SAFE
JOURNAL, KING NEBNOOSHOO
CHAPTER
0413, SUPPLEMENTAL ENTRY
“TRAVELER
TRUMP”
BEGINNING
TRANSMISSION:
I
would say Sunday was 'another' super mother fucking BOTBAR day, but
it would not accurately reveal a deeper and realer truth. Since
August 15th, 1986, every cock sucking cunt lapping mother
fucking jerked off day is basically a mother fucking botbar day
peeps. That as they say, Miss Whalehicks, is that, dinners with the
Priceline Negotiator of the real future, notwithstanding. LITTLE
FUCKING SILICON BABIES ARE ON MY SCREEN AGAIN. Fortunately for
fucking ass me, they are not in it as they are many times, and cannot
be wiped out with my finger. How I envy you all, livers in total
darkness and ignorant bliss, the gods how I envy all the fuck of you.
As with all my blogs from now on, we will not be beating around the
bush for one miserable fucking second about EXPLORATRONS. If you read
these words here, but did not check out this recent time travel
situation with the great GOOGLE WOMO peeps, well, why then bother to
read these words at all, paper squares? Even after posting all I have
posted, NOTHING FUCKING WORKS ANYMORE, NOT WITH ME, ONLY WITH THE
FUCKING CUNT EVIL ASS EMPIRE, NEVER WITH MY RIGHTEOUS EMPIRE,
N—E—V—E—R!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Those turds, the Philly
Flyers Hoickey Team beat my DEVILS. Every cock sucking thing with me
since the seventies, this git bag spiritually dead cock knocking no
good dick head prick, has fucked me on. He took over all the beauty
contests because he knows I enjoyed watching them and no longer will,
as I want nothing to do with this evil fucking rotten ass bastard. He
has taken over the GONG-HIGONG-GONG, NBC Network with all his fucking
evil ass stupid shit that peeps just love for reasons that amaze,
astound, and mystify me in ways not describable ever. He fucked with
Donna and my nickname for her in the start of the 80's, calling that
ugly black tub of his, PRINCESS. His casino was the only one in 1986
in Atlantic City who ever called me over to the commission booth to
have me tell them exactly what I do when I play roulette, despite
never winning any large sums of money, normally two bucks was my hit
abnd I was out. He knew somehow, not to get on that helicopter that
day in late 89 or early 90, when it crashed with his team aboard it.
He was instrumental in blackmailing somebody to do a dead that led to
her distant cousins death within 2 or 3 years. The list goers on and
on. I had endless car problems of a very spurious nature whenever he
wanted the evil-trilogy to work in his favor and get me totally fried
and fucked, this went on from 1986 and is ongoing still nearly 26
mother fucking years in the cock sucking dick eating future. When he
opened up his Plaza in ACNJ, he totally had my car wrecked on my way
down, and it was never the same, a real Dave Roth Zatman Music Store
non drummers deal, if I do have to mother fucking say so my cunt
eating self, folks!!!!!!! Now a mathematician reading this can
believe I am a totally deluded grandiose psychotic in need of serious
mental health care, and they would not be wrong. The only problem
that I have with this diagnosis, of my complete GENERAL BREAKDOWN,
SINCE AUGUST OF 1986, is that, with or without the great 'future'
internet and YOUTUBE WEBSITE, the dirt ball behind my hell is indeed,
one DJBT. I suppose I have lacking evidence to prove most of this,
right down to the fact that I also believe that he paid a nice sum of
loot to DJDS to create the HATE-PAGE about me, also on the internet,
GOOGLE up, MARK WAYNE MOHR OF HAMMONTON, NEW JERSEY. Oh, read all the
comments. Am I the only one who also knows that this college shit
head set me up at another recording studio, called Maxfield of Cherry
Hill, so really, 1980 or not, just what is this thing about being
TRAPPED in the FIELD, DONNIE BOY? I wish you would get fucking
trapped in your sick twisted controlling nightmare, you rotten old
ugly bastard. Getting back now however, to pure fucking ass
mathematics and science and statistical fucking analysis, REALLY
FOLKS, CAN EVERY SINGLE BIT OF THIS, ALL BE IN MY HEAD WITH THIS PILE
OF SICK DISEASE, WHO PASSES HIMSELF OFF AS A HUMAN BEING? Let me take
this fucking shit even further than that YO. I'll tell you one more
note from back in Jersey from good old god dam roger, yeah, great
name bud, that I never printed or told about. It's fucking high time,
if for no other treason than to avenge Dawn's blood, as she was
murdered cleverly by political forces in the state of New Jersey,
once she completed the task she was given to do to and against me in
2008, but things don't fucking cunt stop there, not for a fucking ass
long shot folks. You didn't really think I was going to mess with
that fucking stupid ass shit last year, didja college clicker? You
couldn't pay me fifty quadrillion dollars in fucking gold to do
anything connected with you or your fucked up people or
nutjerk-network, ass wipe. If you EVER, EVER, E-----V-----E-----R
mess with or open up your mouth about, any Egg Harbor shit, or her
secrets, I WILL FUCKING KILL YOU. Take this blog to your pals at the
FEDS. I don't fucking care what you do, you've been told, Michelle,
to quote my old coworker, now give me a moment to hurl and upchuck
folks, YUK YUK, now for the Listerine gargle, and now we're back, and
“in regular time” without being in any FIELDS. Where were all of
you in 1979 when I needed you, H-2???????????????????
SHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEITIT.
Yes
GINA, I TOLD YOU!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! THE PHILLIES WILL LOSE
AND LOSE AND LOSE AND LOSE, THE FLYERS WILL WIN AND WIN AND WIN AND
WIN, AND THE DOJ JONES CROOKED STOCK MARKET WILL GO UP AND UP AND UP
AND UP, RIGHT THROUGH INTERGALACTIC FUCKING SPACE AND
BEYOND!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! As long as these dick
head EXPLORATRONS endlessly have me to pick on and play with and
persecute, basically said, I AM ONE FUCKING DEAD PERSON, DAVID
ROTH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! You are all ready dead, huh
Barnabas, or Saint Hypnotized. The shit seems to fucking work either
way BREEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! And either way, it is ugly, and it
fucking ass stinks to high hell and back at light speed cubed.
For
those not yet getting it, the internet is a tool, and like all tools,
it is owned by the owners of the world, the WOMO, the dudes like
Trump and those richer than him. They don't care about the money you
know, they really don't, not when it all comes down to the full
truths revealed at the end of the game. They want total control over
the lives of me, and all of you out here as well, and they want you
all to be nothing like me, but to remain ignorant sheep, or too timid
to complain and speak out their hatred of injustices perpetrated on
their slaves or us, by these wicked fucking masters, or them. No, I
told all of you that the market would go back to record fucking highs
and cross over and go right up to the stars, I gave some dates to be
a funny man along with some wild prices, but in the end, I was dam
close to being totally right, while all you dummies out here were
scared of a crash and selling off like fools. I know how this fucking
game is played because I am in with these players. Not in with them
on this realm, we coexist on the Astral Plane, and I know this cult
called the Briggbase Minority of the GMC (Great Millionth-Council).
The reason I am so connected here and have so many run ins with this
group that all agreed to come here and do this entertainment world
shit with no awake or conscious memory of it while here, is because
out there in the real energy realms, or the subatomic true reality or
ASTRAL-PLANE, I am totally battling these ass holes, and am as
connected with them and their evil cult of traveling trouble makers,
as one could ever get. Fire is a powerful tool, and McGuire has
machines and secret knowledge on that rotten street of his, as did
his fucked up daddy before him, and so forth. He has all the state of
New Jersey right in his miserable evil fucking pocket. They stole my
website cleverly, they wrongfully refused to refund my 2009 state
income tax money that was due me when I moved down here to Florida,
and filed in the early spring of twenty-Marola-ten, and I could
literally go on and on and on, making the list read like the length
of Moby dick, War and Peace, and Morianity up to this point, all
spliced fucking together. Don't think I am exaggerating here with
this, not for a second peeps. Well, you all wanna' be cute as piss
squared? OK, Mister Hoseking, in any of your family identities, dogs
on the roof and all over the radio station, future Mayor Levy JR.
Games, games, and more games, this is what these EXPLORATRONS live to
do, play their sick endless twisted games. Fine. So let me guess a
few names and guests that are somehow all caught up with all of this
hellish nightmare shit with me for so long now. Let's take an honest
fort Pierce stab at a few things before I retire for the night and
wake up to begin another wonderful and lovely new work week, brand
new, only without any skates or keys, or forty-one lost years of
general break down or nervous breakdowns.
So
what's the scoop, Clark Kent? What's up doc? silwee wabbit,
Whaaaaaaaaaaaaa, I mean really folks, not just the Warner Brothers,
but all of us, we all are pawns in the hands of advanced dreamers who
know how to activate the ultimate time machines and mind control over
all of humanity. There are no space aliens that are real, or time
travelers, it is all a great parlor trick of EXPLORATRONIC ACTIVITY,
this is gospel truth, take it, don't take it, SAWN YOU,
BRO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! On Pearl Harbor Day of 1996, 69
magical number days after I wrote the song called, “SARAH” from
my apartment in Williamstown, NJUSAESMWG, called the “Highview”,
where the great and lovely Paulaxploratron, paid me a visit
witnessed by maintenance man Sam, only I to this day have only the
memory of her ringing my bell, and then she was just gone and I lost
twenty minutes of time, a real similar story of UFO encounters by
so-called abductees. Yes, she came over about one month later around
June 12th give or take. This all happened right after
young punk Nick, gave my hubcap a smash up job outside of a psychic
shop just a mile down the road from the HADDONWOOD SWIM CLUB of
Deptford. This pattern in time is a wee bit too perfect to be just a
bizarre random series of happenstance coincidences, in my book at
least, and this blog, IS MY BOOK, YO! I am sick of this fucking key
that hacks itself off. Let me retype. It was fucking 69 days since
May 12th and December 7th in 1996, and then in
2008 when I bought my computer at the Staples Store, it was 69 days
again that I was off the grid and not blogging. These looping digits
are indeed quite fucking magical. Yes the great December the 7th
in 1996 was the day that I woke up with a powerful bang at 5 in the
morning, out of this, NOT ODF HACKER SCUM; but OF THIS powerful
dreaming interaction, where SARAH KRASSLE said to me and I'll quote
the All Mighty Goddess, “Let's play a game boy, guess the name of
the guests”. We were out on Tennessee Avenue on a bright sunny warm
day, and Mary Tyler Moore was standing on a balcony over looking the
street, and was staying in a room at the Trinidad hotel, where Sarah
Callio admitted to me shortly thereafter in February of 1997, that
she indeed did swim at this hotel pool frequently as a young girl as
she never swam in the ocean. I have not forgotten my super-soaker
days and theories, or the three connect-points in some wild tri-gate
warped FIELD, one being at the RPL Studios, one at the Karge Hotel
owned by Estelle Andersen Bassler next door to Robert McGuire's
Pittsburgh Hotel and Erin bar, and the third point being in the
Cooley Hall of Haddon-(FIELD), New Jersey, all three points are in
New Jersey, and the asterisk chemtrail was made up of three
crisscrossing lines that had six points, the STAR OF KING DAVID, my
92nd great grand father in this family lineage, and on top
of that, me as well, directly. Yes, I am my 91st great
grandson. Here is Psalm 152, no music will be put to this at any
time, you can hear Psalm 151 on my YT Channel. Title, “Deal with
this Another Time”.
The
hands of time as do the stars, race along, and for what? To bring me
endless misery, endless agony?
Darkness
surrounds me at every turn, no matter how the clock reads noon and
the skies be clear of puff.
I
wait for thing that I am supposed to do. I long for the time that my
god says well done faithful servant, come back into my great city and
to my great party, with exquisite colorful brilliant lights all
around everywhere, and happiness abounds, laughter, no sign of
disaster. I long for you and wish to be no more attached to this
world of bleakness and enemies at every turn, hungry for my soul,
thirsty for my blood. Oh Jehovah my lovely one true god, I will never
let you out of my sight, we belong together as one and I will promise
in return to never be a shellfish. I will be your great fish, great
and worthy of your infinite all powerful divine love. I will do what
you ask me, then please, take me back home to be with only you, the
only one I will ever love.
When
the spirit leads me, I will type in Psalm #153. For right now, the
topic continues regarding this fantastic encounter where the All
mighty told me she wanted to play this incredible game. Mary Tyler
Moore was standing on a balcony that never existed in this world.
There never were any balconies facing the street here, only the pool.
Right after I blogged in 2006, that one of the girls in Sarah
Callio's gang told me if I told my mom about what happened in room
#323, that she would pick me up and throw me off the balcony to my
death. This giant teen could have made good her threat, she was well
over six feet and well muscled. I was under four and a half feet,
skinny, flabby, and weaker than most four year old's, at age 12 and a
half. This is shy both my mother and I took one very large secret to
our graves without ever telling the other about it. I never told
about the gang r the threat or the rape in the room, she died
ignorant of that; as she only knew that Tom Reale had molested me
sexually, in late June and early July of 1970 on Cornwall Avenue, in
Ventnor, NJUSAESMWG. But she kept a doozie secret from me, and gave
me that wild hypothetical daughter every time I up set her in the
nineties. She also told me that she didn;t care that she would not be
a grandmother. Nobody says shit like that to an only son, not a
mother alive. She knew she all ready had a lovely granddaughter, oh
well, now at least I know she had one as well. Let's go out and
purchase a Hyundai car, like DUH!!!!!!!!
WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA.
END
TRANSMISSION:
No comments:
Post a Comment