This book marks my first foray into the field of presidential candidate biography since the
publication of my George Bush: The Unauthorized Biography (1992). I have been impelled to
return to the business of presidential candidate biography by a profound sense of alarm and national
emergency, because of the threat to the American people and to the future survival of the world
posed by the Trilateral Commission puppet and Manchurian candidate, Barack Hussein Obama.
“No authentic Messiah would inspire a religion that ended up calling upon the Jews to reject the manifest meaning of Sinai. It is really that simple.” --David Klinghoffer, Why the Jews Rejected Jesus, p. 215. As we can see from the above citation, Klinghoffer has thrown down the gauntlet against Christ and Christianity. To set the stage for his treatise, Klinghoffer tells us that his book is the fruit of a twenty-year interest.
Note that the above assumes ultimate collection of the premium. Billed premium that is later
determined to be uncollectible may be written off in several different locations, based on the
particular accounting system. For example, U.S. regulatory accounting treats such uncollectible
amounts as negative “other income”, while they may be accounted for as underwriting expenses
under GAAP accounting. Conceivably another possibility might be negative premium.
The above discussion focused on premium revenue on a calendar period basis.
One day there came into Robert Schumann's ken the work of a young fellow named Brahms, and the master
cried aloud in the wilderness, "Behold, the new Messiah of music!" Many have refused to accept Brahms at
this rating, and I confess to being one of the unregenerate, but the spirit that kept Schumann's heart open to the
appeal of any stranger, that led him into instant enthusiasms of which he was neither afraid nor ashamed,
enthusiasms in which the whole world has generally followed his leading--that spirit it is that proves his true
musicianship, and makes him a place forever among th...
The day after Patricia Rowan saved the world, a man named Elias
Murphy brought a piece of her conscience home to roost.
She hardly needed another one. Her tactical contacts already served
up an endless stream of death and damage, numbers far too vague to
qualify as estimates. It had only been sixteen hours; even orders of magnitude
were barely more than guesses. But the machines kept trying to
pin it down, this many million lives, that many trillion dollars, as if
quantifying the apocalypse would somehow render it harmless.
Maybe it would at that, she reflected.