SAFE JOURNAL, CHAPTER 0395
THE EPITOME OF HARASSMENT INTERNET VERSION
THE MILLIONTH-COUNCIL AND ME
MORIANITY-PROJECT CONTINUES FROM 1995 TAPES
BLOG SUBTITLE NUMBER FOUR
“I ONLY WORKED THERE, I AM NOT THE ANSWER TO CANCER”
© 2006-2012 MARK WAYNE MOHR/MWM/MF-2/BOM
WORLD LABORATORIES OF 2295
SEND-BACK-TEXT (SBT) DATFILE: 041612.590
BEGINNING TRANSMISSION:
Just B4 two, a short while back, a fire alarm went off in my PHA Building, it is off now, and the firemen and their trucks are outside my 6th story window. People in this building do not know how to cook properly, ventilate properly with windows and kitchen stove fans, or clean their ovens and burners regularly so as to prevent a smoky condition when old burned food is recooked with new food, during preparation of new meals. Now this sounds nice and pretty, but my paranoia of course tells me that many times, this happens at too Perfectly Harner Timed or (PHT) in case I use this for a short abbreviation on other blog texts in the 'future', but yes folks, it does tend to happen way too often at precise times that would have a greater meaning and or effect, of annoying me, and thus it is an intentional act meant for me, and naturally, I cannot prove this, nor if I could, would be able to know the times for sure when these alarms of smoke detection, are in fact totally legitimate and have nothing whatsoever to do with me, and would have gone off if my parents had never had sex on one particular occasion. At least I had a 'quiet sleep'.
Now we will move on and make a very special offer, one made before, and I never get responses, at least not in ways I can deal with. Folks reading these blogs can mail me snail mail as well as call me, my information is all on my blogs, I am not holding anything back, there are no secrets kept here at MORIANITY, and there never freaking will be. Just because I have no money and live poor, does not mean, I cannot get my pal Mister Wilson, not your pal menacing Dennis, and go out on his boat after high water swells and storms, a fairly frequent occurrence here on the Treasure Coast, and go to the areas shown on my dad's treasure charts, and we can dive around with small new state of the art detectors, and find enough booty here and there, faking out like we are on a fishing trip, licenses and all, this was all worked out with him six months ago at the HARVEST, Jessica Grant. Aniwho, here on blog SJ#03-'95', it is appropriate timing for this little discussion, or said better, it falls into the (PHT) situation. Yes, the man is a total fucking ass hole, but old billy Harner did teach me the powerful importance of timing, in this life. If he wants to grow a Trump ego, well, that is all ready a fact, but a double one let's say, he can think and believe that he really taught me this, I knew this BH, wake up coffee mug. This would be like my kid telling big O or anyone else for that matter that I got from her, the learning and reversing negatives, from others around us doing destructive things, or how to overcome adversities with humor, as let us be real, anyone can access the web address at this URL: http://www.theansweristheqyuestioncontinues.blogspot.com/ and archive 2006-2009 blogs, and know she got it from daddy, not me from lovely daughter, but as long as she makes good use of all of this, dad's happy, BRO. Mister Marcucci, you had one hell of a nerve in the fall of sixty nine telling me half a tale. I'd like to find you and stick the other half tail right up your old hippie ass.
Yes, back to my offer of paying a large indeterminate sum of money, we can agree on this when you show me you are serious and can really perform the deed, not another type of 1616161616161616161616 deal folks, all ready been there, and done that, whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa. UC peeps out here, I had a teacher in 1972 named Mildred B. Young who was married to a hell of a nice businessman by the name of Clifford R. Young. Both these peeps were very nice folks, not often does a student not only like a teacher but think they are a good human being as well, hay kids, us old fucks were no different than any of you, so don't even think about parking at the wrong areas at Cifaloglio, or that this statement written herein today is anything but the total truth, YO. Mildred Young invited my mom and me over to her house with her and her hubby for my 18th birthday of memory serves me correctly. I was living still at the Russel Book Burn Conquistador Apartments of Oaklyn, New Jersey, AKA the Dellway Arms, Apt. # O-15.Since I moved from there at the age of 20.25 years on the first day of March in 1975, it was not my 21st birthday, and there is only two significant birthdays for gold minors or child miners that matter, and those are the ones that happen turning us into either age 18 or age 21, another basic American independence deal that many here in the USA understand fully well, and many others in the world, do not truly grasp the concept. Now let me cut to the chase on how this blog has suddenly become a Misses Young topic, based on what happened at this birthday party back early in the nineteen-seventies, my friends.
Misses Young at the very end of the party, took me aside and said something powerful to me, another Mountainpen normal event through the years, and stuff was all gearing up in my late teens for another wonderful cycle of this lovely stuff to reoccur. She had been speaking with my mother for some time, and both had had a few happy juice glasses, and lips of course tend to loosen a little at these times, we all are, or should be if here reading this blog, over eighteen, and able to handle some adult information. Obviously my mom opened up to her and told her quite a few things, otherwisde she would not have taken me aside and told me the following thing, and to my best memory today, uit is just about if not a perfect quote here, “Mark, you should be warned that you have a very domineering mother, you need to get away and start your own family as fast as you can, 'throat clear, throat clear again' (not from any chemtrails either), I only wish I could tell you something that would forever change the course of your life but I am sworn to secrecy by your mother, get away from her as soon as you can, did you ever think about living in a nice area such as Suffolk County, in New york”. This has never been told to my knowledge on these blogs, but if any relative living now in 2012 is reading this blog or being shown this blog, and knows first hand, or even second hand, that indeed my mom told my teacher about my more than hypothetical daughter, please come forward as when this all blows up in a lot of faces someday, I promise you your days sweeping up dust at Mickey-Dees or getting toll money from drivers in a booth, or whatever you might be doing, will come to an abrupt end. I am only seeking the truth, no nonsense, no bullshit, please, thank you so very very much, and you too, Mr. Robertson Winds.
As the blogs go onto tell from 2006 for a few years, I did not listen to Mrs. Young, and kept living with a very dominating and domineering mother. As tensions grew between us in the end of the eighties, 1988 and after this time and all throughout the first three quarters of the nineteen nineties as well, she would pull what these blogs have come to call the “hypothetical daughter stunt” over and over again, to the point of major 1616161616 annoyance. One person out here knows what this is like, hay old buddy, I put up with my mom who you know quite well, or knew at one time, but in moving this along, every single lousy rotten time that I'd either say or do something that up set her, after she of course initiated the trouble with her bitey nasty remarks, never being one bit appreciative of a son who never did drugs, had illicit sex and slept around with women, never drank, never smoked, and was very clean cut, this was never appreciated at all, but she was the real expert at finding my faults and my flaws, and my kid will tell you and the man who she must have admired quite a lot as well, old Bruce, will both tell you, that nobody is perfect, and that we all are human beings, even the great Minnie Ripperton, but yes, when I would say something that came back in my own defense and really was harsh, she would say out of nowhere, “How would you like it if YOUR DAUGHTER said that to you”? If I did the wrong thing, the remark would go along the lines of, “How would you like it if YOUR DAUGHTER had done something like this”? One day around 1994 somewhere, around the time of the end of our three year rental home on Route 561, I made the wise decision of hollering back, “Mom, why do you insist on giving me this hypothetical dam daughter all the time”? I mean really peeps, if she had to do this in regular intervals, why was I never awarded a hypothetical 'son'? She turned blue in the face, and I thought she was really honestly going to pass out. She sat down and breathed very hard, and could not look me in the face, and she said and I quote, “ after a lot of cleared throat sounds and hmmmmming, and much stustustustudering, as though she were the sister of Thomas J. Reale, of Child Molestation Somers Point, New Jersey, USAESMWG; “Maybe there is a very good reason that I am doing it and just cannot talk about it, please Mark, try and understand”. Well, I am not Annie Wilson, nor am I her magical man, and it was years past the Bi Centennial times, and I had no patience with that statement, and got into my car and drove over to David Roth's house for the rest of the day. Never again, did I hear a word about my hypothetical DAUGHTER. But this is far from the full story of my mother's participation in the propagation of the biggest and best kept secret of two millenniums. 1616161616161616161616 knows this is true, what I am about to tell now, but he only knew a small piece of it. We had planned to go in 1999 over to Sweden, to see our mutual friend, and President of their National Radio System over there, a Mister Thomas Hayden, and my mother told me that if I went, she would commit suicide and I would have to live with the guilty for the rest of my life. I know I told you this monstrous and horrific story, 16161616161616161616, Mister Water Sag Hose Judgekill, but wolf, wolf, wolf, YO, this was only one sabotage of SPR and any potential musical career for me. Rather than tell now today, the others, let us get to the reason, as it is obvious to a born moron and a dead retard.
My mother was in the shipping industry. Everyone in shipping is all connected. I lost the love of my life in human form, LIGHTNING, because of the fact, that industries are all tight with each other, and secrets may be kept from the outside world, but they will always eventually circulate around within their own borderlines, right Amy Cicone, my lovely bus spitting trash picking gorgeous blond old friend? Well, if SPR had become a ML in the RIAA, well, DUH, George straight can take it from here back to 1988 as I'll never say it better than him, “Need I say more”??????????????????????
Just as exploratrons were in my mother all this time, they also are in my horrible neighbor visitor guest, as right now, she is bing bang slamming away again, as it has been quiet up until now on this day, other than for the fire alarm an hour or so back. But when my mother was set upon by the mysterious illness that none of the health care professionals at the entire Kennedy Hospital System in New Jersey were ever able to diagnose, another idiopathic or perhaps said a lot more clearly, accurately, and future-scientifically, “EXPLORATRONIC PROBLEM”, this is when my entire life forever altered, in every bit as gargantuan a way as things also altered on a dime, on the 15th day of August in 1986, and as I speak, my next door stereo man is booming away on his music system. As I typed this, it stopped as if by magic, wow, and I am not even plugged into the outside world. I am so paranoid right now and am holding a powerful and dangerous FIDDAM-3 still, that I will only plug back into the Comcast Modem Computer System when this blog is cut and pasted and ready to post up onto the 'interfret'. Yes, FIDDAM-3 is as high as my system goes, so we may not have until December the 21st, oh mighty and wonderful Spanish Conquerors. How does one escape the endless and unrelenting SARAH CALLIO INITIALS? MY COUSIN, how about, MCGUIRE'S PHONE BOOTH? For those who never heard the 1997 story in early February, more than 15 years ago now, 182 months back on the 7th, and counting, here it is folks, this all happened on 10-SC Avenue in where else but good old mother fucking ATLANTIC CITY, NEW JERSEY, Doctor Edmund L. Housel and family!!!!!!!!!!
Ed Lynch and I left a library in Atlantic County, New Jersey right after I had posted up an early October 2006 blog at the original blogger site, use the URL without the word 'CONTINUES', you need to see this all is real or you never will believe this story, you doubting fucking Thomas's out here; archive the early October 2006 blogs at this following precise web address, folks, YO: http://www.theansweristheqyuestion.blogspot.com/ . WALL STREET is behind all the exploratrons in this building that are operating through all of my fucking git bag sweetheart nabes. The music comes and goes as though this ass hole is playing some kind of a game, and the shit heads out in the hall are playing with me as well, only we all know, Steve Hawking, they are not doing it, a person from another parallel universe is asleep in a controlled trance, and taking over the bodies of these waking folks here in our universe, you know this is true, wormhole heads of science, you either have been sworn to major secrecy, regarding this TABOO'd EXPLORATRONICS, or you have personal agendas for not helping me and fight this horrible thing before it gets so out of control the entire world ceases to exist, and this is coming very soon at this pace if stuff does not stop. Also, another thing will be told about what happened at a viewing after my mother had died, and Cuzz Don and I and some office coworkers were all there at this place in downtown Philadelphia 57 Hiockey-sticks, red wavy lines and all. This nightmare began with the Flyers, and things flying, and so much more, there is no way it is all some outlandish random happenstance coincidental set of bizarre circumstances, I won't buy that at any price folks, sahwee. Let me first finish what happened when Sarah Callio and I spoke over McGuire's telephone at his Erin Bar on that first week of February of 1997. I left and got into my Saturn car, and instantly, the name CALLIO had been ETOSS blocked out of my mind by EXPLORATRON MCGUIRE, who is seen on my 2007 website called www.morianity-foundation.com/ no longer there, accessible only in the distant future through Distance-Delay SWIS channels. The disc it is on is now the property of the Atlantic county Prosecutor, a cousin to my family's doctor in Philly, Doctor Housel, GOOGLE up the Prosecutor of the county in New Jersey there (ATLANTIC) and see the names for yourself. This is Lisa's brother, the fiance' of Joe King, his sister Dawn destroyed my entire life, and the entire county and state, sir Christy, was in on my total destruction. Then you lovely wonderful beach offer you, you even denied me my rightful money when I came to Florida and filed a legitimate tax return to get back some owed money due me from your crummy old state, plumpy.
Let us return to 10-SC Avenue now, or really, let us NOT. But in story, let me tell it peeps. Only months later, did Misses Estelle Andersen Bassler tell me the name CALLIIO, as THEY blocked it right out of MY mind, what a family, WOW! Then my mom was sent nightmares about he father's over night boys camp on Long Beach Island, and some property and ten thousand dollars, JOE. Yeah, Joe Betts. I know the real story MI LOVELY ONE, we both do. But then up in oh-M-6, nine years later, Ed and I left the library, I had said on the blog just posted that I'd be coming down to take some photos of 10-SC Avenue, and McGuire destroyed both the car, and beat us up, Ed Lynch and myself. We have no memory of any of it like with Sarah Callio, but the videotape, WOW, do lab tecks and videotapes lie??????????????????????
Folks, Paula King is a master type-3-exploratron, so is the entire family, and since 1969, this is all one great wonderful motley crew, cool choice of initialed words if I may also make another quite astute observation.
Ladies and gentlemen, this needs no drum roll. Go to the MARK MOHR HATE SITE and read all the comments. If I can be stifled when even posting up giants, how can you now tell me there is no such thing as the reality of the EXPLORATRON? Read, listen, click, go, do, knock on the door, and Scylla just might take the hinges off for U, BRAHH.
WELL LET ME WRAP THIS BLOG ALL UP NICE AND TIGHT, AND TAKE IT HOME TO PAPA JOHN HARNER, HUH SALLY? WHAT A BUNCH OF PHONIES, ROCK STARS, CAN YOU LIVE WITHOUT THEM PEEPS? THE GODS, I KNOW I CAN, AND VERY WELL, TANKX!!!
HAVE A VERY NICE DAY WORLD. I WON'T BE DOING THE SAME.
End of this transmission, WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA.
What did you say?
WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!
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