Do Biden, Starmer & Co Want World War Three?
November 20, 2024 by Doctor Vernon Coleman
On May 3rd 2022 I made a video entitled `Why they need World War III’.
Before that, in February 2022, I explained how the Americans had destroyed the Nord Stream pipeline. Biden boasted that he’d do that. And, as planned, blowing up the pipeline forced a freezing Europe into the war with greater enthusiasm. It also meant that Europe had to buy American gas. The lunatic conspirators claim the pipeline was destroyed by unknown saboteurs – probably, they say, two teenage boys in a rowing boat whose fishing tackle got caught in the pipeline and damaged it.
In March 2023, I made a video entitled `Nuclear War is Coming’
As usual a lot of people laughed.
I wonder if they are still laughing now that Biden has given Ukraine permission to use American missiles on Russia. (Ukraine wasted no time in firing American missiles into Russia.) And it seems likely that Starmer will soon be using Ukraine for a proxy attack on Russia. Neither leader is supported by the voters but both countries will be at war with Russia.
In my four and a half years of making videos, I haven’t told you anything that wasn’t true. I’ve made no predictions that didn’t come true. Crooked fact checkers have constantly tried and failed to find errors – though lots of them have lied trying.
I warned about compulsory vaccinations and a cashless society in February and March 2020. At the same time I warned that old people would be killed. I warned about the fake pandemic, food shortages, DNA thefts and so on. I warned, in the autumn of 2020, before they started giving it, how the covid jab would kill people. I warned about inflation and interest rate rises in 2020.
(If you want to check exactly what I said my book `Covid 19: The Greatest Hoax in History’ contains the transcripts of all my banned videos from March 2020 to September 2020. The scripts are the originals and have not been altered or updated. And my book `Coming Apocalypse’, which was published in April 2020, contained my early warnings about the fake pandemic and explained why I knew it was fake. (Go to the bookshop on www.vernoncoleman.com for details.)
It has for some time been clear that Western leaders who are running this war through NATO are desperate for it to go nuclear.
Why?
Well, don’t forget that the plan for the Great Reset includes a depopulation plan. The conspirators, the insane globalists behind the climate fraud, the fake pandemic, the rebranded flu, the covid jab (now better known as the world’s most toxic pharmaceutical product) boasted that they want to reduce the world’s population from around 8 billion down to 500 million. Not even the toxic, experimental covid jab is killing people fast enough for them.
In murdering thousands of the elderly they’ve saved billions on pension fees. They boasted about that. And the spread of legal euthanasia, which will kill millions of the poor, the disabled and the jobless, isn’t yet killing enough people.
Hence the war.
The war in Ukraine didn’t start in 2022 and it wasn’t started by Russia, of course. It was started in 2014 when Ukraine started to attack a breakaway pro-Russian province. In 2015, Obama admitted that the American Government had put Zelenksy in place and given him billions of dollars to play with. It was NATO which decided that an escalation was needed – and decided to use the Ukraine conflict as a designer war, a proxy war.
Sunak, the UK’s last Prime Minister, upped the ante by sending depleted uranium shells to Ukraine.
In my book Rogue Nation, which I wrote in 2003, in protest at America’s illegal invasion of Iraq (and boy did that get me into trouble) I wrote:
`During America's war against Yugoslavia the USA dropped over 10,000 tons of depleted uranium on (among others) passenger trains, television studios, occupied office buildings, assorted embassies and refugee convoys. This typically inaccurate American bombing campaign was carried out without the authorisation of the United Nations Security Council or, indeed, the USA Congress. It was, in short, an illegal war which would have been described as terrorism if America had not been responsible.’
And I pointed out: `Radiation levels in Iraq are dangerously high as a result of depleted uranium used by America in the Gulf War. Iraqi babies are born without brains, eyes or genitalia. Blood pours from their ears and mouths.’
So, it’s not surprising that Putin is more than a little upset that Britain has started using dirty bombs in Ukraine. These shells will raise radiation levels in Ukraine by 1,000 times or more. When used in Iraq they caused cancer, miscarriages and, with vaccination, contributed to Gulf War Syndrome.
We know the long-term effect of depleted uranium. When American forces used it in Iraq and Yugoslavia tens of thousands of people suffered from the effects.
Soldiers and civilians will die from it. There will be a 38% increase in Leukaemia too. Worse than the after effects of Hiroshima.
And the damned stuff even destroys the land and any crops that might be grown on it – which will result in food shortages and starvation for generations to come. Depleted uranium shells will affect the land for 100 years. Once the breadbasket of the world, Ukraine will become a desert. There will be no future whatsoever for the country Biden and Starmer claim to be helping but which they are using as a weapon against Russia. The idiots waving Ukraine flags are part of their evil conspiracy.
Tory Prime Minister Sunak moved us to the edge of a full-scale nuclear war.
And now Biden and other leaders (cheered on from the sidelines by Boris Johnson) seem desperate to rush us into a war which I don’t believe any voters really want.
When the war with Russia goes totally nuclear, billions will die. I suspect that those vaccinated with the toxic covid-19 jab, already damaged and with weakened immune systems, will be most vulnerable.
None of this is by accident.
I think it’s what they want.
Biden and company are deliberately leading us into a nuclear war and the first thing most people will know about it will be when they wake up dead.
As the man with the placard warned: The End is Nigh.
Meanwhile, here’s a tip.
Keep an eye on where Biden, Starmer, Trudeau, his royal hypocrite Charles (who isn’t my king), Macron and the rest are hanging out. When they all decide it’s time to take a trip to some remote part of the world, or maybe a nice cruise on a yacht, you’ll know that the end is very nigh. Move out of big cities, stock up on food and stay close to your loved ones.
It’s all very simple. Unless you’re a billionaire or a member of the WEF, they want you dead.
Copyright Vernon Coleman November 2024
My First Operation. (Re-Post)
Dr Vernon Coleman
We were all waiting. The patient, already anaesthetised, was lying on the operating table. The anaesthetist, sitting at the head of the table, presiding like father at Sunday lunch, kept one eye on the machine by his side and the other on the patient. Two junior nurses were standing quietly behind the theatre sister. They’d tidied up the corner of the theatre where the sister and I had scrubbed and gowned.
The sister stood on one side of the operating table and I, the junior house surgeon, still wet behind the ears, stood on the other side. We were waiting for the surgeon who was going to perform the operation.
The patient had already been swabbed with antiseptic and, except for a small square of naked flesh, his whole body was covered with green, sterile towels.
Suddenly, the door to the theatre opened and the surgeon poked his head round it. ‘Sorry I’m late,’ he called. ‘I’ve got to see a patient in casualty.’ He nodded to me. ‘Would you mind starting without me? I’ll be along when I can.’
The noise I made as I gulped must have sounded deafening. I’m sure it must nearly have woken the patient despite the fact that he was deeply anaesthetised.
‘OK,’ I whispered. I turned back to the patient.
The small square of naked flesh had grown, stretched suddenly into a daunting field-sized area of pink skin.
‘It’s easy,’ said the anaesthetist. `An appendectomy is just like taking a tooth out.’ He knew I’d never done an operation by myself. He perhaps didn’t know I’d never even taken a tooth out.
The theatre sister offered me a scalpel. ‘Thank you,’ I managed to murmur. I gazed down again at that field of pink skin. It looked big enough to land an aeroplane on.
Suddenly I didn’t have the faintest idea where to start cutting. Yes, I’d seen nearly a dozen similar operations performed when I’d assisted the surgeon. And it seemed so very, very easy then.
‘I’m sorry,’ said the sister, suddenly, unexpectedly. She moved two of the green towels back a little, so that an even larger area of skin was exposed. She held one of the towels still for a moment, an inch or so to one side of the umbilicus. Hinting.
It came back to me then. I had to make the incision at a point a third of the way along an imaginary line drawn between the superior iliac spine and the umbilicus.
The incision needed to be perpendicular to that line, and, if I made it in the right spot, I should be able to make do with an incision about two and a half inches long. Not quite keyhole surgery, perhaps, but pretty good. And likely to leave my patient with a small, neat scar.
I’d seen the surgeon I was working for take an appendix out through a hole which didn’t seem to be more than an inch long.
But I wasn’t feeling that ambitious.
I lifted the scalpel and dug it deep into the patient’s skin. Terrified that I might have cut too far I lifted the scalpel out again quickly.
A small drop of blood oozed out of the tiny hole I had made. I wiped it away and put the scalpel back in position. This time I pressed down as hard as I dared and drew the scalpel along the skin for a couple of inches.
For a moment I could see no sign that I had even punctured the skin, and then blood slowly began to ooze out of the thin wound I had made.
The sister offered me a sterile swab. I dabbed half-heartedly at the wound. Blood continued to flow out, forming a small puddle on the skin. I gazed at it horrified.
The sister gently took the swab from my hand and pressed it down firmly on the wound. When she lifted it up a few seconds later, the bleeding had temporarily stopped.
Slowly blood began to ooze again from two small, cut vessels. The sister put the diathermy coagulating forceps in front of me. I picked up the diathermy, which burns and seals broken blood vessels, pressed the pedal to switch on the electricity and touched one of the bleeding vessels with the tip of the forceps. There was a small puff of smoke, a sizzling noise and the bleeding stopped. I then burnt the second vessel and closed that off too.
The sister took the diathermy forceps from me and handed me the knife again.
I looked down into the wound. It was less than a quarter of an inch deep, but the thin layer of fat which I had cut was beginning to fall outwards. I made another cut along the bottom of the wound I’d made. And so we went on. Each time I hesitated the sister would hand me whatever I needed, before I knew I needed it. I never questioned her.
By the time the surgeon came into the theatre, apologising profusely for being so late, I’d divided the tissues right down to the peritoneum, the thin layer of tissue which lines the abdominal cavity.
While the surgeon scrubbed and gowned, I tidied up the wound, made sure I’d missed no bleeding points, and, finally, cut through the peritoneum.
I moved back from the table as the surgeon approached, making room for him. He shook his head and waved a hand at me.
‘Get back where you were,’ he said. ‘What are you stopping for?’ He moved into the position usually occupied by the surgeon’s assistant.
I stared back at the wound. All the confidence I’d built up drained away. How could I operate knowing that the surgeon who’d taught me all I knew was assisting me?
The surgeon looked up across the table and called to the two junior nurses, standing ready to fetch things for the theatre sister.
‘Come here,’ he said.
They edged closer to the table, terrified of touching and desterilising any of the towels and drapes covering the patient and the instrument trolley.
‘What do you know about this operation?’ the surgeon asked one of the nurses.
The nurse paused for a moment. ‘It’s an appendectomy,’ she said in a whisper.
The surgeon nodded. ‘And what’s this?’ he asked her, pointing to the peritoneum I’d just cut.
‘The peritoneum,’ stuttered the nurse, after a moment or two.
Again he nodded. ‘Now that the surgeon has got through the peritoneum,’ the surgeon waved a pair of forceps in my direction, making it clear that I was the surgeon to whom he was referring, ‘he picks up a pair of bowel forceps and brings some bowel out of the abdomen. He’s looking for the large bowel and, in particular, he’s looking for the caecum.’
And so he went on.
As he talked, I did precisely what he said I was doing. As far as everyone else in the theatre was concerned, he was just taking the opportunity to teach a couple of junior nurses about an appendectomy. As far as I was concerned, however, he was providing me with precise and thorough directions. Not necessary. But nice to know he was there. Just in case.
I found the appendix, removed it, tied off its blood supply, closed the peritoneum and then proceeded to close all the layers I’d opened.
The surgeon never interfered.
When I’d put the last stitch in and taken the skin towels off the patient, I walked proudly out of the theatre and into the surgeon’s changing room.
There I usually completed my task as assistant to the surgeon by writing up the operation notes, details of what had been done in the course of the operation. But this time the surgeon was already sitting down writing the notes for me. ‘Do you want me to do those?’ I asked.
The surgeon shook his head. ‘This is the assistant’s job,’ he said. He wrote a few more sentences and then tossed the notes onto the table in the middle of the room and walked out. ‘Thank you,’ he said as he left.
Automatically I picked the notes up to see what he’d written. At the bottom of the page there was a space for the surgeon’s name.
In that space he’d written my name. I felt curiously proud. I’d performed my first operation as the senior surgeon.
There was a knock on the door and the theatre porter appeared. ‘Excuse me, doctor,’ he said, ‘but the next patient’s on the table and the surgeon wonders if you’d be kind enough to come and assist him.
There isn’t much time for reflection in surgery.
First published in The Weekly News, 24th June 1972
Taken from `Stories with a Twist in the Tale’ by Vernon Coleman, available as an eBook and a paperback on Amazon.
Note: Vernon Coleman has written a 15 book series about life in general practice. The series is called `The Young Country Doctor’. The first book in the series is subtitled: `The Bilbury Chronicles’.
Copyright Vernon Coleman November 2024
Makes lots of money doesn't it? Have to build more weapons. Last crap we sent to Taiwan had mold on it being out dated. Like the SOR our Weapons lockers are bare. No one counted all those lost in training' accidents. Billions to Millions depending on Aircraft or Helicopter. That F35 that went missing for lack of tracking device was $100 Million https://www.cnn.com/2023/09/18/politics/f-35-missing-jet-what-matters/index.html WASHINGTON — Congressional auditors revealed today the total price tag for the Lockheed Martin F-35, the world's most expensive weapons program, has topped $2 trillion — surpassing a previous estimate of $1.7 trillion. https://insidedefense.com/share/222014#:~:text=The%20F%2D35%20Joint%20Strike,based%20on%20Lockheed%20Martin's%20design.