other time and place in spiritual and world history, including the Jewish exodus from Egypt and Pharaonic law.

Anybody who stops to look closer can pick up one of my pamphlets, Holocaust II, from a mailbox, which will soon be inside an altar in front of the cross.

Eventually, in a cemetery around the cross will be tiny crosses to depict the babies, one cross for every fifty thousand. The Memorial is set on a mound of centipede grass. All the motorists can see it. My billboard is a phenomenon for miles around Opp and Elba, as if it is a rare spectacle to see such graphic individual compliance with God's Word (something that the churches and/or the American press should have done long ago, if they were not both apostate.) It stops traffic. I think that, when a billboard literally stops traffic, this means it is effective. People come from miles around just to see it, as if they are hungry for real knowledge and information about what is happening to babies.

Why does the American press not feed this hunger? The press has a reason for keeping silent. Almost to the last of these scabrous, pus-filled, baby-hating human bumps on logs (or derrieres,) individuals in the press are part of the conspiracy to mass murder human babies. Thank God for the information superhighway (the computer link to the world.) Courtesy of this revolutionary new medium, even a truck driver can speak directly to millions of people today, without incompetent intermediaries in the press to deliberately misquote, mistake, confuse issues, and outright fabricate. Let the press go to Hades, where it belongs, and where its Lord and Master resides. Who needs it, anyway, with its semiliterate phraseology and its nonregenerate, unrepentant, irremediable profligacy and ignorance bred of entirely too much incest over too long a time. The press has done little in my life but harm me and cause me pain and grief and behave otherwise pompously in my direction. Let decent people save babies, and let the press stand aside, so it may continue catering to third graders with its semiliterate phraseology and to buffoons with its ignorance.

I would like to inspire a tradition here. I'd like to see similar billboards displayed around every home that does not hate babies. I travel all over the country in my occupation, and I don't see billboards of this nature. There is a need for some. It is a threshing instrument to separate wheat from chaff. My next door neighbor, whom I previously considered a close friend and neighbor, an avid church attendee and "Bible believer," told me, emphatically, that when I put up my billboard on my property, on that same day he would put up a "FOR SALE" sign on his, which he did. The "friendship" is thus severed, and the chaff falls away. Any who hate the babies, hate me also. This is my testimony to one and all. No quarter is given, and none asked.

The pitiful, horrific, detestable degradation of the baby depicted in my billboard astounds everybody who sees it. At this I marvel. How could it be happening while all but a precious few, including virtually all the churches in the country, watch on complacently, with everything from diffidence to apathy, as cows chewing cuds? What happened to real men? Where have all the fighting men gone? Have we all turned into sissies and cowards? Where are the real men today? Where is the spirit of George Washington? Where is the Spirit of Freedom? Here is where the real men are--they are slashing living babies into pieces at will, and experimenting and operating on babies in vivisection, employing all medical techniques (except anesthesia) to prolong the lives of the babies while removing living parts so that the murdered babies' parts will be more acceptable to the recipients who will pay handsomely for them. The real men are murdering babies today. The real men are "doctors" of abortion, who are not afraid of a nation of sissies, of over-indulged, flatulent, effeminate, would-be men. The real men are five spiritually deranged, flabby, broken down old codgers wearing girdles to hold their guts in and arrest varicose veins from sloughing all over the place, who are so isolated from reality that they lost their sense of humanity and determined for the world in l973 that human babies are garbage to be disposed of at will. These are the real men--God help humanity.

Eventually, I will take photographs of the memorial and show it around the country in an effort to urge others to do the same or similar.

Here, I must commend Neal Horsley as the fine gentleman who put this idea in my mind, after I had read his web page regarding his (and now his and my) Proverbs 31:8 Project, which is an effort to place billboards similar to mine all over the country, telling it like it is in order to wake people up who are unaware, and to show candidly the handiwork of indiscriminate, frivolous baby butchery. We are certain these billboards have the power to stop the holocaust against the babies. Proverb 31:8, King James Bible, makes it clear to every Christian: "Open thy mouth for the dumb in the cause of all such as are appointed to destruction." Do you know any Christians who are not opening their mouths for human babies eaten alive in this cold, heartless warfare against humanity, waged by an intelligence completely alien to the human kind, that has assumed control of five U.S. Supreme Court judges, then the President of the United States and a host of others equally incredibly placed?

If they are not speaking out, are these REAL Christians? It's Judgment Day, folks, and everybody is standing in the dock, even your President. If you are a real Christian, you will open your mouth for these babies in some way. If you do not open your mouth, then you cannot be a Christian, nor are you, but you are a liar and imposter masquerading as a Christian, because you conspire with mass baby murder by your silence. If you are a preacher, then you are a hundred or a thousand times less a Christian for not speaking out. This is why Proverbs such as 31:8 exist, to instruct Christians and would-be Christians on what to do in particular situations, and how to be real, living, breathing Christians. If you don't heed this Proverb at this essential time (when living human babies are routinely processed like cattle, and butchered and slaughtered wholesale by agents of evil, in which, for all we know, many are cooked, served up, and eaten as veal) once it is called to your attention, it matters not what else you do, you are a lost soul. Faith without works is dead, (James 2:20, King James Bible) and this is Judgment Day, l999. How are you judged today?

Your donations are needed to help save babies. You can take an active part in exposing frivolous baby butchery and helping us to stop it by donating money. Every cent is unconditionally guaranteed to go to the billboard effort. (All personnel at SAVE THE BABIES! are volunteers.)

Snail mail donations to:

SAVE THE BABIES!

1686 County Rd. 415

Opp, Alabama 36467

Donations are not tax deductible, but will be gratefully accepted and put into the fund to place billboards across the nation. Help us now.

This is another view showing how the billboard appears to people driving down the road. A mother of four and her six-year-old daughter look closer.

This is a close-up of the baby on the sign:

babyhead.jpg (5840 bytes)

Don't you think it's time we decided to:

SAVE THE BABIES!

The posters of these babies may be used by anybody who cares enough to erect a billboard of their own. They can be ordered, at a very reasonable price, from the gentleman listed below:

Chet Kilgore

N2639 Hwy Z. 6143

Dousman, WI 53118

ORDER A CATALOG TODAY

ERECT YOUR OWN BILLBOARD(S)

SHOW FOLKS WHERE YOU STAND

See end of BIO for other necessary links and pro-baby webpages.

A BRIEF EXPLANATORY BIO

For my living and pleasure, I presently own and operate a big truck. To characterize my profession in a few words: I deliver the goods, all the goods. I keep America and the world moving and thriving. If it is available to any or all of your senses, to any end whatever in life today, from the wallet in your hip pocket and everything in it, to the glasses you may be wearing, trucks figured most prominently in the loop that brought it to you. Without trucks, America and the world would stop. Additionally, at no salary, I am the founder and President of SAVE THE BABIES!--an Alabama Non Profit Corporation.

I don't love money, and never have. It was my privilege to be raised in poverty, the kind that ground just about everything into dirt, where the love of money was not inculcated. In my childhood I often worried if I would find any food for the day to try to stave back a frightfully threatening hunger, where many staves remained constantly broken. Edible food in the house was almost always nonexistent, until it came time for the one meal late in the day which, many times, was potatoes only, or beans, but not both. Sometime, as a child, I awakened so ravenous in the night that I ate raw flour, sugar, and some of the current baby's canned milk all mixed into a paste, or broth, stealing this sustenance as a cockroach would (and with the cockroaches.) Unlike the roaches I had eaten with, however, since humans are on a higher order of intelligence than the insects, I studiously cleaned up all evidence of the crime and returned "innocently" to sleep. This was before the advent of widespread social welfare. Folks such as I pretty much flew our own airplanes after we were weaned, because younger babies occurring on our heels took our nipple and pushed us out of the nest. It was fall on the head or fly. I did both.

I was not born with the resources to sit around cogitating the philosophical consequences of whether doting parents could find enough surplus money to fashion the final touches on the new fall wardrobe in my behalf. My attire from year to year sometime was no shoes to wear on a cold day. My choice was to dress myself with my one pair of dirty, raggedy pants and any shirt that an older brother was not wearing, to clad me for a several mile trek to school on a winter day in Amarillo, Texas, a walk that sometime froze my hair to my head and stuck my eyelashes together, a condition that occasionally killed elderly persons on the way to their mailboxes. After walking to school all my appendages were so cold that they hurt for hours afterward.

I probably routinely suffered at least mild frostbite in my toes, ears, nose and fingers all at the same time, just about every day of the winter that I walked to school. This, after awakening from a bed that may have been made of a cotton picker's coarsely woven canvas cottonsack on the kitchen floor of the shanty--often consisting of two small rooms housing eight or ten people--without a mattress, pillow or blanket, and nothing to eat or drink to fortify me. I did not know that people ate breakfast. My bed might have been one of the several cottonsacks I had worked in the fields myself, as an eight-year-old, wearing them out from crinkly brand new, until they were too worn and torn to hold cotton any longer and had to be discarded, or used for a bed. After I gained proficiency in this work--known to me as "pullin' bolls"--I picked alongside some grownups who couldn't match my daily gross of 400 lbs, except that I received no wages, and so they topped me there. I remember thinking that the cottonsack was a fine bed, and I missed it when the family moved on from the cotton patch and the sacks were no longer available. Then I had to shift to a lower gear.

Albeit, except for instances when some of the other children at school--and even a teacher or two from time to time--made ridicule of my sorry condition (this was around Amarillo in the 1940's, before "humanism" was invented,) things seemed normal to me, and life was good. I was born to be a White nigger,* and White niggers are made to suffer, so I simply did what White niggers do best. I suffered, as Jesus did, in pristine innocence, to pay, with my own body and life, the dues accruing through the excesses of spiritually decrepit individuals gone morally bankrupt many millennia before I arrived, (such as those inhabiting the American press today, known as "scribes" in the lifetime of Jesus,) and all unfit to be graced by my presence. Even Moses was abandoned in the bullrushes, and Jesus Christ, a White nigger Himself, lived and died with thorns hammered into His Brow, basically, because of a bad news media situation, precursor to the American press of today.

I did finally metamorphose into a butterfly at age 28, on August 12, l968, during my spiritual rebirth (something that White niggers are not supposed to do, and noooobody liked it at the time. Everybody said, "We liked the White nigger. We don't like you." I replied, "Kiss it, folks, I'm a all White now.") I subsequently learned what it is to be White Folks. It feels pretty good. I accelerated from the level of functional illiterate in a couple of days, and eventually earned a small college degree in the science of behavior, with minor in English. I learned to write big words and do 'rithmetic, changed many things. If I hadn't had all my psychological limbs broken as a baby to make a White nigger of me, I could have been in college at somewhere around the age of nine. I taught myself to read when I was four, as a diversion to starving, or being beaten to death. In the first grade, teachers were enthralled that I could read so well, exclaiming, "How does this child do this?" Instinctively I knew all the vowels and how important they were to the language. When a school class "codified" them for me, I learned that they were called "vowels." I had had my own name for them, and I wondered why "y" was not included, but I had nobody to ask. By the fourth grade teachers were exclaiming that I could spell words they could not pronounce.

However, society had already determined that it needed a White nigger for soil fertilizer, instead of a genius, and that awesome weight continued, inexorably, a juggernaut grinding me into dirt, just to demonstrate to me what can be done to uppity White niggers, as today, with the same perfidiousness and arrogance a baby is butchered by "pro-choice," just to illustrate that "mommy" has a recently concocted right, at her whim and caprice, to make garbage of a vitally functioning, living human baby. By the fifth grade I began to falter, and soon after plunged face first into the soil, as living fertilizer, and my special gift fell away. Then it was resurrected, intact, at my rebirth and Awakening in 1968, about eighteen or twenty years later, while I was engaged in mortal combat with the State of California and all of its resources (another long story.)

Today, thirty years later, I am either looked up to or feared for my intelligence and keen ability to judge righteous judgment. Only grossly stupid individuals, at a distance, or anonymously, get ignorant in my direction now. In this new day that God gave me, I could easily be a big fish in a big pond, if I chose. I know things about every person that he or she does not know, and for that, I have not met but a very few people, since I awakened, who felt completely secure in my presence until I put them at their ease. If I don't tell it, nobody knows I was a White nigger--even though I retain some White nigger in me, as a force of gravity, just to keep me humble and hold my feet on the ground. One has to look closely to see any at all now, which I would not eradicate for the world and everything in it. I am proud to have been a White nigger. Because I rose up from it eventually, as Phoenix, and kicked the butts of all those White Folks at the same time with all their forces in array, wielding against me the combined might, power, collective knowledge and organizational expertise of the State of California and the United States as one.

Among the most potent of the forces against me was an avalanche of judicial decisions, postulations, decrees and arcane legalistic rhetoric (hocus pocus created by individuals brandishing raw, mentally sloppy, legally unjustifiable totalitarian judicial and police power to force their own personal, particular way in the name of "The People," along the same principles of a Roe vs. Wade and Judge Harry Blackmun, et al.) All the while I was held captive under a police system that enjoyed absolute power, authority and control over my life and limb. Access to me was total, from the dirt under my fingernails and the snot in my nose, to every word and scrap of the literature I sent, received, or possessed. I composed much of my best work sitting on the toilet stool with an ancient, constantly malfunctioning portable typewriter on my lap, in semi-darkness, with the roaring of personal defeat resounding through my consciousness like a Niagara Falls at high tide. Standing alone year upon numberless year (except for that tiny, insistent voice of God urging me on, many times blotted into silence by the constant trumpeting of victory in the array against me) I faced these White Folks on their own territory, on their own terms, using their own weapons that I took away from them by the force of my intelligence during the heat of the conflict, the entire while as an individual esteemed in the category of a lump of smelly bacteria mixed with scum and excreta.

And this scum kicked their outrageously arrogant and powerful butts without outside help or encouragement. Eventually they bowed to me, gave way, and their trumpets fell silent before God. All praise to God. (But this is yet another story, long and complicated.) God assures me that the wounds I thus opened will bleed, without respite, until the end of time. The White Folks inflicted serious damage on me, for sure, almost irreparable, but I sliced a huge chunk right off their big, fat, collective, entirely self-indulgent behind, which, ere it is done, will have cost them in the billions of dollars, not to mention the social implications. (The cost in terms of money to date is many hundreds of millions and counting. Socially, it is inestimable.)

Today, from time to time, people who don't know me at all, suggest, "Since you are so gentlemanly and well spoken and knowledgeable (and White,) you can't possibly know what a tough life is all about. You probably learned about life from a book, didn't you? I'll bet you were born with a silver spoon up your nose." And then they proceed to explain to me what a tough life is in typical "baby boomer," or post "baby boomer" lingo: "I had to wear many of the previous year's clothing styles. The telephone in my room was inferior, and I didn't even get one until I was ten years old, but my sister had hers when she was eight. When I was sixteen my parents bought me a three-year-old car instead of a new one. My weekly allowance didn't keep pace with inflation. The ice cream in the freezer sometime had freezer burn on it." Poor things. I usually have to interrupt them and make them stop. I can't stand to hear tales of such agony.

As a child, I was unaware that money caused food and luxury and that man had invented iceboxes and refrigerators to store surplus food. Consequently, later in life, I came to love babies more than I do money (which proves that money does not cause happiness.) Nobody at the time during my childhood--especially not I--realized how profoundly blessed I was in that poverty and meanness. It made a real man of me, eventually, and a decent Christian, separating me from dross, as butter precipitates out of beaten milk gone sour. Or, who can say, maybe it was in spite of it all. Nevertheless, bent, scraped, tarnished, broken and torn, in worldly terms, with a millstone of a working government dossier on my back literally more than a foot thick (I have seen it,) I arrived at Destination Christianity, alone, late, to stand so spiritually erect and straight that I challenge any in the world to stand anywhere close to me. ("Him that overcometh will I make a pillar in the temple of my god,…" Rev. 13:12, King James Bible.) Match me concept for concept, item by item, flesh for flesh, blood for blood, bone for bone. Are you a good man? Then show me how much you love babies. Are you a good Christian? Show me how much you love babies. You can't show me? Then you don't love babies. And you are neither a Christian nor are you a real man, whatever your walk in life, be you President of the United States, or a drunken beggar, or anywhere in between. You are an imposter on both counts. You are a facsimile of a man, but you are not real. And you can't even hold a real Christian's coat.

God has spoken, and He has girded me for war today. Ere it is done, I intend to overcome the Folks on the U.S. Supreme Court in the behalf of the babies and humanity, even if I have to do it alone, which I won't. I have plenty of help today. I intend to kick their butts for the babies, as I did the entire State of California and "Big Brother" in my own behalf, after I had been totally crushed down and too small and powerless even to breathe air. Watch, folks. And see the depraved beasts on the U.S. Supreme Court melt down into their own elements, which are greed, lust, treachery. And you, also Mr. Clinton, when your time comes, God will have no mercy on you.

_________________________________

* Existing as a “White nigger” does not mean that I ran around with Blacks, that I mixed with Blacks, or that my conditions had anything at all to do with race. One does not have to be Black to be a nigger. “Nigger” is a term for something despised, and may have little or nothing to do with race. Likewise, the term “White Folks” may have little or nothing to do with race even though most White Folks just happen to be White. Because of feedback, in which many readers don’t understand these terms, I need to go back, edit, and insert sufficient explanation here and there for better understanding. I will do this in the near future for those who don’t comprehend the terms of usage.

ENDNOTE:

I have lived to be personal witness to a mental disorder in society at large, a perversion of nature in humanity that ranges across all socio-economic boundaries, from highest to lowest. It runs from the highest government positions in America, to the lowest janitorial position, from amoral ordained ministers, to mother selling herself and her baby to the basest depravity conceivable to any mind. In view of society's own demonstrated moral degeneracy and psychological and spiritual shortcomings, no criminal in prison now has any need to feel anything but outrage at being judged and punished by these creatures, who themselves are the worst criminals of all. Every criminal can feel absolved now, under the legitimate argument that the legal system has no moral right to hold anybody accountable for any crime. Any human act is now an act of individual will and purpose, whose only fault lies in its failure to be accomplished BY the individual and FOR the individual.

Have you committed murder against a neighbor, stolen his automobile, burned his house down? Society has no moral right to judge you now. You are absolved from society's right to indignation or outrage, no matter what you commit: murder, rape, arson, theft, burglary, robbery. If you can avoid the law, do so. Then go in peace. You did only what you felt you had to do to serve your individual purpose at the moment. No criminal now has any person or group of individuals to answer to on moral grounds. If one is imprisoned for his actions, then he, the individual, has been wronged. The pot has no right to call the kettle black. Every individual now has the moral right to move and act at will, no matter what his purpose and design. On January 22, 1973, the U.S. Supreme Court demonstrated that the United States has not yet reached the ideal of the founding fathers, that the United States exist as a nation of laws, not of men. It is still a nation of men, not laws. Any averment to the contrary is a lie. Let history be the record.

***

See poem below written by a good and gentle Christian woman

About abortion on demand:

God Armeth the Patriot

God armeth you, you need not fear,
No harm shall come while He is near.

The patriot's hand He'll surely guide,
And him He'll lead and with him ride.

The victory chant shall be his song,
Though foe draws near he'll still stand strong.

He'll march the fields, and through the plains,
There is no loss, for all is gain.

For God he'll stand, to Him be true,
Oh, patriot man, God armeth you!

...................by Diane Eaker